Chapter Thirty-Four - Daniel
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Daniel
THE WRENCH SLIPPED in his hand, scraping against the underside of the sink.
“Fuck,” Daniel muttered, pulling his hand back and shaking it out. A shallow gash opened along the edge of his thumb, the sting immediate. He pressed the wound against his shirt and exhaled hard.
The faucet had been leaking for months. One of those little things Hannah had asked him to fix a dozen times. And like most things that didn’t directly inconvenience him, he had ignored it. Promised to “get to it this weekend,” and then never did.
Until now.
The drip had grown louder in the silence of the house. Rhythmic. Mocking.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
He stared at the old pipe, rusted at the base, just misaligned enough to drive a person insane. He had no idea what he was doing. But that didn’t matter.
He wasn’t doing it for function. He wasn’t even doing it for redemption.
He was doing it because she had asked him to.
He wasn’t doing this for function. He wasn’t even doing it for penance.
He was doing it because she’d asked.
Because now, with her gone, this—this little act of care—was all he had left.
It was stupid. A half-fix. Too late.
And still, it filled something in his chest. A tiny, flickering warmth through all the hollow rot inside him.
She asked for this.
And I get to do it for her.
That thought… it stunned him.
To be of use. To be of service to her, even now— especially now—was its own kind of grace. He had broken so much, and still he got to love her in this small, silent way.
He sat back on his heels, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his arm.
His gaze swept across the kitchen—he’d packed away the dishtowels she’d picked out, the coffee mugs she always used. But even now the ghost of her was still here.
He didn’t deserve any of it.
He didn’t deserve this house.
Didn’t deserve the memories tucked into the corners.
Didn’t deserve the photos still hanging in the living room.
It belonged to Hannah.
Even if she never stepped foot inside this house again—he wanted it to be hers.
She deserved that much.
No—she deserved more .
He’d spent years letting her carry more, wait longer, bend further. Now, there would be no more asking. From this point forward, he would give without expectation. Do without being seen.
He wasn’t trying to win her back. This wouldn’t earn forgiveness. He just wanted the rest of his life to be a long, steady answer to the question: What did you ever do for her?
He could do more for her. With whatever he had, he would do more for her.
He would use every ridiculous, frivolous skill he had—branding, messaging, viral strategy—and put it all to work for her nonprofit. Quietly. Anonymously.
It wasn’t enough.
He reached under the sink again, twisting the wrench, the pipe groaning in protest. Something shifted. The drip stopped.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Daniel sat there for a long moment, breathing in the stale air, his pulse echoing in his ears. He wanted to laugh. Or scream. Or maybe just lie down on the cold tile and never get back up.
Instead, he reached for the drawer beside him, fumbling for a rag to wipe his hands.
When he pulled the drawer open, something fluttered loose.
A post-it.
Faded, half-stuck to the wood, curling at the edges.
Call the plumber. Or don’t. I love you anyway. — H
Daniel stared at the tiny square of yellow paper, the ink slightly smudged from time. She’d drawn a heart at the end. A stupid, lopsided heart she always doodled on grocery lists and notes she’d leave in his lunch or in the fridge.
He pressed the paper to his chest, right over the chain tucked under his shirt. The one that held her wedding ring.
She didn’t know he wore it there now. No one did.
It rested against his skin like weight and warning.
He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve her.
But he would carry her love like a promise anyway.
Every small thing he could still do for her—that was his joy. His tether. His repentance.
She had loved him through everything. Through every half-effort. Every delay. Every broken thing he never fixed.
And he had taken that love—steady, patient, unconditional—and crushed it under the weight of his own selfishness.
She didn’t need him. That part had become painfully, unavoidably clear.
But he would spend the rest of his life being the man she once believed he was.
From now on, he would live like he meant those vows.
For better or worse. In sickness and health. Forsaking all others.
They would be legally divorced soon. He knew that.
But to him, she would always be his wife.
He would never touch another woman again.
His body had once been hers.
And now, it would belong to no one.
══════════════════
Daniel was barely listening as Steve rambled about something work-related. His fingers drummed against the condensation-slicked glass on the bar in front of him, the untouched soda inside going warm.
His head was elsewhere.
On her .
As usual.
“You’re not even listening,” Steve said, nudging his arm.
Daniel blinked. “What?”
Steve rolled his eyes. “I said Hannah’s up for that new position.”
The noise of the bar—clinking glasses, low chatter, the muted thump of music—faded into the background.
