Money Power 5

Emery’s POV

Being a woman who was once branded as infertile feels like the biggest slap in the face to everyone who said I wasn’t enough. Because the woman they called barren? She’s a mother now.

I didn’t cry or scream or laugh or dance around the room like someone in a cheesy movie. I just sat on the edge of my bed, quiet, with one hand resting on my stomach like it might keep me from floating away.

The word ‘pregnant’ still didn’t feel real, but the feeling? That was real.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t feel hollow. I didn’t feel like I was going through the motions just to survive. I felt something warm and steady and full.

I exhaled slowly and pressed my palm over the barely-there curve that would one day grow. I didn’t know how far along I was or what this meant for my future, but I knew one thing with every fiber of my being.

“I’ve got you,” I whispered. “And this time, no one gets to take it away.”

I didn’t want to tell anyone, not yet. Definitely not Portia, who would probably turn the news into a press release within the hour, complete with photo ops and legacy headlines. Not Lily, who would just accuse me of faking it to trap Landon or win sympathy points.

Landon himself didn’t even know, and honestly, I didn’t want him to. Not until I figured out what this meant for me. For us. If there was even still an “us” to speak of.

Right now, all I wanted was to keep this to myself. Just for a little while. This was mine.

I stood up and paced the room twice before grabbing my phone off the nightstand. My thumb hovered over the screen as I scrolled through my contacts.

Most of the names didn’t feel right. Too cold, and too connected to the Remington name. But then I stopped on one that did.

Isabel.

She’d been in the Remington house longer than I had. She wasn’t loud or nosey. She just… saw things. She saw me, even when I wished I could disappear.

She knew more than she let on, and she never held it against me. I found her downstairs, folding linens in the hallway like it was just another Tuesday.

“Isabel,” I said quietly.

She looked up right away, alert but calm. “Yes, ma’am?”

I hated being called that. It made me feel like Portia. “Can we talk?” I asked. She nodded and followed me to the guest room. I closed the door behind us and turned to face her.

“I need to go to the hospital,” I said. “Today, if possible.”

Her brow pulled together in concern. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I just need to check something. I’m okay, I just… I want you to come with me, if that’s okay.”

She paused, reading my face carefully, then nodded. “Of course. I’ll take care of it.”

That was the thing about Isabel. No questions. No judgment. Just quiet loyalty and a calm voice in a house that never stopped buzzing with criticism.

Two hours later, we were in an unmarked car with Isabel behind the wheel like we were going on some grocery run. No driver. No Remington security detail. Just her and me and the quiet hum of the road.

She glanced over once. “Do you want to talk?”

I shook my head. “Not yet.”

The rest of the drive was silent, but not the kind that made your skin crawl. It was peaceful. No one was lecturing me, ignoring me, or pointing out what I’d done wrong.

It was the first real quiet I’d had in weeks, and I let myself sit in it.

When we reached the clinic, Isabel handled the check-in while I sat with my hands gripping the edge of a plastic chair, trying to breathe evenly. The waiting room smelled like lemon disinfectant and something vaguely floral. It made me a little nauseous.

Eventually, they called my name. I followed a nurse through two double doors into a small room with pale blue walls and stiff paper lining the exam table.

Ten minutes later, the nurse turned on the monitor, and I heard it. The heartbeat.

It was fast and steady and loud. The sound echoed through the tiny room and landed right in the center of my chest. I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen. That flicker, that steady pulse, that was mine. That was ours.

Tears ran down my cheeks before I even realized I was crying. They weren’t dramatic or loud. Just slow, quiet proof that something inside me had finally broken free.

The nurse gave me a soft smile. “Are you okay, Mrs. Remington?”

I nodded, wiping at my face. “Yeah,” I said. “I finally am.”