21. Hannah
Chapter twenty-one
Hannah
A lan comes home from work that day late, smelling like his mistress. I sit at the kitchen table waiting for him. He walks in, his hair and shirt disheveled, and looks briefly around the house, almost dazed. He looks like shit and for the first time, I wonder if it's more than just maintaining two households.
He's always been so prim and proper, so worried about appearances, but the man in front of me looks like he's been on a three-week bender.
I take a deep breath in and out before his eyes lock into mine.
“Alan, it’s time we separate. I’ve written up separation papers. I’d like you to pack your things and leave by the end of the week.” I say emotionlessly. He sits his bag down, still confused, before walking over and taking the papers from my hand. A mix of emotions plays their way across his face. First shock, then hurt, then anger. But he latches onto anger.
“What the fuck is this, Hannah?!” he shouts at me. I jump involuntarily and regret it immediately. I showed weakness and he was going to take advantage.
“They’re separation papers, Alan. It’s been long overdue.” I say, standing up and putting some space between us. "You're unhappy, I'm unhappy. We can tell the world whatever you want so you come out looking like the good guy. Tell them I cheated. Tell them I'm a filthy slob, I really don't care."
“Are you cheating on me?!” he says, disgust dripping from his voice. The double standard is really too much. It's perfectly acceptable for him to have been cheating on me with his secretary for years, but the idea of the woman cheating is just too much for his tiny brain to fathom.
“Yes. And you’re cheating on me. So, we’re both unhappy. Let’s just go our separate ways.” Matty told me not to admit to the affair, but also that he would need proof of the affair to get any leverage in court and we're pretty sure he doesn’t have any. He didn't know about the affair until just now, so he wouldn't have had time to gather evidence.
“You think you can fucking do better than me?! You think you can embarrass me like this?!” he shouts, crossing the room in three large strides and swinging his hand across my face. I honestly wasn’t expecting him to hit me, so I didn’t even duck or try to defend myself. The hit causes me to see bright white stars on a black background as I fall to my knees. I cradle my face in my hands, tenderly touching it to try to assess the damage. I feel warm, wet liquid on my hands and begin to sob. I had never been hit in the face before and the pain of it is mind-numbing. I had been foolish to think he would never hit me. But would he stop at one?
I scramble away on the floor as he comes closer. He grabs my arm roughly and pulls me up, only to hit me again. I can’t stop the tears and the sobbing that wrack my chest, but I hate myself for my weakness. I grab at something behind me to throw at him, pulling my arm desperately to get away. The vase I grabbed bounces off of his chest and shatters on the tile floor. I was screaming at him to stop but it didn’t even sound like my own voice. The person screaming was panicked, animalistic, terrified.
I almost didn’t register the loud bang of the front door bursting open. My heartbeat and adrenaline fill my ears and everything else is quiet. It isn’t until Alan freezes that I realize we aren’t alone. My vision is blurry and I blink away the tears and blood to try to understand what had changed. I see a silver barrel pressed against Alan’s head. Alan’s hand finally releases my arm, but I can tell already bruises are already forming.
I wipe my eyes, trying desperately to see who is holding the gun to my husband and to assess if I am in even more danger. I let out a long sigh of relief when I realize it's Santiago and that I am safe.