Chapter Twenty-Six - Hannah
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Hannah
THE OFFICE WAS quiet for once.
Just the soft hum of the air vents, the occasional click of a keyboard from down the hall, and the rhythmic thud of Hannah’s own pulse in her ears.
She sat at her desk, one hand curled around a cup of tea gone cold, the other hovering near her mouse, but not clicking.
Her inbox was full. So was her chest.
Too many messages. Too many memories. And none of it felt real anymore.
She used to love this place—its warmth, its mission, the smell of soil drifting in from the community garden, even the cracked tile under her desk.
It had once been a part of her. Something she'd helped grow. Something she'd wanted to share with Daniel.
But now it all felt like a life she’d borrowed from someone else. A woman who still believed she was safe.
She swallowed hard, eyes burning.
She’d built everything with him in mind. The routines. The house. The quiet inside jokes. The idea of “forever” worn in like the soft groove of a favorite mug.
And he had gutted it. Casually. Quietly.
With another woman.
The ache wasn’t sharp anymore. It was dull. Low. Like a bruise that never quite faded.
Because if he could cheat on her —after everything—they had, everything they built—then what did that say about her?
About how foolish she’d been to believe that love was enough?
A soft knock startled her. She blinked.
Morgan swept in without waiting, clipboard in one hand, phone in the other, already mid-breath. “Okay, don’t hate me for springing this on you, but I need your eyes on something ASAP.”
She dropped a folder on Hannah’s desk like it was smoking. “And also, you have an opportunity. A big one.”
Hannah blinked. “An opportunity for what?”
Morgan grinned. “To change your life.”
She sat across from her, eyes bright. “Director-level position. Expansion of our community integration program. You’d be building it from the ground up—but in Denver.”
“Denver,” Hannah repeated, like her mouth didn’t know how to form the word.
“It’s a big deal,” Morgan said, a little softer now. “They asked for you. And the deadline’s tight, so if there’s even a whisper of interest, you’ll want to move on it.”
Hannah looked down.
Her name was typed neatly on the folder’s tab.
It looked official. Clean. A next chapter, shrink-wrapped and waiting.
But she didn’t feel clean.
She felt raw.
Cracked open from the inside.
Like the version of her who could accept something like this—could say yes to a future with a clean slate—was still curled up on the bathroom floor of her old house, trying to breathe through a betrayal she hadn’t seen coming.
She wasn’t just grieving Daniel.
She was grieving the woman she was with him.
The woman who thought she was enough.
“I know it’s a lot,” Morgan added, quieter now. “And I know you’ve been going through…” She trailed off, respectfully vague. “I just thought you should see it.”
Hannah managed a nod.
She had a life here. A garden. A job. A community.
But none of it had been built alone.
And now, every corner whispered his name.
Every grocery aisle. Every morning coffee. Every goddamn patch of sidewalk they used to walk in step.
Denver wouldn’t know the echo of his laugh. Denver wouldn’t see her as broken.
She looked down at the folder. Her fingers hesitated.
Then, with a slow breath, she opened it.
And started to read.
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The weight felt solid in her grip. Heavy, but not impossible.
Hannah braced her stance, exhaling slow, steady, controlled. Then—she lifted.
Her muscles burned in the best way, her arms straining, core tight, legs planted firm. Her reflection in the mirror showed the effort in every inch of her body—the taut line of her arms, the flex of her legs, the sheen of sweat glistening across her skin.
She held the barbell for a breath, for two, before lowering it back down with control. The moment it hit the floor, she smiled.
She felt strong.
A few weeks ago, she wouldn’t have even attempted that weight. A few weeks ago, she wouldn’t have trusted herself to push through the discomfort, to get stronger, to make progress for no one but herself.
Hannah rolled her shoulders, stretching out her arms as she straightened. Her entire body ached, but in the best way.This kind of pain wasn’t the kind that broke her down. It was the kind that built her back up.
She wiped sweat from her forehead and turned toward the mirrors lining the gym wall.
The reflection staring back at her wasn’t the Hannah who cried over Daniel at night, who agonized over what she could have done differently, who felt like she wasn’t enough.
It was someone new.
Still, the doubt crept in.
Sienna had a yoga body.
Lithe, toned, the kind of woman who looked delicate and strong all at once. The kind of woman who could fold herself into whatever shape a man wanted.
Hannah would never be that.
Her thighs were thicker, her muscles denser, heavier. She wasn’t soft curves and elegant lines. She was grit and weight and work.
Daniel might have married Hannah, but it had been Sienna’s body he had chosen. Her slender body, her younger body.
Hannah looked at herself again.
At the definition in her arms. At the power in her legs. At the sweat-drenched tank top clinging to a body she was learning to call her own again.
She wasn’t a fantasy.
She was real.
And she wasn’t going to shrink herself down to make any man more comfortable.