The Forbidden Throb Chapter 70

Emma's POV:

I woke to sunlight streaming through familiar curtains, disoriented for a moment before memory flooded back.

I'd fallen asleep at the coffee table again while Daniel explained surgical procedures, and somehow—*again*—I'd woken up properly tucked into bed.

Like magic.

When I was little, Dad used to do that. No matter where I fell asleep—curled up with a book in the living room, my head on the kitchen table during homework—I'd always wake up safe in my own bed.

After he died, that magic disappeared. I'd learned to sleep wherever exhaustion claimed me, to wake up stiff and cold.

But now...

I touched the blanket Daniel must have pulled over me, feeling that familiar tightness in my throat.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, shattering my thoughts.

**Mom calling...**

I stared at the screen, my stomach knotting. We hadn't connected since that day at the hospital—when she'd hurried off with Leo cradled in her arms and Robert at her side.

"Hello?"

"Emma." Victoria's voice came through crisp and expectant. "I need you to come home today. It's Leo's birthday, and I've planned a small family celebration."

*Family celebration.* The words felt hollow. When had we ever really been a family?

But something in her tone made me pause. Maybe it was the lingering warmth from waking up cared for. Maybe it was remembering those happy moments when Dad was still alive, when we were actually a happy family.

"What time?" I heard myself say.

"Two o'clock. Don't be late, Emma. And don't forget to bring a gift for your brother."

The call ended before I could respond.

I pulled myself together and got ready to leave.

The busy Dr. Prescott was already gone, as expected, but I was still grateful he'd helped me prepare last night. At least my mind wasn't completely blank anymore—I had some knowledge to work with now.

I pulled out my phone and typed a quick message:

*Thank you for last night. Your help meant more than you know. Ordered you lunch from that Italian place near MGH—should arrive around noon. Consider it a small token of appreciation.*

I hesitated for a moment before hitting send, then opened DoorDash to complete the order. Then slipped my phone into my bag and headed out the door.

---

The bakery downtown had a chocolate cake in the window that made me think of Leo's gap-toothed smile.

Despite everything—despite Robert's coldness and Victoria's favoritism—Leo was still just a kid. He deserved a good birthday.

I added a transformer toy to my basket, remembering I'd once heard him mention wanting one.

The drive to Robert's house in the suburbs felt longer than usual. The house looked exactly the same: Victoria's careful landscaping, Robert's car in the driveway, the perfect suburban facade that hid so much ugliness.

I knocked twice before Victoria opened the door, her face lighting up.

"Emma! You came!" She pulled me into a hug that smelled of her perfume. "Come in, come in. Leo will be so happy."

The living room was decorated with blue streamers and balloons.

Leo sat on the couch playing with his tablet, barely glancing up when I entered. Robert stood by the window, his expression neutral as he nodded in my direction.

"Leo, sweetie, look who's here!" Victoria's voice had that high, bright quality she used when performing the role of loving mother.

"Hi, Emma," Leo mumbled, eyes still on his screen.

"Happy birthday, buddy." I set the cake box and your present on the coffee table. "I got you something special."

That got his attention. He abandoned his tablet and tore into the wrapping paper with the enthusiasm only a seven-year-old could muster. But when he saw the transformer, his face fell.

"This is the small one," he said, voice flat with disappointment. "I wanted the big Optimus Prime. The one that talks and transforms automatically."

"Leo, that's—" I started, but he'd already turned to Victoria.

"Mom, this is the cheap version. Can Emma get me the bigger one?"

My face burned. "Leo, I—"

"Oh, honey." Victoria knelt beside him, her voice soothing. "I know it's not quite what you wanted. Emma probably didn't realize..."

She looked up at me and continued. "But maybe you could exchange it? The better one is only about a hundred dollars more."

*Only* a hundred dollars. As if that was pocket change. As if she didn't know exactly what my bank account looked like.

Robert's voice cut through the awkward silence.

"The girl brings a gift, and you're already asking for more? What kind of message does that send?"

For a fleeting second, I felt grateful—until he continued.

"Though I suppose Emma should have money to buy properly. That toy store on Main Street has the premium version. Shouldn't be hard to return this one."

The transformer toy felt heavy in my hands. My carefully selected gift, bought with money I couldn't afford to spend on myself, suddenly seemed pathetic.

"Actually," I said quietly, "I can't exchange it. I don't have the money for the more expensive version."

The room went silent. Victoria's eyes sharpened.

"What do you mean? "

I was so tired of pretending, of making myself smaller to fit into their narrow expectations.

"I left the position yesterday," I said quietly. "I don't have any income right now."

"You *quit*?" Victoria's voice rose with each word. "Emma Johnson, you're about to graduate, and you still haven't settled down. You finally got a job, and you should have worked hard at it. Why would you resign?"

I took a breath, forcing the words out. "My supervisor was inappropriate. He touched me during a work dinner. I reported it and left."

I expected shock. Maybe even concern. Instead, Victoria's expression hardened into something cold and calculating.

"Inappropriate how?" she demanded. "Emma, maybe this is your overreaction—"

"*Overreactions*?" The word came out sharper than I intended. "He put his hand on my thigh under the table. He made comments about private mentoring sessions. That's not an overreaction, that's *harassment*."

"Emma, you were always making mountains out of molehills. If a man is interested in you professionally, that's not harassment, that's *networking*. "

The betrayal hit like a physical blow.

"He. Touched. Me." I enunciated each word carefully, my hands shaking. "Without permission. That's assault, Mom."