Chapter Fourteen - Hannah
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Hannah
THE CEILING FAN spun in slow, hypnotic circles above her.
Hannah stared at it, unblinking, as the soft whir filled the quiet guest room.
She hadn’t turned off the bedside lamp.
She couldn’t.
Darkness felt too heavy. Too final.
James had given her a hug, fierce and unyielding. “You can stay here as long as you need.”
And then Mia had tucked her into the bed like she was breakable, like she might shatter right there on the spot. She’d sat on the edge of the mattress, stroking Hannah’s hair, whispering, It’s okay, just rest.
But Hannah couldn’t.
Her body was exhausted, drained in a way she had never felt before. But her mind—her mind was still in that room .
Still seeing him .
Still hearing her .
Hannah squeezed her eyes shut, but it didn’t stop the images. The sharp slap of skin against skin. The filthy, breathy sounds from Sienna’s mouth. The way Daniel had moved—how he had gripped her, held her.
Her husband. Her Daniel.
And her .
Sienna. Bent over a padded bench. Moaning, gasping, saying things Hannah had never even imagined saying.
Hannah squeezed her eyes shut, but it didn’t help. The images were burned into her, seared onto the backs of her eyelids.
Daniel’s hands on Sienna’s hips, holding her there.
Daniel’s body, moving— thrusting —like an animal.
Hannah curled onto her side, pulling her knees to her chest.
She remembered her own moments with him. His forehead pressed to hers, his hands gliding over her skin like he was memorizing her. He would kiss her, deep and lingering, until she was breathless, until there was nothing but the two of them. She was his person. His love.
She had always believed that when they made love, he was giving her something—not just taking.
But watching from the outside, seeing the way he was with Sienna, there had been no tenderness . No hesitation. No care.
Just fucking .
Hard. Filthy. Thoughtless.
Had she ever really known her husband?
Or had she just seen what she wanted to see?
She exhaled sharply and turned onto her other side, hoping that exhaustion would finally drag her under. But her body stayed tense, her mind refusing to quiet.
She wasn’t just mourning the loss of him.
She was mourning them .
Their present and their future. What she had thought they were. What she had believed they would always be.
Hannah threw back the blanket and sat up, her breath coming fast. The air in the guest room felt thick, suffocating.
She pressed a hand against her chest, but it didn’t stop the ache blooming there, the raw, hollow space where her life used to be.
Where he used to be.
She lay there—staring at a ceiling that didn’t belong to her, trying not to break.
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Hannah woke to the smell of clean sheets and someone else’s detergent.
For a moment, she didn’t know where she was. Then the ache in her chest returned, sharp and immediate, and it all came rushing back.
The yoga studio.
Daniel’s bare back.
Sienna’s laugh.
The way her own voice had sounded when it broke in half.
She lay still, staring at the ceiling of Mia and James’s guest room, the unfamiliar texture of the blanket bunched against her chest. Her body was heavy. Her skin felt tight, like it didn’t fit her anymore.
Is this the end of my marriage?
The thought pressed in before she was ready for it. She didn’t know the answer. She didn’t know what she wanted the answer to be.
She hadn’t texted him. Hadn’t called. Hadn’t screamed, or thrown something, or let herself cry in front of anyone. Because if she let go—if she admitted how much it hurt—she didn’t know what would be left.
Her marriage. Her life. The version of Daniel she had spent years believing in.
She closed her eyes and tried to find something solid. A reason to stay. A reason to go.
But all she could see was his face, blurred with sweat and pleasure, in a place where he wasn’t supposed to be. With someone who wasn’t her.
He didn’t even look guilty.
That was the part that kept replaying. Not the betrayal. Not the humiliation.
The ease.
Like it was nothing. Like she was nothing.
Her throat burned. Her hands curled into the blanket.
There was a voice in her head—rational, measured—insisting this wasn’t her fault. That his actions said everything about him and nothing about her.
But that didn’t stop the shame from blooming anyway.
She had given him everything. Her loyalty. Her softness. Her mess. She had handed him the truest version of herself and said, please, hold this with care.
And now?
He’d tossed it aside for the rush of being seen by someone new.
Is it over?
She rolled to her side, tugging the blanket up over her head. She didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to eat or shower or answer the knock that might come at the door.
She didn’t want to hear the softness in Mia’s voice or see the worry in James’s eyes.
She just wanted the world to stop spinning for one fucking day.
That seemed fair.
One day to let it hurt. One day to stop pretending she was okay. One day to feel the ache down to the bone without anyone trying to lift her out of it.
Tomorrow, she could start piecing together a new version of herself.
Tomorrow, she could learn how to be a person again.
But not today.
Today, she would cry if she wanted.
Today, she would scream into the pillow.
Today, she would stare at the ceiling and relive every second.
Because pretending it hadn’t happened would be worse.
She rolled over again, the blanket pulled tight around her shoulders.
Her husband had fucked another woman.
Not because they were broken. Not because she’d failed him.
But because he wanted to feel young. Desired. Irreplaceable.
And somewhere in that warped hunger, she had become collateral damage.
It wasn’t a misunderstanding.
It wasn’t a mistake.
It was a choice.
And with that, the question in her chest shifted—quiet, final, sure.
It was over.
Not because she said so.
Because he already had.
The world could wait.
Just for today.