Chapter Twelve - Daniel
CHAPTER TWELVE
Daniel
THE WATER SCALDED his skin, but Daniel didn’t turn down the heat.
He braced his hands against the tiled wall, his head bowed as the water rushed over him, steam filling the enclosed space. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, his skin slick with sweat—not just from the heat, but from the mess of the night.
Sienna .
Hannah.
His hands moved on their own, grabbing the bar of soap, scrubbing hard—his arms, his chest, his thighs—until his skin burned raw. He tried to ignore the way the scent clung to him, sweat and sex and something that wasn’t his wife.
It wasn’t anything soap wouldn’t fix . It was just surface level. He wasn’t tainted. This wasn’t the end of the world.
He was simply a young man. And young men wanted sex.
That was normal. That was natural.
His gaze flicked to the row of bottles lined neatly along the shelf—Hannah’s shampoo, her conditioner, the body wash that made her smell soft and clean. Evidence that this was just temporary. She was coming back.
Hannah was his wife. They had vows . A life .
She’ll forgive me.
She had to.
He rinsed the soap from his skin, rolling his shoulders, forcing himself to breathe.
She’d seen something upsetting but it didn’t mean their marriage was over.
She was upset now. Shocked. Of course she was. But once she calmed down, once he could explain that it didn’t mean anything, once she actually listened to him, she’d understand.
It was biology.
It didn’t mean he didn’t love her.
The water pounded against his back as he straightened.
He would tell Hannah he was sorry. That he hated that she had to see it. That he never wanted to hurt her.
She’d be angry. She’d need time.
But she wasn’t going anywhere.
She couldn’t.
They had built a life together. A marriage .
And she had made a commitment to him.
He shut off the water, reached for a towel, and stepped out onto the tile.
She just needed time.
══════════════════
Daniel sat on the edge of their bed, phone in hand, staring at the screen like he could will Hannah's name to appear.
But it didn't.
The silence was suffocating. She still hadn't texted. Hadn't called. Hadn't screamed at him, hadn't demanded answers, hadn't done anything .
Just... disappeared.
This was ridiculous. He'd made a mistake, sure, but running away? Giving him the silent treatment like they were in high school? That wasn't how adults handled problems.
He ran a hand over his jaw, exhaling sharply through his nose as he pulled up her contact.
He called her again.
It rang once. Twice.
He sat up straighter, irritation building with each unanswered ring.
Three times. Four.
She wasn't answering. She was actually ignoring him.
Five. Six.
He clenched his jaw. Pick up. We need to talk about this like adults.
Seven.
Then—
Voicemail.
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, standing abruptly, pacing toward the window. This was getting ridiculous. How were they supposed to move past this if she wouldn't even talk to him?
He texted.
Hannah. Answer my call. This isn't helping anything.
Nothing.
His chest tightened with frustration. She was making this so much worse than it needed to be. It was just sex—it's not like he'd fallen in love with Sienna. He wasn’t leaving her. Hannah was blowing this completely out of proportion.
Another call. Straight to voicemail.
His messages sat there, unread.
It was worse than screaming. Worse than her throwing things, breaking things, calling him every name in the book. At least then they could get it all out in the open, clear the air, and start to move on.
But this? This was childish. This was Hannah refusing to deal with reality.
He knew his wife, though. If she'd gone anywhere, it would be to Mia's. If she wouldn't answer her phone, he would have to talk to her there. Make her see reason. The longer she dragged this out, the harder it would be for both of them.
The sooner they talked, the sooner she could get over it and they could go back to normal.
He called one last time. And again it went to voicemail.