CHAPTER 241: FINDING EMMA (EDITED)

Inside, lying propped up on a makeshift bed of folded blankets and thin pillows, was Emma. Her face pale, eyes sunken from months of unconsciousness but open.

For a breathless moment, cousin met cousin... two lives forever tangled in pain and survival. Jean’s lips parted, a rush of tears blurring her vision.

"Emma..."

And Emma, her voice raspy, barely above a whisper, answered back. "Jean... you found me..."

Logan stood at the threshold, one hand resting on the frame, gaze locked on Jean as she knelt beside Emma. He had seen Jean many times... furious, proud, unbreakable but never like this. Shoulders shaking, voice breaking into raw relief.

For a fleeting second, he wished he could step in, wrap his arms around her, shield her from every pain this world kept throwing at her.

Beside him, Hannah swallowed hard, her fingers twisting nervously at the hem of her jacket. "She really loves Emma, doesn’t she..." Hannah whispered, her voice tinged with awe and sadness.

Logan nodded silently, unable to tear his eyes away.

Through the faint lamplight, they watched Emma’s pale hand reach for Jean’s, gripping with a strength that surprised them all. And Jean... despite the storm raging in her own life... leaned closer, eyes shimmering, whispering something neither Logan nor Hannah could hear.

Hannah’s chest tightened. She knew Jean was always composed, always guarded. But now, stripped of her armor, she was nothing more than a woman desperate to protect the only family that mattered to her.

"Brother..." Hannah murmured softly, barely audible. "She really is trying to hold everything together, isn’t she?"

Logan’s jaw tightened.

"She always has. Now she’s letting go of all the things which have been holding her back." And though he couldn’t hear Jean’s words, he could feel the weight of them... a promise, maybe even a prayer.

For a moment, the room felt too small for the emotions swirling between the four of them. Pain, relief, love, guilt... tangled into something that words couldn’t capture.

Yet from where they stood, Logan and Hannah could see it clearly. Jean was no queen on a marble throne. She was a woman fighting tooth and nail to keep the people she loved safe. And right now, that made her more powerful than ever.

________________________

Downstairs, the dull creak of the wooden floorboards matched the uneasy silence between the two men. Logan leaned against the cracked wall, arms crossed, watching Henry drop the groceries on the small kitchen counter.

Henry’s movements were deliberate but strained, his jaw tight, as though the burden on his shoulders weighed far heavier than the bags he carried.

"Henry," Logan started, voice even but firm, "what are you planning to do with that?"

Henry paused... shoulders stiffening ever so slightly. Slowly, he turned, the edge of a gun glinting at his waist where it was half hidden under his shirt.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them grew heavy, charged with silent questions.

"After what Emma told me," Henry finally said, voice low, roughened by fatigue and fear, "it’s the only thing that could protect us."

Logan’s brows furrowed, gaze fixed on the weapon. "And what exactly did Emma tell you that made you think you’d need to carry that?"

Henry met his eyes. "Things you wouldn’t want Jean to know yet. Not until Emma can speak for herself."

Logan’s jaw tightened, the words twisting in his chest. "Henry, you know this could make things worse, right? If someone finds out you’re armed..."

"I know," Henry cut in sharply. His voice wavered just enough to reveal the turmoil inside. "But if Alex, or anyone from that family, tries to finish what they started... I won’t let them touch her again."

For a beat, the silence returned, broken only by the faint sound of Jean’s muffled voice upstairs, comforting Emma.

Logan exhaled slowly, the worry in his eyes softening just slightly.

"Just promise me you’ll think before you act. Jean’s been through enough... the last thing she needs is to see another person she trusts fall."

Henry lowered his gaze, fingers brushing the handle of the gun before pulling his hand away. "I know, Logan. But you and I both know sometimes... thinking isn’t enough."

Their eyes locked... two men standing on the same side, yet divided by fear of what might come next.

Above them, the soft murmurs of the women reminded them exactly who they were fighting for.

_____________________________

Upstairs, the dim light from the dusty lamp pooled around Emma’s frail figure, her head propped gently against the pillow. Her breathing was shallow but steady... alive, real.

All the nights spent imagining this moment felt nothing like reality. Emma’s eyes fluttered, catching sight of Jean.

"Jean..." Emma’s voice cracked... dry, barely above a whisper.

And just like that, Jean couldn’t hold back anymore. The mask she’d worn so long... calm, unshaken, resilient... broke apart in a flood of relief and grief.

"Emma... I thought I lost you," Jean choked out, her vision swimming with tears. "I thought you were gone, that I’d never get to see you open your eyes again."

Emma tried to smile, though it faltered under the weight of her exhaustion. "I’m here... because of you," she whispered hoarsely.

"Don’t say that," Jean’s voice cracked, a sob bursting from her chest. "Don’t put that on me. You shouldn’t have been the one to suffer like this. I should’ve protected you... I should’ve done something, Emma."

Hannah hovered behind, eyes starting to leak too, but she stayed quiet, letting them have this moment.

Emma squeezed Jean’s hands with surprising strength.

"You did protect me... You never gave up... I heard your voice sometimes, even when I couldn’t open my eyes. It kept me fighting, Jean."

Jean lowered her forehead to Emma’s joined hands, tears spilling silently, dampening Emma’s thin blanket.

"I’m so sorry... I’m so, so sorry for everything you had to go through," she whispered, her words ragged.

Emma’s fingers stroked Jean’s knuckles shakily, her voice fragile but certain.

"Don’t be sorry... Just stay... Stay with me a little longer."

Jean lifted her head, wiped her eyes roughly, and managed a small, watery smile.

"Always," she promised, her voice soft but unwavering. "I’m not going anywhere."