Chapter 2 - The Return to Ground ZeroThe flight back to Chicago O'Hare later that evening was quiet. Aster Air management had granted Emily immediate bereavement—or rather, "catastrophic personal crisis"—leave, allowing her to deadhead back to base as a passenger rather than working the cabin.
She sat by the window in row twelve, watching the dark expanse of the Midwest unfold beneath the wing. The events of the morning felt like something out of a badly written soap opera, yet the reality was etched into her bones. Her engagement was over. Her wedding was cancelled. Her apartment—which she had shared with Ryan for three years—was currently filled with boxes, memories, and a lingering scent of betrayal.
As the Boeing 737 touched down at O'Hare, the familiar roar of the jet engines brought a strange sense of finality.
When Emily stepped off the jetway into Terminal 3, she expected to feel completely shattered. Instead, as she walked toward baggage claim with her rolling flight bag, she felt an odd, weightless lightness. She was accountable to no one. No more eighteen-hour catering shifts to pay for a wedding she never really wanted. No more walking on eggshells around Ryan’s passive-aggressive mother. No more compromising who she was to fit into a mold that didn't fit.
Her phone buzzed in her coat pocket.
She pulled it out. It was a text message from her mother, Helen: Sweetie, just checked the traffic, I'll be at your apartment by 8 p.m. Can't wait to see the final seating charts! Love you!
Emily stopped dead in the middle of the crowded terminal.
Oh, god.
Her mother didn't know. Nobody knew. Aunt Diane was currently barreling down I-90 with three boxes of handmade ceramic doves.
Before Emily could even figure out how to dial her mother’s number without causing a medical emergency second only to Walter's cardiac event, a familiar, deep voice called out from behind her.
"Going my way?"
Emily turned. Evan Brooks was walking toward her, his dark wool coat slung over one shoulder, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
"Evan?" Emily blinked in surprise. "What are you doing here? Your flight from Roanoke landed twenty minutes after mine, but I figured you'd take a cab straight to your hospital or home."
"I did take a cab," Evan said, stopping a few feet away. He ran a hand through his dark hair, looking slightly hesitant—a stark contrast to the absolute confidence he had displayed in the aircraft cabin. "Actually, I waited for you by baggage claim. I wanted to make sure you made it back okay."
"That's... surprisingly sweet," Emily said, a genuine smile touching her lips. "I'm fine, Evan. Really. Just tired, and facing the monumental task of telling my mother that her only daughter's wedding has been cancelled due to aviation-grade infidelity."
Evan winced sympathetically. "Ah. The mother-of-the-bride factor. That's heavy ordnance."
"It's a nuclear bomb," Emily corrected grimly. "She's already driving in from Wisconsin with half the reception decor in her station wagon."
Evan stood silent for a moment, his dark eyes studying her with an intensity that made her pulse skip a beat. Then, slowly, a bold, charming grin spread across his face.
"Well," Evan said casually. "If you need an alibi, a fake fiancé to scare off gossiping relatives, or just someone to help you drink the three tiers of vanilla wedding cake that are currently sitting in your fridge... my schedule is surprisingly open this weekend."
Emily stared at him, caught entirely off guard. A bubble of unexpected, genuine laughter escaped her lips. "Are you seriously offering to be my fake rebound fiancé to survive my mother's wrath?"
"I'm offering professional-grade support," Evan corrected smoothly, stepping a fraction closer. "After all, we make a pretty good emergency team. We already survived an unscheduled cardiac diversion together. How hard can an angry mother from Wisconsin be?"
Emily felt a warm, unfamiliar flutter in her chest—not the panicked, chaotic flutter of betrayal, but something light, bright, and entirely new.
"You are completely out of your mind, Dr. Brooks," Emily said, shaking her head, though her smile gave her away completely.
"Think about it," Evan said, pulling a sleek business card from his coat pocket and pressing it gently into her hand. "Call me before your mother arrives. Or call me if you just want to grab a drink and burn some wedding invitations in the alley behind your building. I'm your man either way."
