22. Hannah #2
I stand in the doorway and forget how to breathe.
This is the man who missed dinners and anniversaries, who made me compete with a phone for the better part of a decade, who handed my work to another woman with a smile.
But this is also the man who shows up every time now. Who knows Eliza’s routine by heart. Who took her tonight without complaint so I could go on a date with someone else.
Who’s lying here with our daughter on his chest, holding her like she’s the most precious thing in the world.
I should wake him. I should take Eliza and go home and maintain the distance that keeps me safe.
Instead, I find myself moving closer. Sitting on the edge of the coffee table. Watching them breathe together.
Griffin stirs. His eyes flutter open, unfocused at first, then sharpening when they find me.
“Hey,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep. “You’re early.”
“Dinner ended sooner than expected.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Fine. Good.” I nod toward Eliza. “How was she?”
“Perfect. Ate everything, went down at seven-thirty.” He strokes her back absently. “How was your date?”
The question is careful. Neutral. He’s trying so hard not to push.
“It was nice,” I say. “Theo’s nice.”
“Good. That’s good.”
“We’re not going out again.”
Griffin goes still. “What?”
“He’s nice. But he’s not…” I trail off, not sure how to finish that sentence.
Not you.
That’s what I almost said.
He’s not you.
“I’m sorry,” Griffin says. “If that’s not what you wanted, I mean.”
“I don’t know what I want.” The admission costs me more than I let show. “I thought I did. I thought I wanted simple. Uncomplicated. Someone who hadn’t already broken my heart.”
“Hannah…”
“But then I walked in here and saw you with her, and I thought…” I stop. Swallow. “I thought, that’s what I wanted. All those years. That’s what I was asking for. You, being present. Being here. Choosing us over everything else.”
His eyes are dark in the dim light. Intense. “I’m trying.”
“I know.”
“I’m not the same person I was.”
“I know that too.”
Silence stretches between us, thick with everything we’re not saying.
Eliza makes a small sound in her sleep, shifting against Griffin’s chest. He adjusts his hold automatically, a move so natural and practiced it makes my heart clench.
“I should take her home,” I whisper.
“You could stay.” He says it quietly, like he’s afraid to spook me. “The guest room’s made up. It’s late, and she’s already asleep, and…”
“Griffin.”
“Just to sleep. I’m not… that’s not what I’m asking. I just don’t want you driving tired.”
I should say no.
I should take my daughter and go home to my empty apartment and maintain the boundaries that keep me from getting hurt again.
“Okay,” I hear myself say. “Just tonight.”
His whole body relaxes. “Okay.”
I stand up, intending to take Eliza, but he’s already rising with her cradled against him, moving toward the nursery with the ease of someone who’s done this a hundred times.
I follow.
The nursery is painted soft yellow, and I didn’t know he’d painted it, didn’t know he’d set up a full room for her here, and there’s a crib with her name spelled out in wooden letters above it.
ELIZA.
He lays her down so gently she doesn’t even stir. Pulls the blanket over her. Stands there for a moment, just watching her breathe.
“I love her so much,” he says, so quiet I barely hear it. “I didn’t know it was possible to love someone this much.”
My throat is too tight to respond.
He turns, and we’re standing too close in the dim nursery, and his eyes find mine, and for a moment I think he’s going to kiss me.
He doesn’t.
“Guest room’s down the hall,” he says. “Second door on the left. There are towels in the bathroom. Extra blankets in the closet if you get cold.”
“Thanks.”
“Goodnight, Hannah.”
“Goodnight, Griffin.”
He slips past me, and I hear his footsteps retreat down the hall, and I stand in my daughter’s nursery in my ex-husband’s home and try to remember why I left in the first place.
I don’t sleep for hours.
I lie in Griffin’s guest bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the evening over and over. Theo’s gentle honesty. Griffin’s careful restraint. The image of them on the couch, father and daughter, peaceful in a way I’d dreamed about for years.
Around 2 a.m., I hear Eliza fussing through the baby monitor on the nightstand.
I’m up before I think about it, padding down the hall toward the nursery. But when I get there, Griffin is already lifting her from the crib, murmuring soft nonsense against her hair.
“Shh, baby girl. Daddy’s got you. You’re okay.”
I stop in the doorway, watching.
He doesn’t see me. He’s too focused on Eliza, walking slow circles around the room, his hand rubbing her back in steady rhythms. His voice is a low rumble, more feeling than words.
“I’ve got you. I’m here. I’m always going to be here. Even when you’re mad at me, even when I screw up, I’m going to be here. That’s the deal, okay? You and me, forever.”
Eliza’s fussing quiets. Her head drops against his shoulder.
“There you go,” he whispers. “That’s my girl. Go back to sleep. Daddy’s got you.”
He keeps walking, keeps murmuring, and I keep watching, and the knot I’ve been carrying for months starts to loosen.
This is real.
This isn’t staged. There’s no audience. He doesn’t know I’m here.
This is just Griffin, in the middle of the night, being the father I always wanted him to be.
I slip back to the guest room before he sees me.
But I don’t fall asleep for a long time.
And when I do, I dream of rooftops and promises and second chances I’m not sure I’m brave enough to take.
In the morning, I find coffee waiting in the kitchen and a note on the counter in Griffin’s handwriting.
Had to take a call. Eliza’s fed and changed. There are bagels in the fridge.
Thank you for staying.
G
I trace my finger over his handwriting and think about what Theo said.
Unfinished business.
Maybe he was right.
Maybe the only way out is through.