Shadows Of A Forgotten Spring

Chapter 7

Emma asked for a day off at the flower shop, and Mrs. Sarah Hayes granted it without much questioning. Her kind eyes filled with understanding.

Dressed in her most expensive suit, Emma stood before the towering skyscraper, its glass facade glinting under the morning sun, and let out a heavy sigh. The weight of the day pressed down on her. She felt a knot tightening in her stomach.

With every step towards the reception, her heart drummed louder, echoing in her ears. Approaching the polished counter, the world around her grew dim as she held out to the receptionist the crisply letter that the man given to her yesterday. The seconds the receptionist's eyes landed on her, her expression shifted; the color drained from her face, and she struggled to breathe. Emma was caught in a moment that felt all too familiar because It was the exact reaction Marina had given her that day in the hospital, and her discomfort flared up once more, prickling her skin.

Why do they all look at me like that? She thought, the anger and curiosity combining in her stomach. She took a deep breath then, forcing herself to look away from the receptionist, trying to appear as casual as possible. Even if she did happe to look a lot like Mrs. Walker's dead daughter, there was no way anyone could actually confuse her with a person who was n longer alive.

"This way, ma'am." The receptionist finally managed, her voice quivering with politeness overdone, and motioned to the elevator.

Emma nodded, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, and stepped forward. But as she entered the elevator, she fe the stares of the bystanders follow her.

She stepped onto the 69th floor in less than a minute, confused, her heart pounding with uncertainty. The sleek, modern decor felt all too familiar to her, and she hesitated, not sure where to go next. But before she could gather her wits, her silence was sliced by a sharp and accusing voice. "What are you doing here?" Marina asked, her look miles away from cordia eyes slit under suspicion.

Emma stuttered, words tumbling in her throat. "Well, Mrs. Walker sent for me."

"She-"

Marina's reply was cut off abruptly by a rich, frail voice. "I called for her. Come in." Mrs. Walker interjected, tone not allowin for argument.

"My apologies." Marina said, stance falling into one of professionalism as she inclined her head slightly. "I wasn't informed." Emma took a deep breath and then walked past Marina. The thick silence between them as heavy as a rock. She followed Mrs. Walker into her multimillion-dollar office: imposing, yet invidiously elegant, a testament to money and power.

They sank into two over-scaled armchairs, the plush upholstery swallowing Emma as she tried to steady her nervous system. Tea was served out of exquisitely delicate glass cups that made her own wardrobe seem almost comically inexpensive. The fragile cup resting between Emma's hands triggered a surge of self-consciousness.

Mrs. Walker smiled warmly but measuredly and began speaking. Thank you for coming, Veronica appreciate your taking the time to meet with me." She paused, studying Emma a moment longer before she continued, "I'm Mrs. Walker, of course But you likely already knew that."

Emma nodded as the weight of the moment settled around them, her heart racing at the uncertainty of what was to come.

"I realized I never really took the time to thank you for saving my life. I really wouldn't be here if it weren't for you, Veronica," Mrs. Walker said in a soft tone, but sincere.

"You've thanked me, ma'am," Emma replied, quiet, her voice straining composure.

But Mrs. Walker just shook her head, something deeper in her eyes, something unsaid. She reached across the table, taking

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Chapter 7

Emma's hands in surprising tenderness. "No, I didn't thank you in a way that befits my name."

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And before Emma could utter her protest, Mrs. Walker had reached into her sleek leather bag and extended an envelope toward her. One of those grand yet personal gestures that spoke volumes more than words.

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Emma's chest constricted, her breath catching in her throat. She shook her head firmly, pushing the envelope away. "Your thank you is more than enough, ma'am," she said, her voice trembling just slightly. "I didn't save you because of who you are, but because that's the kind of person my father raised me to be

Tears welled in her eyes, despite her best efforts to keep them at bay. The memory of her father, his weak, kind face, the way he'd always told her to do right no matter what, came flooding back, along with the searing pain of his loss. He had died alone, helpless, of a heart attack. No one had been there to save him, no kind stranger to step in as she had for Mrs. Walker.

"I'm fine, thank you," she whispered. Her voice was barely audible.

Mrs. Walker blinked in surprise at the decline from Emma. She leaned into Veronica, the lilt of her voice soft and insistent. "I can multiply the money, Veronica. This is just the beginning.

Emma rose to her feet, her hands shaking at her sides. The offer was a tempting one. The money could change everything for her and her child but, she couldn't bring herself to take it. This wasn't who she was raised to be. Her father had brought her up with principles, and no amount of money in the world could make her bend those principles.

"It's more than enough, ma'am. Your 'thank you, "she repeated, firm now.

Without another word, Emma turned and walked out of Mrs. Walker's office, her heart heavy but her conscience clear. She didn't stop, didn't look back, not even for a second. She left the building the same way she had come in. SEND GIFT