6. Hannah
HANNAH
I pulled into the drive and saw Pierce's car already there, which surprised me.
He never came home early. My stomach did a small flip, the kind that came with hope I knew better than to trust. Maybe he'd come home to help me start the nursery.
Maybe he'd remembered what I told him last week about wanting to get it ready soon, before I got too big and tired to manage it myself.
I grabbed my purse and headed inside. The house was quiet except for voices drifting down from upstairs. I climbed the stairs slowly, one hand on the railing. The nursery door stood open at the end of the hall.
When I stepped through the doorway, I stopped so fast I nearly tripped.
The nursery was finished.
Every wall was painted a smooth, cool gray.
Furniture filled the space like pieces arranged on a chessboard.
A white crib stood against the far wall, modern and sleek with sharp geometric lines.
A matching dresser sat beneath the window.
Shelves lined one wall, already organized with white baskets and labeled bins.
A mobile hung over the crib, slow-spinning circles of white and silver that caught the afternoon light and threw it back cold.
Sienna stood in the center of it all. She had her hands clasped in front of her, her expression warm and expectant, like she was about to reveal the centerpiece at one of Pierce's charity galas. Pierce stood near the window with his arms crossed, smiling. He looked proud.
"Hannah." Sienna's voice was bright, practically singing. "Perfect timing. We wanted to surprise you."
My throat went tight. I set my purse down just inside the door because I didn't trust my hands. The room looked like a photograph. Everything matched. Everything was neutral and tasteful and completely impersonal.
"What do you think?" Pierce moved toward me, and I felt the heat radiating off him before he even touched my shoulder. His palm settled there, warm and solid. "Sienna managed to pull this together in under a week. I didn't think it was possible, but she delivered."
I stared at the crib. The lines were too clean. Too sharp. This one looked like it belonged in a showroom with a price tag nobody was supposed to touch.
My heartbeat stumbled. I made myself take a slow breath.
Sienna crossed to the dresser and ran her hand along the top. "I know how busy you've been, Hannah, managing Pierce's schedule and running the house, so we thought we'd take this off your plate. Consider it a gift from both of us."
A gift.
God, I wanted to laugh. Or scream. I wasn't sure which.
I pressed my lips together and forced myself not to say the first thing that jumped into my throat. I'd been keeping my planning papers for weeks, adding to them whenever I had a quiet moment.
I'd told Pierce about it. The evening after the shower I'd tried to walk him through the whole thing. "We'll get it done, Hannah. We have time," he'd said, and he'd pushed it to tomorrow.
Apparently, he hadn't meant it.
I didn't bring up the planning papers now. What was the point? The room was finished.
"It's very . . . efficient," I said.
Pierce's hand squeezed my shoulder. "That's exactly what I thought when Sienna showed me the design. She knows what works in a space like this. Clean lines. Simple layout. Easy to keep organized once the baby's here and things get hectic. You won't have to worry about clutter."
I turned my head to look at the walls again. Gray. They'd painted them gray. Just gray.
My wedding ring caught the afternoon light when I folded my hands over my stomach.
I'd chosen this marriage. I'd put this ring on six years ago and promised I'd build a life with him, and I'd meant every word.
I still meant it now, standing here in this finished nursery that I'd had no part in creating.
"It's not what I wanted," I said quietly.
Pierce tilted his head, and his expression shifted into that patient look he always used when he thought I was making a mountain out of an anthill. "What do you mean?"
I met his eyes. He wasn't angry. He wasn't being dismissive on purpose. He genuinely didn't understand. He thought he'd done something helpful.
Like an idiot, I felt my throat tighten even more.
I didn't answer.
He frowned, but it was the confused kind, not the irritated kind.
"You mentioned a few ideas, sure, Hannah.
But nothing was set in stone. And honestly, Sienna's version is easier, and it makes a lot more sense for what we need.
It's practical. It's already done. You don't have to spend the next month running around to furniture stores or agonizing over paint swatches or coordinating deliveries when you've already got enough on your plate with the prenatal appointments and managing the house and everything else you're handling. "
The words landed like stones in my chest, but I didn't flinch.
Sienna stepped forward, her smile still in place.
She gestured around the room. "I really did try to think about what would be practical for you, Hannah.
Pierce mentioned how exhausted you've been lately, so I wanted to make sure this was one less thing you had to stress over.
The crib converts to a toddler bed later, so you won't have to replace it in a couple of years.
The dresser has extra deep drawers for all the blankets and supplies.
And the shelves are adjustable. It's all very functional and low-maintenance. "
Functional. Low-maintenance. Practical.
Ugh. My hands curled into fists at my sides.
