Chapter Sixty-Four - Hannah
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
Hannah
SHE’D MISSED THIS. Missed being in Daniel’s arms like this. She’s missed feeling safe in his arms. And somehow, despite everything, she did.
He was kissing her, and she felt like without his arms around her, she might float away.
She kissed him harder just to prove she could.
When she pulled back, his eyes were glassy. A little wrecked.
Good.
Good.
But not because she wanted him broken.
Because he wasn’t pretending anymore.
Because this was the real him.
And she knew it now— knew it. Not with her head, not just with memory or muscle or fear of being alone. She knew it in her bones.
She wanted her husband back.
She didn’t want to date him. Didn’t want to flirt from across quiet tables and pretend they were starting from zero.
She wanted this man —the one who sat in therapy and let his shame bleed out in front of her, who weeded compost with children like it was penance and purpose all at once, who stayed out of her way until she asked him to step closer.
The man who rewrote the marketing plan for her nonprofit behind the scenes and never told anyone it was him.
The man who gave her the house without condition, without comment.
She had waited long enough.
Her life was already hers again. Her spine was strong, her voice steady. She hadn’t rebuilt herself for him—but she had made enough room to choose.
And she was done pretending she didn’t already know what she wanted.
She wanted him.
Not slowly. Not piece by piece.
All of him.
Back in their home. Back in her bed. Back beside her—every morning, every night, every messy, imperfect day in between.
It didn’t start later.
It started now.
Her hand came to rest against his chest. His heart was galloping under her palm.
“I want this,” she said quietly.
His eyes fluttered closed. A sound escaped him—half a breath, half a prayer.
She leaned in, her hand still pressed to his chest. His heartbeat was thunder beneath her palm. She thought he might kiss her again.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he dropped.
Straight to his knees.
“Daniel?” she said, startled.
He didn’t look up. Just knelt there in front of her, his breath ragged, his hands curled into loose fists against his thighs.
“I love you,” he said.
The words landed like a gift. Like sunlight.
Her breath caught.
“I love you,” he said again, voice breaking. “And I’m sorry. I am so fucking sorry.”
She didn’t move.
“I know I don’t deserve you. I know that.” His voice shook. “I lost the right to ask you for anything. And this—this chance—it already feels like more than I should ever get back.”
Her hands hovered at her sides. Still, she didn’t reach for him.
“I understand that right now this is just sex,” he said, staring at the floor. “That’s what you want from me—God, Hannah, I’ll give you anything you ever ask from me. I’ll be yours in whatever way you’ll let me.”
She blinked, stunned.
“But if there’s even the smallest chance this could be more…” He swallowed hard. “If there’s even the smallest chance that someday, not today, not tomorrow—but one day—you might want me back for real…”
His voice cracked open.
“Then I swear to you, I’ll earn it. I’ll be everything you ask. I’ll sacrifice anything. Just to see you smile again. Just to be near you. Just to make you proud to look at me.”
She stared at him, heart thudding.
God.
He thought this was casual.
He thought she’d invited him into her bed, but not into her life.
She reached down and cupped his face in both hands.
“Daniel” she whispered. “Yes.”
He looked stunned. Like the floor had dropped out from under him and he was still floating.
“I want us ,” she said. “Not the old us. Not the broken version. This one. The one where we mean it.”
A sob clawed out of him. He didn’t fight it.
“And I want to start the new us now .”
She lent down and kissed him.
Slow. Fierce. Certain.
And then again, softer. A kiss that felt like a promise with no deadline.
They undressed each other piece by piece. Not rushed. Not frantic. Just reverent. Like rediscovering something you never thought you'd see again.
The bed welcomed them like it remembered, but neither of them moved like they used to. There was no muscle memory left to fall back on. They had to learn each other again, from scratch.
And that made it real.
His hands were trembling when he touched her. She held them steady.
She was breathless when he whispered her name like it was an apology and a prayer all in one.
They made love like two people who knew the cost.
Every kiss. Every gasp. Every time he whispered, Is this okay? and she said, Yes, yes, please—yes.
It wasn’t just physical. It wasn’t even just emotional.
It was reclamation.
It was rewriting.