Chapter Nine - Hannah
CHAPTER NINE
Hannah
HANNAH GRIPPED THE steering wheel so tightly her knuckles ached, but she didn’t loosen her hold. She couldn’t. If she let go—if she loosened even a fraction—she might fall apart. And she couldn’t do that. Not here. Not yet.
The road stretched in front of her in a blur of streetlights and passing cars. She wasn’t sure how she was driving, how she was even breathing, when it felt like something inside her had caved in, like the foundation of her body had been hollowed out and left her weightless, drifting through a nightmare that had no end.
Daniel.
She had seen him.
Heard him.
Hannah’s body shuddered, but still, she didn’t cry.
She though what they shared was special. She had never questioned that Daniel felt the same way. Never questioned that she was the only one who made him weak, the only one who made him lose control in the best way.
Lies.
All of it.
Hannah’s hands curled tighter around the wheel.
She wanted to scream.
She wanted to pull over and throw up.
She wanted to drive until the road disappeared beneath her, until she could pretend she was someone else, somewhere else, in a life where Daniel had never touched her, had never held her, had never whispered promises into her skin only to break them with another woman.
But she did none of those things.
Instead, she drove home.
To their home.
The home where she had always felt safe.
She pulled into the driveway and parked, staring up at the porch light.
The house looked the same. The same welcome mat, the same potted plants, the same soft glow spilling from the kitchen window.
A memory of her still lived inside these walls—happy, safe, certain. But that woman was gone. She couldn’t feel her anymore.
Still, Hannah opened the car door.
Still, she stepped inside.
Because her body didn’t know where else to go yet.
And grief needed a place to land.
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Everything around her felt distant, muted, as if she were walking through a dream. A nightmare.
Her bag slipped from her shoulder, landing somewhere near the entryway. Her keys dropped from her fingers, clattering against the hardwood.
She didn’t move to pick them up.
She couldn’t move at all.
Everything was exactly the same.
But nothing was the same.
Her gaze lifted, landing on the framed wedding photos.
She had been so meticulous about it, choosing the ones where they looked the most them. The most in love.
In one, Daniel was kissing her temple, her smile bright and real, her arms wrapped around his neck.
In another, they were laughing, mid-spin on the dance floor, her dress caught in the movement, his eyes so full of love .
And then the last one—the one that had always made her chest ache with happiness—Daniel looking at her, just looking , like she was the most breathtaking thing he had ever seen.
Hannah’s vision blurred.
A tremor ran through her fingers as she reached out, pressing them against the glass.
She stared at her younger self. What a naive fool that person had been.
The house felt too still, too silent, the walls pressing in on her as she moved into the kitchen.
Her wedding band glinted under the kitchen light, a small, shining thing against her shaking hand.
A jolt of revulsion shot up her arm, spreading through her body like wildfire.
With a sharp inhale, Hannah yanked her ring off.
The metal scraped against her skin, leaving behind a faint red mark—a ghost of where it had lived, where it had meant something.
Her breath hitched.
She let the ring fall from her fingers.
It hit the counter with a soft clink.
And somehow, after everything, it was that sound that shattered the control Hannah had been clinging to.
She clutched her stomach as though she could physically hold herself together.
But she couldn’t.
She couldn’t stop the way her body shook, wracked with wave after wave of grief so deep, so primal , it ripped through her like a hurricane.
She sobbed. Loud, guttural, uncontrollable .
She didn’t even recognize the sounds coming from her own throat.
She had loved him.
She had trusted him.
She had given him everything .
And Daniel had thrown it all away. Like it was nothing . Like she was nothing.
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The sobs had quieted, but Hannah didn’t move.
She sat curled on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees, forehead resting against them. Her breathing was uneven, broken, every inhale shaky and sharp. The air in the house felt suffocating, pressing down on her like a weight she couldn’t bear.
She needed to move. She needed to do something.
Slowly, she lifted her head. The wedding ring still sat on the counter where she had left it.
All she felt was emptiness .
Her gaze drifted around the room. Their home. Their life.
The couch where they’d curled up together just a few nights ago, his head in her lap as she ran her fingers through his hair.
The kitchen island where he used to wrap his arms around her waist while she cooked, pressing sleepy kisses against her neck.
The hallway that led to their bedroom. Their bed.
A fresh wave of nausea rolled through her.
He had touched her there. Kissed her. Held her. Just last night, he had made love to her. Made love.
He said it was “just sex” with Sienna.
He said it had meant nothing . Did he think the same thing about making love with Hannah?
Hannah was on her feet before she could think.
She couldn’t stay here.
Not in the same space where Daniel had held her, kissed her and then—what? Hours later —had driven to a yoga studio to fuck another woman?
She needed to go.
She needed to leave .
Her thoughts refused to line up, tangled and sluggish, like she was wading through thick, suffocating fog. Her brain wasn’t working right, stuck in a loop of rage, grief, disbelief, unable to focus on anything except the suffocating need to escape.
Think. Think .
A hotel? Her parents' house?
Her hands were trembling as she grabbed her phone from her purse. Her fingers hovered over her contacts before tapping the name she hadn’t even realized she’d been searching for.
Mia.
It rang twice before her best friend picked up.
“Hey! What’s up?” Mia’s voice was light, casual, like it was any other night.
Like Hannah’s world hadn’t just been obliterated.
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
“Hannah?” Mia’s tone shifted. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
Hannah swallowed, gripping the edge of the counter to steady herself. She couldn’t say it. Not yet.
But she had to say something.
“Can I—” Her voice cracked. “Can I stay with you?”
Mia answered at once. “Of course. Are you okay?”
No.
No, she wasn’t.
But if she said that, if she admitted it, she would break all over again.
“I just…” She inhaled sharply, forcing the words out. “I can’t stay here.”
Mia didn’t ask any more questions. “Come straight here. I’ll put on tea.”
Hannah nodded, even though Mia couldn’t see her. “Okay.”
She ended the call, exhaling shakily.
She didn’t pack much. Just a bag with essentials—clothes, phone charger, laptop.
She left everything else behind.
Without looking back, Hannah grabbed her keys and walked out the door.