“What position?” His voice came out too sharp.
Steve shrugged. “Some director-level thing. Expansion for that program she’s been working on. Apparently, it’s a big deal. Would mean moving out of state.”
Daniel’s stomach dropped.
“She’d have to move?”
Steve shot him a look. “That’s what I just said.”
Daniel’s throat tightened.
Hannah leaving.
Packing up her life, starting fresh, building something new. Without him.
He had already lost her. But this?
A distance so wide that he would become just another memory in her rearview mirror.
He forced himself to keep his voice level. “She wants this?”
Steve snorted. “Who wouldn’t?” He took a sip of his drink. “She’s got competition, though. There’s some other guy in the running. What’s his name…” He snapped his fingers. “Greg? Grant?”
Daniel barely heard him.
His mind was spinning.
Hannah gave everything to her work—to building these programs, to connecting people, to making the world better.
And if this was what she wanted—if this was what would make her happy—
Then what the hell was he doing sitting here, worrying about himself?
Steve shot him a look. “Dude, you okay?”
Daniel swallowed hard. Nodded.
“She deserves it.”
══════════════════
His inbox was full, his Slack unread. A meeting invite pinged in the corner of his screen.
He didn’t care.
Daniel sat at his desk, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Around him, the hum of productivity buzzed, phones ringing, chairs wheeling, muted laughter from the kitchen. Coworkers passed by his glassed-in office with nods and distracted waves.
He didn’t see any of it.
His screen was open—not to the deck he was supposed to revise, not to the branding brief on his calendar—but to a blank document.
He started building the case.
This step forward, this clean slate, this new life—it was hers. Or it should be. If there was any justice in the world. If effort and goodness and selflessness ever actually got rewarded.
So he made sure it would be. He knew Hannah would be incredible in this job, and he knew he could help her get it.
He compiled everything. Her track record. Her press mentions. The testimonials that people had written and forgotten—he found them, curated them, gave them shape. Pulled numbers, data, narrative. It was the best work he’d done in years. Maybe ever.
And it didn’t matter that she’d never know.
This wasn’t about being seen. This was about being small . Invisible.
It felt right, finally, to do something for her that cost him everything and gave him nothing in return.
He packaged the file with precision. Wrote a brief, clipped note. Attached the deck. Sent it.
Then he sat there.
The cursor blinked on the now-empty screen. His hands were shaking.
He picked up the phone.
Scrolled until he found the name: Marcus Calloway.
Daniel pressed the call button.
It rang.
“Daniel,” came the voice. “Wow. Been a long time.”
Daniel didn’t bother with small talk. “I heard you’re filling the director role.”
A pause. “We are.”
“She’s the only choice.”
Another pause.
“You’re talking about Hannah.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, she’s a contender. But—”
“She’s the only choice,” Daniel repeated, flat. “You want the program to succeed? You pick her. Not because she’s charming, or because she’s a name, but because she does the damn work. Quietly. Relentlessly. Because she actually gives a shit, even when no one’s watching.”
He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to his hand.
“I sent you something,” he said after a beat. “Just look at it. It’s everything you need to know.”
There was a pause. “You always were a good pitch man.”
“This isn’t a pitch,” Daniel said. “It’s hers.”
Marcus was quiet. “She’s lucky to have you.”
Daniel’s jaw clenched. His chest felt like it was splitting.
“She’ll always have me,” he said.
Marcus exhaled. “I’ll look at what you sent.”
“Thanks.”
Daniel ended the call.
And sat there.
For a long time.
The silence in the office was thick. Heavy. Like penance.
He didn’t want peace. He didn’t want closure. He didn’t want forgiveness.
He wanted this.
To give something that hurt.
To love her in a way that burned.
Because he deserved to hurt. He deserved the late nights, the loneliness, the silence.
But she didn’t.
She deserved everything good and light and beautiful. A job that mattered. A city that welcomed her. A kitchen with laughter in it. A man—God, hopefully—a man who held her heart gently, not like something owed, but something honored .
Daniel would never be that man.
But he could clear the way.
He could tear himself down and build something solid beneath her feet.
And that would be enough.
It had to be.
He pressed his palms against his eyes, hard.
Then leaned back in the chair and let the grief curl around him like smoke.
She would never know.
That was the beauty of it.
That was the punishment.
And the gift.
He would always be her husband.
Not in life. Not in law.
But in what he gave up.
And what he gave away.