Emma and Dylan swirled around the dance floor, lost in the music of their first dance as newlyweds. The world around them seemed to disappear—the soft glow of the chandelier, the murmur of the guests, and the quiet beauty of their shared moment. It was perfect, except for one thing. Her parents weren’t here to see her so happy.
The gentle hum of the music was interrupted by a cough, pulling Emma out of her dreamy state. She blinked, confused, and then looked up to see Mr. Scotliff, the manager of the hotel where they were hosting their reception. He looked uncomfortable, fidgeting with his hands.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, glancing at Emma and Dylan with an apologetic look. “But, um, there’s someone outside asking to see you, Mrs. Henderson.”
Emma raised an eyebrow. “Who?”
“She says she’s your grandmother,” Mr. Scotliff replied, his eyes flicking nervously to Dylan.
“Grandmother?” Emma’s heart skipped a beat. “Who, exactly?”
“Martha,” he finished, his voice trailing off.
Dylan stiffened at the mention of Emma’s grandmother, but before he could say anything, Emma spoke up.
“I’ll go see what she wants,” she said, her voice tight. She didn’t want to make a scene, but she also didn’t want Martha staying long. Her grandmother was not someone she wanted to deal with right now.
Stepping outside into the cool evening air, Emma spotted her grandmother, standing awkwardly near the entrance, holding a small, unassuming red box. When Martha saw her, her face lit up, and she beamed a smile.
“You look absolutely stunning, darling,” Martha said, her voice filled with an unexpected sweetness. She reached for Emma’s hand, but Emma stepped back.
“What are you doing here?” Emma’s voice was colder than she intended. “You weren’t invited. You know why, don’t you?”
Martha’s smile faltered, but she nodded, her eyes welling up with tears. “I know, Emma. I know. But I had to see you get married. You’re my only granddaughter.”
“That’s not enough,” Emma shot back, her arms crossed tightly. “If it weren’t for you, my father would’ve been here. He would’ve walked me down the aisle. But you… you chose not to help him when he needed you the most.”
Martha’s eyes welled up with more tears, and she stepped forward, holding out the small red box. “I’m sorry, Emma,” she whispered. “I regret everything. I just… I just wanted to give you a wedding gift. It’s not much, but please… take it.”
Emma hesitated, glaring at the box with suspicion. She didn’t want anything from this woman who had caused so much pain, but curiosity got the better of her. She snatched the box from Martha’s hands and ripped it open. Inside, there was a tiny piece of jewelry—something Emma couldn’t even make out in the dim light.
“A ring?” Emma sneered. “This? This is what you think will make up for everything?” She tossed the box to the side with disgust. “How did you even get this? Did you steal it from someone?”
Martha flinched, her face crumbling. “No, dear, I—”
“Don’t lie to me,” Emma interrupted, her voice rising with rage. “If you had helped my father, he wouldn’t have gone to prison! He wouldn’t have died in there, alone, while you just sat back and did nothing!”
Tears spilled down Emma’s cheeks as she pointed at Martha, her chest heaving with anger and hurt. “Get out of here, Martha! I don’t want to see you again! Ever!”
Martha wiped at her own eyes, her voice trembling as she spoke, “I know you hate me. But I have always loved you, Emma. Please understand that.”
And then, without another word, Martha turned away, walking slowly with the help of her cane. Emma stood frozen, watching her grandmother disappear into the shadows of the hotel parking lot. Her heart felt heavy, weighed down by the bitterness and pain of everything that had happened between them.
Her mind flashed back to the day everything had gone wrong. Emma was a young girl, sitting in her father’s lawyer’s office. Mr. Morgan, the lawyer, had a gruff manner, but Emma trusted him.
“I don’t have good news, kid,” Mr. Morgan had started, his voice low and serious. “The people who are suing your father, they’re asking for compensation. A lot of money.”
Emma had felt her stomach drop. “How much?”
The figure he had given her had made her feel dizzy. “I don’t have that kind of money,” she had said, struggling to stay calm.
Mr. Morgan had shaken his head. “If we don’t pay them, we’re going to court. Your dad could end up in prison. For a long time.”
The panic had hit Emma then. “Isn’t there any other way?”
“I wish there was, kid. But the only option is to get the money. Otherwise, your dad’s going to jail.”
