Chapter Thirty-Six - Daniel
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Daniel
DANIEL SAT IN the sleek, glass-walled office. Everything around him felt too polished—chrome pens, leather binders.
He felt like a stain in the room.
Rick—gray at the temples, expensive suit, practiced calm—flipped through the paperwork with methodical ease, his pen scratching faintly. “Alright,” he said, finally. “You want to pay off the remaining balance on your home and transfer full ownership to your soon-to-be ex-wife?”
Daniel flinched at the phrasing.
Ex-wife.
The word should’ve felt clinical by now. Neutral. But it was a blade between the ribs every time he heard it.
“Yes,” he said, barely above a whisper.
Rick nodded, flipping to another page. “There will be some early withdrawal fees—”
“I don’t care.” Daniel’s voice was sharp, final. “I don’t care about the penalties. I don’t care if it’s the worst financial decision I ever make. Just tell me how to do it.”
Rick studied him for a beat. “You understand this is—”
“Yes,” Daniel snapped. “I understand exactly what this is.”
It’s not generosity.
It’s not closure.
It’s a fucking offering. A blood sacrifice. One more piece of her that he had broken, that he now had to give back—whole, untouched, with interest.
This was the only thing he could do now. Not to win her back. Not to be thanked.
Even if she was moving to Denver, this asset was worth money. Money she deserved.
“She deserves a home,” Daniel said, jaw tight. “Even if it’s not with me.”
Rick gave a slow nod. “The cleanest way is a direct payment to the lender. Once it’s cleared, we’ll file a quitclaim deed transferring your interest. The house becomes hers. Entirely.”
Daniel exhaled, the air burning in his lungs. “Good. Do it.”
Rick adjusted his glasses. “We’ll want to loop in your divorce attorney—”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Just to keep things clean.”
Clean.
Nothing about this was clean.
Daniel leaned back, pressing his fingers hard against his brow like he could force the pressure back into place. His shoulders felt like they were holding up a house of their own.
He wasn’t sure what he was anymore. A man? A memory? A wound that still walked and talked?
But this—this act—felt like something. Like a brick in the right direction.
A punishment that fit the crime.
A confession in deed, if not in words.
If she wanted to sell it, burn it to the ground, erase every trace of him?
She could.
If she brought someone else home—
Some man who held her like she mattered and meant it—
Who kissed her in the morning and never forgot the little things. Who touched her with care, not entitlement. Who didn’t waste years fumbling his way toward loving her right.
The thought sliced through Daniel like glass.
He thought he might actually throw up, right there on Rick’s sterile white carpet.
Her—beneath someone else.
Smiling up at him.
Moaning for him .
Letting him in—into the parts of her Daniel had once sworn belonged only to him.
His throat closed. His eyes burned. His lungs forgot how to function.
He deserved this.
He deserved to choke on it.
Because what the hell did he expect? That she’d stay untouched forever, wrapped in grief, frozen in some devotional shrine to their broken marriage? That she’d never reach for comfort, or warmth, or joy, or love again?
No, she had every right to happiness.
Let her be happy. Let her forget him.
Let her be free.
Because that’s what this was. Not a gift. Not an apology.
A door.
He stood, slowly, buttoning his jacket with deliberate precision.
His voice, when it came, was quiet. Steady.
“Let me know when the papers are ready.”
══════════════════
Daniel sat on the couch in Dr. Ellis’s office, his hands laced together so tightly his knuckles ached. He hadn’t spoken since he walked in. Just sat there, staring at the floor like if he looked up, he might actually shatter.
He had done something good. He had made the call, pulled the strings, handed Hannah her dream on a silver fucking platter. And yet—
He felt like the most disgusting man on earth.
Dr. Ellis let the silence stretch. She never rushed him. Never filled the space with empty reassurances. She just waited.
“I keep thinking about it. The sex. Every fucking detail. And not—” He exhaled sharply, swallowing bile. “Not in a way that gets me off. Not even close.” Daniel exhaled sharply. “I feel sick.”
Her gaze was steady. “Physically or emotionally?”
“Both.” He dragged a hand down his face. “Thinking about it. About what I did. What I threw her away for.” His throat tightened. “It makes me want to throw up.”
Dr. Ellis nodded, unsurprised. “Regret has a way of settling in the body.”
Daniel let out a short, humorless laugh. “That’s a fucking understatement.” He shook his head, jaw clenched. His stomach twisted violently. “It’s like I’m watching it from outside my body. Every movement, every sound—like I’m trapped behind glass, screaming at myself to stop.”
Dr. Ellis watched him.
Daniel stared at the carpet. His heart pounded like it wanted to break out of his chest. “It was nothing. That’s what kills me. It was just—” He gritted his teeth. “It was empty. I wasn’t even there. I wasn’t feeling anything.” His fingers dug into his knees. “I used her. And I let her use me. And the whole time I was so fucking smug, so fucking sure that none of it mattered because I had Hannah.”
His vision blurred.
“And now?” Dr. Ellis prompted.
Daniel let out a slow breath, voice breaking. “Now I don’t have her at all.”
Silence.
Dr. Ellis spoke carefully. “Do you think you deserve to have her?”
“No.” The answer was immediate. Violent. “She’s—” His voice cracked, his fingers gripping his knees. “She’s perfect.”
He had never meant anything more.
══════════════════
Daniel stood outside the community center, a thick envelope in his hands.
The sun had started to dip, the late afternoon light stretching shadows across the sidewalk. Through the large windows, he could see volunteers moving inside, setting up for the evening’s event. A mix of young and old, people who had been brought together because of her . Because of what Hannah built here.
She belonged to this place.
And he no longer belonged anywhere near her.
Daniel exhaled slowly, running his thumb along the edge of the envelope. Inside was everything he’d been working on for the past two weeks—a fully developed outreach campaign, ready to be implemented. Flyers, social media strategies, targeted sponsorship pitches.
He’d done what he always did—analyzed the market, crafted a campaign, built a network of the right people.
Except this time, the “product” wasn’t some luxury brand trying to stay relevant. It was Hannah.
It was her work. Her mission. The thing that mattered most to her.
Daniel stepped forward, his heartbeat a steady, controlled drum in his chest. He entered the lobby, immediately spotting a young woman at the front desk.
Morgan.
Hannah’s right hand. Someone who had every reason to hate him.
Her gaze flickered to his, eyes narrowing slightly. “What do you want?”
Daniel lifted the envelope. “This is for Hannah.”
Morgan crossed her arms. “Why?”
His jaw tightened, but he kept his voice level. “Because it’s what I can do.”
Morgan didn’t reach for it. “And you think she needs your help?”
“No.” The word came out quickly, firmly. “She doesn’t need me. But she deserves every advantage. And I can give her that.”
Morgan studied him for a long moment, like she was looking for an angle, a selfish motive.
She wouldn’t find one.
Finally, with a slow exhale, she took the envelope from his hands. “She won’t want this.”
Daniel swallowed hard. “Don’t tell her it came from me.”
Morgan hesitated—just for a fraction of a second—before nodding toward the door. “You should go.”
Daniel didn’t argue. He turned, pushing open the glass door, stepping back into the cooling evening air.
And as he walked away, he didn’t look back.
Hannah would never know where the strategy came from.
She would never have to.
That was love now.
Not demanding. Not asking. Not hoping.
Just giving.