Chapter 30 Connor
Connor
The door clicked shut behind Hannah’s parents. I stood beside the table, the ruined dinner still spread out, my hands clenched into fists.
Hannah stood frozen, staring at the door. Her face was pale, her hands trembling.
I needed to do something. I couldn’t just stand here watching Hannah hurt.
“You should sit,” I said, pulling out her chair.
She didn’t move. Just stared at the door like her parents might come back.
“Hannah.” I touched her elbow, guiding her toward the chair. “Sit. Please.”
She let me guide her down, mechanical. My chest tightened.
“You need water.” I was already moving toward the kitchen, grabbing a glass, filling it at the tap. My hands were steady—they were always steady when there was a task to complete. “Here. Drink.”
I pressed the glass into her hand. She took one sip. Not enough. I took her wrist gently, checking her pulse. Elevated. Her skin was cold.
She pulled her wrist away. “Connor, I’m fine—”
“You’re not fine.” I released her wrist and started clearing plates from the table.
Give her space but keep things organized.
That’s what you do in a crisis—handle the logistics.
“We should talk about the interview. Maybe I should rent a car for the 28th. It’ll be quieter than the train, we can work on interview questions during the drive. ”
Hannah stood up, moving away from the table. Away from me.
“And I’ll send you notes on Victoria’s leadership style tonight. What she values, how she makes decisions.” I grabbed my phone, opening my calendar. “Tomorrow I can get your suit to the dry cleaner, load some boxes in the car so the movers don’t have to deal with the fragile items—”
“Connor.” Her voice cut through my planning. Sharp. “Stop.”
I looked up.
Hannah's hands pressed flat against the table like she needed it to hold her up. “Just—stop. Stop cleaning. Stop planning. Stop fixing.”
“I’m just trying to help—” I set down the phone but my hands immediately went back to the plates, needing something to do. “If we can show them you’re successful, if you nail this interview—”
“I don’t need you to solve this.”
I stopped moving. “Then what do you need? Tell me and I’ll—”
“I need you to just be here!” Tears welled in her eyes. “I don’t need a game plan or talking points or… or fucking temperature checks. I need you to sit with me and feel this instead of trying to fix it.”
I stared at her, the plate still in my hands. Sit with it. Feel it. The exact opposite of everything I knew how to do.
“I don’t know how to do that.” The admission came out rougher than I meant it to.
“Then learn.” Her voice cracked. “Because this—” She gestured at the dishes, the phone, at me. “This is exhausting.”
I set the plate down carefully. “I’m trying to help.”
“By micromanaging me?”
“By making sure you’re okay!” My voice rose. “That’s what I do—I take care of things. I fix problems before they get worse.”
“I’m not a problem, Connor.”
“That’s not—” I ran both hands through my hair. “You’re hurting. I can see you hurting. And I can’t just stand here watching it happen.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what I do!” The words burst out. “I take care of people. I manage crises. I make sure everything runs smoothly so nothing falls apart.” My voice dropped. “That’s all I know how to do.”
Hannah stared at me, and some of the anger melted from her expression, replaced by something that looked like understanding. Something that felt worse than her anger had.
“Is that what you think love is?” she asked quietly. “Taking care of everything so nothing goes wrong?”
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
With Mom, love had meant coordinating care, managing symptoms, making sure she had everything she needed. Making lists. Following protocols. Staying three steps ahead.
And with Hannah—I’d been doing the same thing. Making lists, planning contingencies, trying to anticipate her needs before she even knew what they were.
“I don’t know how to love someone without trying to fix them,” I said slowly.
The silence stretched between us.
“We had an exit clause, right?” She wiped at her eyes. “A clean break after the wedding, no hard feelings.” Her voice shook. “Maybe we should have stuck to that.”
“You don’t mean that.” But even as I said it, I could see she did. Could see her already pulling away.
“Don’t I?” Her voice got louder. “You see me as a project, Connor. A problem to solve. And I can’t—I can’t be with someone who’s constantly trying to improve me.”
“That’s not what I’m doing—”
“It’s exactly what you’re doing!” She was moving toward the door now. “You recommended me for a job I didn’t apply for. You’re planning my interview strategy without being asked. You just defended me to my parents like I couldn’t defend myself.”
She shoved her feet into her boots. She was leaving. She was actually leaving.
“You’re doing the same thing Sebastian did,” she said, and the name landed like a punch. “Managing me, controlling me, deciding what’s best for me without actually asking what I want.”
I flinched. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” She grabbed the doorknob. “Sebastian managed my career. You’re managing my whole life. You put me on your fucking checklist like I’m just another task to complete.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. She was right. Of course she was right.
“I need air,” she said. “I can’t breathe in here.”
“Hannah, wait—”
But she was already opening the door, already stepping out into the December cold.
And then I was alone.
I looked around the empty apartment. An hour ago, everything had been perfect.
I moved toward the kitchen—maybe if I cleaned up, loaded the dishwasher—
Then stopped, turned back, stared at the door. Everyone had left: Teresa and Eddie, then Hannah’s parents, then Hannah.
Leaving me alone on Christmas. Again.
Sit with me. Feel this.
I’d been so focused on staying three steps ahead. And now she was gone, hurting, and I couldn’t help. Why hadn’t I just stopped? Why hadn’t I relaxed and slowed down like she needed?
I pressed my palms into my forehead, trying to fend off a headache. When I released the hold, my gaze landed on Hannah’s jacket by the door. She was outside without a coat.
She’d told me she needed space. Told me not to follow, not to manage.
But she was outside in fifteen-degree weather in just a sweater.
I grabbed both our coats and my notebook, then followed her into the cold.