Emma was spinning in her new husband’s arms, lost in the joy of their first dance. The soft music wrapped around them like a warm blanket, and for a few perfect moments, everything felt just right. But as she gazed at Dylan, her heart swelled with happiness—there was still a hole, a painful absence that gnawed at her. Her parents weren’t here to witness this beautiful moment, and the thought tugged at her chest.
Then, like a shadow in the middle of their perfect night, the hotel manager’s voice interrupted the blissful quiet.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Henderson,” Mr. Scotliff said, looking a little uncomfortable as he approached them. “There’s someone outside who insists on seeing you.”
Emma blinked, slightly irritated, then furrowed her brow. “Who?”
“She says she’s your grandmother,” he replied carefully. “Martha.”
Dylan’s expression darkened instantly. “I’ll go tell her to leave.”
“No,” Emma said quickly, shaking her head. “She’ll cause a scene if I don’t go. Let me handle it.”
Her stomach twisted as she left the dance floor, walking outside with a sense of dread creeping up her spine. And there, standing under the lights, was Martha—her grandmother. The woman’s face lit up when she saw Emma, but there was a strain in the way her smile faltered. She held out a small, delicate box with both hands.
“You look just beautiful, darling,” Martha said, her voice trembling with emotion as she reached for Emma’s hand. But Emma stepped back, coldness filling her heart.
“What are you doing here? You weren’t invited for a reason,” Emma said, her voice sharp with tension. “I don’t think I need to remind you why.”
Martha’s smile faded as her eyes filled with tears, her voice quiet. “I know, Emma. But I had to see you get married. You’re my only granddaughter. I couldn’t miss it.”
Emma crossed her arms, anger bubbling inside her. “You should’ve stayed away. My father would’ve been here if it wasn’t for you—what you did. Or rather, what you didn’t do.”
Martha’s face softened with regret. “I’m so sorry, dear. I never meant for things to go this way. I only came to give you a wedding gift.”
The older woman handed Emma the tiny box, her hands trembling.
“I hope you like it,” Martha whispered, her voice barely audible.
Emma stared at the box, disgust rising in her chest. She didn’t want anything from this woman, not after everything that had happened.
“What is this?” Emma snapped as she opened the box and found a small piece of cheap-looking jewelry. “A tiny trinket? How did you even get this? Did you steal it?”
Martha flinched as Emma’s words cut through the air. “Oh, dear… I didn’t mean to…”
Emma didn’t wait for her to finish. “If it weren’t for your greed, my father would be here today! He would’ve walked me down the aisle. But no, you let him rot in prison! You could’ve helped us, but you didn’t. And now he’s gone, and I never even got to say goodbye!” Emma’s voice broke, but her fury pushed her on. “Just get out of here. I don’t want to see you ever again!”
Martha’s face crumpled in sorrow, her lips trembling. “Please, Emma. Don’t hate me. I’ve always loved you.”
With those final words, Martha turned away, leaning heavily on her cane as she slowly walked away. Emma watched her go, her heart heavy with the weight of years of resentment. But it wasn’t just the present that hurt—it was the past. And as the night air settled around her, Emma’s thoughts drifted back to the day that had shattered everything.
Years ago, Emma had sat in the lawyer’s office, listening to Mr. Morgan, her father’s lawyer, who spoke in a tone that was too serious, too final.
“I don’t have good news, kid,” he started, his rough voice blunt. “The people who reported your father want compensation. And the amount…” He paused, watching Emma’s face as her heart sank. “It’s a lot more than you think.”
Emma’s stomach churned. “How much?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
When Mr. Morgan told her the figure, her jaw went slack. “I don’t have that kind of money,” she said, her voice shaky. “Is there no other way?”
He shook his head. “If we don’t pay, your dad’s going to jail for a long time.”
Her chest tightened. “No… we can’t let that happen.”
“You need to find this money, kid. It’s the only way,” he insisted, and Emma nodded, her mind already spinning.
She had no idea how to come up with the money. Her credit was bad, and no friend could help her. But there was one person she could turn to—her grandmother, Martha.
“Gran?” Emma gasped, panting as she knocked on the door. The older woman opened it, her expression changing from surprise to concern when she saw Emma’s haggard face.