I looked at Pierce again. He was still watching me with that same patient, reasonable expression. Waiting for me to see sense. Waiting for me to agree that this was fine, that he'd solved a problem, that I should be grateful somebody had stepped in and handled everything for me.
I didn't say anything else. My throat had closed up too tight.
"You'll love it once the baby's here," Sienna said, her voice gentle. "I even made sure to leave space on the shelves for books, since Pierce mentioned you love to read. You can fill them with whatever stories you want."
My throat burned. "Thank you, Sienna."
She beamed. "Of course, Hannah. I'm just so glad I could help."
Pierce walked over to the crib and ran his fingers along the railing, testing it. "It's solid. Really well-made. Sienna found a great supplier. The whole setup will last for years."
I watched him examine the furniture like he was closing a business deal.
He didn't glance at my face. He didn't notice the way my jaw had gone tight or the way I was digging my nails into my palms hard enough to leave marks.
He saw a finished nursery. He saw a problem solved.
He saw Sienna doing her job well, the way she always did.
He didn't see me at all.
"I should start dinner," I said.
Pierce looked up. "You don't have to do that tonight. We can order something in if you're tired."
"No." My voice came out sharper than I meant it to, and I softened it. "No, I'll make something. It's fine."
Sienna picked up her tablet from the dresser and tucked it under her arm. "I should get going anyway. I've got a vendor meeting in an hour. Hannah, if you want to change anything in here, just let me know. I kept all the receipts."
I nodded, but I didn't look at her. I kept my eyes on the crib. The wrong crib. In the wrong room.
Pierce walked Sienna to the door, and their voices drifted into the hallway. Something about his schedule next week. Something about a gala she was planning. I heard her laugh, light and easy, and then their footsteps faded down the stairs.
The front door opened and closed.
I stood alone in the center of the nursery and listened to the silence press in.
The gray walls felt colder now. The furniture was expensive, I could tell that much. Everything matched. Everything coordinated. There wasn't a single piece out of place. It looked like a room staged for a photo shoot, waiting for a perfect family to move in and make it real.
I sat down on the floor.
The hardwood was cool beneath me. I pulled my knees up as much as I could with my stomach in the way and wrapped my arms around them. My wedding ring pressed into my palm when I gripped my own wrist.
I thought about my planning papers. The careful notes I'd been making for weeks.
I'd wanted to make this room myself. I'd wanted it to feel like mine. Like ours. Like it belonged to the baby and to me and to the family I was trying so hard to build in this house.
I'd wanted to matter.
The baby moved inside me, a small flutter low in my stomach.
I pressed my hand there and felt my ring shift against my skin.
I'd put that ring on six years ago and promised I'd make a life with Pierce, that I'd build something real with him.
I'd walked away from my classroom and my students and everything I'd created on my own to be his wife. I'd meant those promises then.
I still meant them now, even sitting here on the cold floor of a nursery that somebody else had finished.
I heard Pierce's voice downstairs, muffled but steady.
He was on a call, probably with his office.
He'd be working for another hour at least. He wouldn't come looking for me.
He'd assume I was upstairs resting or doing something normal.
He wouldn't think to check on me, not when he believed everything was fine.
And he did believe everything was fine. He thought he'd helped me.
The walls were still gray. The crib was still the wrong one. The whole room was still a finished, polished, perfectly coordinated space that I'd had no hand in building.
I rested my forehead against my knees and closed my eyes.
Sienna had designed this room in less than a week.
She'd picked the paint and the furniture and the layout.
She'd coordinated every detail and presented it like a gift, like she was doing me the biggest favor in the world.
And Pierce had approved all of it. He'd signed off on every choice without asking me what I thought.
Without checking to see if maybe I'd had plans of my own.
They'd taken my baby's room away from me, and they didn't even realize they'd done it.
I lifted my head and stared at the mobile spinning slowly above the crib. White and silver circles catching the light. Pretty. Tasteful. Cold.
The baby was coming in just a few months. They'd come home to this room. These gray walls. This sleek furniture. This efficient, practical space that looked like it had been designed by someone who'd never rocked a crying infant at three in the morning or sung a lullaby in the dark.
Nothing I'd wanted. Nothing I'd asked for. Nothing I'd planned.
And Pierce thought he'd done me a favor. He thought he'd made my life easier.
He had no idea what he'd just done.
I stayed there on the floor and let that knowledge settle in my chest like a weight. I didn't cry. I didn't call out to him. I didn't march downstairs and shove my planning papers in his face and demand he look at what he'd ignored.
I just sat in the nursery that wasn't mine anymore and knew I'd lost something I would never get back.
The room was finished. The decisions were made.
And I hadn't been part of any of it.