He gave her a crisp, polite nod, turned on his heel, and walked toward the terminal exit, leaving Emily standing alone in the bustling crowd with a business card in her hand and a entirely unexpected ray of hope cutting through the storm.
By 7:45 PM, Emily’s apartment was a battlefield of emotional triage.
She had already stripped the living room of every photograph, gift, and reminder of Ryan. His clothes had been stuffed into three large black garbage bags and dumped by the front door with a polite sticky note reading: Pick them up or burn them.
The doorbell rang at precisely 7:59 PM.
Emily took a deep breath, smoothed out her sweater, and opened the door.
Her mother, Helen, stood on the welcome mat, holding a massive plastic tote filled with pastel napkins and ribbon, her face beaming with maternal excitement.
"Em, darling!" Helen cried, stepping forward to wrap her arms around Emily’s shoulders. "Oh, you look tired, sweetie. You've been working way too many hours on these flights. Where is Ryan? I thought he was supposed to be helping you pack up the final boxes."
Here it was. The moment of impact.
Emily stepped back, gently taking her mother's tote and setting it on the entryway table. She looked into her mother's warm, hopeful eyes, feeling a pang of deep sympathy.
"Mom," Emily said softly, her voice steady and clear. "Come sit on the couch. We need to talk."
Helen's smile faltered instantly. The plastic tote slipped slightly in her hands. "Talk? About what? Is everything okay with the venue? Did the florist call?"
"No," Emily said, taking her mother's hands in hers. "The venue is fine. The florist is fine. But the wedding is cancelled, Mom."
Silence descended upon the living room so heavy and absolute that the ticking of the kitchen clock sounded like a sledgehammer.
Helen stared at her daughter, her eyes widening in sheer incomprehension. "Cancelled? What do you mean, cancelled? Emily, it's Tuesday! The ceremony is on Saturday! Aunt Diane is halfway across the state with six hundred ceramic doves!"
"Mom, listen to me," Emily said calmly, holding her mother's gaze. "This morning, I covered a flight to Charleston. And I found out—with absolute, undeniable proof—that Ryan was flying to South Carolina with Claire. Sitting in row seven. Holding hands."
Helen's breath hitched. The color drained from her face, replaced instantly by a fiery, maternal fury that ran deep in the Carter bloodline.
"That... that miserable, lying, ungrateful son of a bitch," Helen hissed, her voice trembling with sudden rage. "Claire? Your best friend since fourth grade? I helped her mother pay for her braces!"
"I know, Mom," Emily said, a small, grim smile touching her lips. "I told them both to get off the plane in Virginia. And then I diverted the flight for a medical emergency."
Helen blinked, momentarily derailed by the plot twist. "You... you diverted a plane?"
"Long story. I'll tell you over wine."
Before Helen could process the sheer magnitude of the sentence, a sharp, confident knock echoed at the apartment door.
Emily frowned. She wasn't expecting anyone.
She walked over to the door and pulled it open.
Standing on the threshold was Evan Brooks. He was wearing a dark tailored jacket, holding a massive, decadent chocolate-truffle cake from a high-end bakery in one hand, and a bottle of expensive Cabernet Sauvignon in the other.
"I figured," Evan said smoothly, flashing a devastatingly charming smile, "that since there's a three-tier vanilla wedding cake sitting in your kitchen representing a failed enterprise, you might need a superior replacement. Also, I brought wine. Is this where the angry mother from Wisconsin is currently stationed?"
From the living room couch, Helen peered around the corner, her sharp eyes locking onto the tall, handsome cardiologist standing in her daughter's doorway.
Emily stared at Evan, her jaw dropping slightly before a bright, helpless laugh bubbled up from deep inside her chest.
"Mom," Emily called out, shaking her head as she looked back at Evan's smug, brilliant grin. "Meet Dr. Evan Brooks. He saves lives in his spare time, and apparently, he crashes broken-engagement parties."
May you like
Helen stood up from the couch, smoothing her skirt, a slow, approving smile spreading across her face as she looked Evan up and down.
"Well," Helen announced brightly, marching toward the door. "Don't just stand out there in the hall, doctor. Bring the cake inside. We have a lot of wine to drink and a wedding to un-plan."
