Emeralds core-
Her chest felt heavy.
She had escaped from Simeon successfully—with Early's help—but a stray thought hovered in her mind:
Why was she even running?
She could have walked through the front gate and saved herself the sprint.
But then again, psychology proves that what we experience repeatedly becomes familiar, and familiarity often feels like truth.
Running, hiding, slipping through cracks…
All her life, Emerald had believed that was the only way to survive.
"I look exactly like her."
She paused by a dusty windowpane, catching her reflection—her mother's reflection.
The same brown eyes.
The same hair.
The same eyelids.
And the same caged sorrow.
Her feet began to move, almost unconsciously.
Guided by memory.
Guided by grief.
Before she knew it, she was kneeling before the grave she'd spent years trying to forget.
"Mother… it's me. Emerald."
Tears shimmered in her eyes as she gently touched the engraved name.
"I'm sorry I have to come to you like this. It's just… it's hard, Mother. So hard. I wish I could be wherever you are."
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a necklace.
The last gift her mother ever gave her.
The night she lost the right to be a daughter.
Memory surged.
"Sleep, child," her nanny whispered, cradling her tiny frame.
But young Emerald had always been stubborn.
Restless with questions she didn't know how to ask.
Then came the silence.
A horrifying, familiar stillness.
And her father's footsteps—measured, yet furious.
"Call the Commissioner," Louis had said.
Emerald ran down with tiny feet, pushing past her nanny.
And then she saw it.
Blood.
"Mama?" she called, her voice a trembling thread.
Her mother—Sarah—lay lifeless.
And her father stood above her, soaked in red.
There was no remorse.
No confusion.
Only revenge in his eyes.
"Papa… what happened to her?" she asked, her small hands clutching his bloodied shirt.
Louis looked at her, eyes softening only briefly with fake pity.
He pulled her into a hug—tight, cold, suffocating—then pushed her away.
"Your mother is dead. From now on, you have only me. One family. One source of life."
"I am your entire world. Do not betray me."
"But… wait…" Emerald's voice cracked. "She's just sleeping, right? I'll wake her. She can't leave me. She promised…"
She tried to reach out to her mother, but Louis yanked her back.
"Go to your room, Emerald."
A silent signal sent the nanny dragging her up the stairs.
And just like that—just like that—her entire world was annihilated.
That night killed one Emerald and birthed another.
One who understood that pain would become her daily language.
That laughter had an expiry date.
And love could be soaked in blood.
Back in the present, Emerald placed the flowers gently on the grave.
"Did you find it hard to breathe too?" she whispered.
"Would you have talked if someone listened?"
"Did you see it coming? Is that why you gave me this necklace?"
"Was this your final goodbye?"
She clutched her chest.
"Because that night, I said goodbye to myself too."
Her voice cracked.
"Still… wherever you are, Mother—if God exists the way you said He does—
I hope He finds you.
And I hope He's kind enough to make me your daughter again in the next life."
An hour passed.
Emerald wiped her face and turned toward the glass sliding doors.
She walked fast, her heart thudding.
She was drained.
Emotionally limp.
Done with the day.
Until—
A shoulder bumped into hers.
She looked up—and for a second, she almost scolded Asher for stalking her.
But the man's frame was taller. Broader. Different.
Still, he held himself like Asher—annoyed and proud, like a storm in shoes.
"So I can see ghosts now?" the man said.
"Excuse me?" Emerald blinked.
"Pale face. Weak body. Loose hair. Yeah, definitely a ghost," he replied casually.
Emerald stared, stunned.
"Who are you?"
"Ouch. You don't know me? Thought I was famous among the undead."
He smirked.
"Are you a stalker? My father's business rival?" she asked, subtly reaching for the laser in her back pocket.
"Too handsome to stalk, love. Also, lasers don't work well on grown men. Don't belittle me."
"I am not a ghost," she snapped.
"Exactly what a ghost would say."
He grinned wider.
"Asher told me you'd be fishy."
Emerald froze.
"You know Asher?"
"Sadly, yes. I'm his unpaid therapist." He extended a hand, mockingly formal.
"Jonah. Friend to a friend. Not a stalker. Not an enemy."
"Emerald," she responded, reluctantly but slightly comforted.
"I know. The tech girl. What brought you here?"
"Personal reasons," she said flatly.
"Hmm. If your reasons are personal, just know—your father was here. Like… minutes ago. He left the same direction you came from."
Her heart stopped.
Father? Here? How?
"Just trying to build trust with my friend's—well, never mind," Jonah shrugged.
He grew quiet for a second, then added:
"You know, you don't always have to pile everything in your head. If it makes you feel better, my mom is dead too."
"Well, not dead-dead—but to me she is. Left when I was two. Can't even remember what she looks like."
"But you? You watched yours leave. That… must mess with you."
He glanced at her.
"I'm talking too much, aren't I?"
"A little bit," Emerald replied, cracking a small, unintentional smile.
"Yeah. That's my other talent—besides looking dangerously good."
Then softly, almost quietly—
"I mean it though… You really don't have to grieve and feel heavy alone."
For the first time that day, Emerald didn't feel like she was drowning.
Jonah was odd.
Talkative.
Emotionally available in the most unexpected way.
And strangely…
That made her feel seen.