“You look awful, honey,” Martha said, stepping aside to let Emma in. “What’s wrong?”
Emma didn’t waste any time. She quickly explained the situation, how the amount was too much, how her father would go to prison if they didn’t pay. Martha sat down, listening carefully. But when Emma finished, she shook her head.
“I’m sorry, Emma,” she said softly. “I can’t help you. I don’t have that kind of money.”
Emma’s heart dropped. “Gran, please! We can sell the bakery. You’ll have more than enough.”
Martha’s eyes hardened, and her voice became firm. “No. The bakery is all I have. I can’t sell it.”
Emma’s emotions erupted. “You’re going to let my father go to prison? You’re going to let him die in there? If you don’t help us, I’ll never talk to you again! I hate you!”
Martha said nothing as Emma stormed out, her heart shattered. Emma didn’t have the money, and despite her best efforts, her father was sent to prison.
Months later, Emma received a call while she was shopping for groceries. The words that came through the phone were so surreal, so devastating, that she felt like the world had collapsed beneath her.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry to tell you… your father passed away last night. It was a heart attack. He died quickly.”
Emma’s knees buckled, and she collapsed in the middle of the grocery store aisle, crying uncontrollably into the phone. He was gone. And it was her grandmother’s fault.
Six months later, after her father’s body had been cremated, Emma could only feel the cold weight of loss. Martha had let her father die alone, and Emma would never forgive her for that.
Back at the wedding, Emma stood in the quiet aftermath, clutching the tiny jewelry box that Martha had given her. Dylan’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. “Where’s your grandmother?”
“She’s gone,” Emma replied, her voice thick with emotion. “For good.”
Before Dylan could say anything else, Emma’s eyes fell on the box again. She bit her lip and, in a burst of frustration, threw it to the ground with all her might.
“Emma!” Dylan yelled in alarm as the box shattered, revealing something unexpected.
An emerald ring. Sparkling, massive—beautiful.
“Is that an emerald ring?” Dylan asked, kneeling down to pick it up.
Emma felt her heart race. “How could she afford this?”
But there was more. A small piece of folded paper peeked from the broken box, and Emma’s fingers trembled as she pulled it free. The words on the paper chilled her to the bone.
Dear Emma,
I know you hate me for what I did, but your father was not a nice man. He did terrible things, and he never cared about the consequences. I warned my daughter not to marry him, but she didn’t listen. I regret it all. I know I could’ve saved him from jail, but he didn’t deserve it. Your father didn’t deserve you.
I wanted to keep the bakery for you, not for me. Please don’t hate me. Take this ring as part of your wedding gift. There’s more. A lawyer will contact you.
Love you to the moon and back,
Gran
Emma’s world tilted. She had no words, just a pounding heart. The truth was unraveling before her, but it was too much to process in this moment.
The next day, she drove to her grandmother’s house. But when she arrived, she saw two moving trucks parked outside. People were hauling boxes out of the house, and Emma’s stomach twisted with dread.
“Excuse me, what’s going on?” Emma demanded, hurrying toward the movers.
The workers seemed confused, but one finally said, “This house was sold recently, ma’am.”
Her heart sank. She needed answers.
Emma knocked on the door of Judy, Martha’s elderly neighbor, who invited her in with a soft smile.
“Judy, what’s going on?” Emma asked urgently.
“Martha moved weeks ago,” Judy replied. “She said she sold the house to give it to you. After her diagnosis, she didn’t want to leave you with nothing.”
Emma froze. “Diagnosis?”
Judy nodded gravely. “She had skin cancer. Stage four.”
“Where is she now?” Emma demanded, panic rising in her chest.
“She’s at Frank’s,” Judy said quietly.
Emma’s heart pounded as she rushed to Frank’s motel. Inside, the receptionist barely looked up as she approached the desk.
“Martha Colby. Please, where is she?”
The receptionist hesitated before answering, “She passed away last night. Found her in her room. The coroner’s already taken her body.”
Emma’s world shattered in that moment. She couldn’t breathe. The anger, the sorrow, the regret—all boiled over in a scream that echoed through the empty parking lot.
