The Forbidden Throb Chapter 41

Emma's POV:

The next morning arrived gray and misty, typical Portland weather.

I woke to find Grandma already up, moving around the kitchen with determined efficiency.

"I made us breakfast," she announced when I appeared in the doorway. "We should eat before we go."

I noticed she'd already showered and dressed in her good blue cardigan—the one she wore to church on Sundays.

"Grandma, you don't have to dress up for a doctor's appointment."

She straightened, regarding me with thinly veiled amusement. "A lady should always present herself properly, Emma. It's not about the appointment—it's about self-respect."

I bit back my response, suddenly feeling foolish.

Grandma had adjusted faster than New England weather could change—from last night's tears and vulnerability to this morning's put-together composure. As if my panic had been the real problem all along.

"What?" She looked at me suspiciously.

"Nothing." I shook my head, unable to suppress a slight smile. "You're just... remarkably resilient."

---

The Portland Medical Center was a modest building compared to Mass General, but it had the same antiseptic smell, the same hushed urgency in its halls.

I kept my hand on Grandma's elbow as we navigated to the oncology department.

"This is unnecessary fuss," she murmured.

"Humor me."

Dr. White was a woman in her fifties with kind eyes and efficient movements. She pulled up Grandma's scans on the computer screen, pointing to a small, perfectly round shadow.

"The tumor is benign," she said, her tone reassuring. "No growth since your last scan. As long as it remains stable, Mrs. Johnson, you're in the clear."

The relief hit me so hard I had to grip the edge of the exam table.

"So she's... she's okay?"

Dr. White smiled at me. "She's okay. We'll continue monitoring with scans every six months, but there's no cause for immediate concern."

I felt Grandma's hand find mine, squeezing gently.

"See?" she whispered. "I told you. My stubborn, worried granddaughter."

But I caught the way her shoulders sagged slightly, the relief she couldn't quite hide. She'd been worried too, no matter how much she'd tried to pretend otherwise.

I turned back to Dr. White, pulling out my phone. "Could I have your direct line? Just in case we have any questions before the next appointment."

Dr. White nodded, writing down her number on a prescription pad. "Of course. Don't hesitate to call if anything changes or if you have concerns."

I tucked the paper carefully into my wallet as we left the exam room, Grandma's hand still in mine.

---

Back at the house, I insisted on checking the roof repairs before I left.

The contractor had done good work.

No more leaks.

No more puddles for a little girl to play in.

I stood in what used to be my childhood little playground, staring at the ceiling where the water stain had been. Fresh white paint covered it now, erasing years of neglect.

"It looks different, doesn't it?" Grandma appeared in the doorway.

I nodded slowly. "It's a fresh start. For both of us."

She smiled, but I could see the understanding in her eyes. "You need to get back."

"Yeah." I glanced at my watch. "I have class tomorrow morning, and I still need to—"

"Go." She shooed me gently toward the door. "You've done more than enough. "

I pulled her into a tight embrace. "If anything comes up, you call me directly. Promise me."

"I promise." She patted my back.

---

The drive back to Boston felt longer than usual. My phone buzzed halfway through—a text from Daniel.

*Safe travels. Let me know when you're back.*

Simple. Considerate.

The word sent an unexpected warmth through my chest, even as I reminded myself this wasn't a real marriage.

I typed and deleted three responses before settling on: *Will do. Thank you.*

Stepping back into my dorm room felt surreal, like I'd been gone for months instead of days.

Everything was exactly as I'd left it—my textbooks still open on the desk, Olivia's jacket draped over her chair, the coffee mug I'd forgotten to wash sitting by the window.

But something fundamentally different. I'd gone from Emma Johnson, college student, to Emma Prescott, married woman.

Olivia was out—probably at the station, working on some story—so I had the space to myself. I collapsed onto my bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to process everything that had happened in the past week.

My phone rang, shattering the silence. Victoria's name flashed on the screen.

I almost didn't answer. But something in me—old habit, daughterly obligation—made me pick up.

"Emma, thank God." Her voice was high, panicked. "I need you to come home. Right now."

My heart dropped. "What's wrong? What happened?"

For a split second, I wondered if she knew about my breakup with Nicholas.

"It's Leo. He fell. Robert's at work and I—I don't know what to do. There's blood and—"

"Mom, slow down," I said, already moving toward the door. "Is he conscious? Is he breathing?"

"Yes, yes, but Emma, please. I need you."

The words cut through me. *I need you.* Words I'd waited my whole childhood to hear.

"Call 911 first," I said, already moving toward the door. "I'm on my way. Twenty minutes."

I made it in fifteen.

Victoria's house—Robert's house, really—was a tidy colonial in a respectable suburb. The kind of place that screamed "we're doing just fine, thank you very much."

Victoria met me at the door, Leo cradled against her chest, his face red and streaked with tears. He was sobbing in great hiccupping gasps, his small body trembling with each cry.

"Where's he hurt?" I rushed forward.

She turned him slightly, pointing to his leg. A scrape, maybe two inches long, with a bit of dried blood at the edge.

Relief flooded through me so quickly it left me dizzy. Then, just as swiftly, something else rose in its place—a slow-burning irritation I couldn't quite name.

"That's it?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.

"I know it looks small, but Emma, what if it needs stitches? What if it gets infected?" Victoria's eyes were wild with maternal panic.

"Robert said I was being dramatic, but you know how boys are with injuries. They don't complain until it's serious."

I stared at her, momentarily speechless.

Grandma's tumor was nothing to worry about. My fainting spell and overnight hospital stay barely warranted a phone call. But Leo's scraped knee—that was an emergency worthy of a panicked call and dramatic intervention.

The disparity left me cold.