“I’ll find a way,” Emma had whispered, more to herself than to Mr. Morgan. But she had known deep down that finding the money wouldn’t be easy.
And so, Emma had turned to the only person she could think of—her grandmother, Martha.
Martha had been sitting on her front porch when Emma had arrived, breathless and panicked. She had known something was wrong the moment Emma had stepped into the yard.
“Emma, what’s going on? You look pale. Did you hear from the lawyer?” Martha had asked.
Emma had explained the situation as quickly as she could. “If we don’t pay this money, Dad’s going to jail. I don’t know what to do.”
Martha had listened quietly, her face unreadable. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you,” she had said, shaking her head.
“Please,” Emma had begged. “We can sell the bakery. That should be enough to cover it.”
Martha had stiffened, a look of panic crossing her face. “No. I can’t sell it. It’s all I have.”
“Gran, please! It’s my father! He’s going to jail!” Emma had cried, her voice breaking.
But Martha had been firm. “I can’t sell it. If I do, I’ll have nothing left.”
“You’re willing to let him rot in jail?!” Emma had shouted. “You’re choosing your stupid bakery over family! I hate you! I’ll never speak to you again if you don’t help us!”
Martha had just shaken her head, watching Emma storm out the door, slamming it behind her.
The days had gone by, and despite her best efforts, Emma had been unable to raise the money. Her father had ended up in prison, and soon after, he had died there, all alone.
The call had come one afternoon while she was grocery shopping. “This is Inspector Harrison,” the voice on the phone had said. “I’m afraid your father… he passed away last night. It was a heart attack. He went quickly.”
Emma had dropped everything in the store and collapsed in the aisle, tears streaming down her face. “No,” she whispered over and over.
Six months after his death, Emma had finally found the strength to move forward. But the anger towards her grandmother had never faded. Until now.
Holding the tiny red jewelry box in her hand, Emma’s thoughts spun with confusion and resentment. “Why now?” she whispered to herself. She wanted to throw the box across the room, but instead, she opened it, revealing an emerald ring, sparkling in the dim light. “Is this… real?” Dylan’s voice brought her back to the moment.
“Emma, is that an emerald ring?” he asked, his voice full of surprise.
Emma didn’t answer. She just stared at it, the weight of it sinking in. How had her grandmother been able to afford this? What had she been hiding?
There was something else, too. A tiny folded note peeked out from the broken box. Emma grabbed it, unfolding the paper carefully. Her eyes scanned the words.
Dear Emma,
I know you hate me for what I did, but your father wasn’t a good man. He hurt people and didn’t care. I tried to warn your mother not to marry him, but she didn’t listen. I regret not saving him, but he didn’t deserve to be saved. And neither did you deserve to be his daughter.
I hope you can understand one day. I wanted to keep the bakery for you, not for me. I hope you don’t hate me forever. Please take this ring as part of my wedding gift. A lawyer will contact you soon.
Love, Gran.
Emma felt a wave of shock and disbelief wash over her. “Oh God,” she whispered, tears welling up again. Her heart ached as the words sank in.
The next morning, Emma drove straight to her grandmother’s house, desperate for answers. But when she arrived, she was met with a surprising sight—two large moving trucks parked in front. People were unloading furniture, moving into the house.
“What’s going on here?” Emma asked one of the movers, her voice sharp with anger.
The mover just shrugged. “We don’t know, lady. We were just told to move everything in. The house was sold.”
Emma’s heart pounded in her chest as she turned to Martha’s neighbor, Judy, for answers.
“What do you mean sold?” Emma asked, her voice trembling.
Judy’s face softened with sympathy. “Martha sold the house a few weeks ago. She said it was for you.”
“Wait, what?” Emma stammered. “Why didn’t she tell me?”
Judy hesitated, looking uncomfortable. “She was diagnosed with stage four skin cancer. She didn’t want to tell you. She didn’t want you to worry.”
Emma felt her knees give out. “Where is she?” she asked desperately.
“She moved to Frank’s Motel,” Judy said quietly. “She didn’t want to go to a hospital.”
Emma didn’t waste a second. She rushed to Frank’s, heart pounding. When she arrived, the receptionist gave her the worst news.
“She passed away last night,” the receptionist said, her voice low and uncomfortable.
Emma’s world spun as she staggered away from the desk, her body shaking with grief. The scream that tore from her throat echoed in the empty hallway.
