26. Hannah
HANNAH
Pierce's car smelled like leather and that cologne he wore.
I sat in the passenger seat with my hands folded over the bump and my coat bunched around me because I'd stayed at the party longer than I meant to.
The streets were dark and quiet. He drove carefully, like he always did, both hands on the wheel.
I watched the streetlights go by. My chest felt tight. I'd seen him give me credit tonight, right there in front of everyone, and I was still afraid to believe it would last. Two days ago he'd apologized and I'd told him I didn't forgive him yet. He hadn't argued. He'd just listened.
Now I was about to test him again, and he had no idea.
I wasn't sure I could go through with it.
The baby kicked. I pressed my palm to the spot and took a breath.
There was something I needed. Something plain and practical that I couldn't handle while I was staying with Julia.
I could ask my friend, but Julia's place was small and it wouldn't be fair to her.
Pierce could get it done in an afternoon.
He had the staff. He had everything except the habit of listening when I asked for help.
I turned my head to look at him. His jaw was tight. He looked tired. He'd been working at the party all evening, the same way I had for six years, and he'd still found time to credit me in front of the guests. That mattered. I knew it mattered.
But one gesture didn't mean he'd changed.
I could ask him now, and he'd probably agree to it right away because he was trying.
That wasn't the test. The test was whether he'd remember without me bringing it up three more times.
Whether he'd actually do it, or whether it would disappear into the same category as everything else I'd ever asked him for — mountains I was making out of anthills.
He couldn't say that phrase to me now. Not after everything. But he could still think it, and if he did, this whole thing was pointless.
My hands twisted together. I was nervous enough that it hummed under my skin, making my pulse jump. I made myself say it before I lost my nerve.
"Pierce."
He glanced at me, then back at the road. "Yeah?"
I kept my voice quiet and level. No emotion. No plea. Just the fact. "I need a car seat for the baby. I can't get it ready at Julia's. There's no room."
He was silent for a moment. The car turned onto Julia's street, the engine a low hum between us. I waited for him to tell me it could wait. I waited for him to say I was worrying too early, that we had time, that it wasn't urgent and I should focus on resting instead of fussing over a car seat.
He didn't.
"Okay," Pierce said.
That was all. Just okay. No logic. No reasons it didn't matter yet. No dismissal.
I stared at him. Heat crept up my neck, flustering me, and I hated that I couldn't keep my reaction off my face. He'd heard me. He'd actually heard me, and he wasn't waving it off.
I waited for him to say something else. He didn't. He just kept driving, his expression unreadable in the dim light from the dashboard.
My throat felt tight. I wanted to ask if he meant it.
I wanted to know if he'd follow through.
I wanted to tell him this mattered, that I was watching, that I needed to see whether he'd listen this time.
I didn't say any of it.
If I reminded him, if I pushed, if I turned this into a conversation about what I needed from him, then I'd never know whether he could do it on his own. I'd never know if he was really listening or just managing me the way he managed everything else.
So I sat there with my hands folded and my heart beating too fast, and I made myself stay quiet.
Pierce pulled up in front of Julia's house. He put the car in park but didn't turn off the engine. I half expected him to say something. He just looked at me, his gaze steady and tired and careful, like he was trying to figure out what I was thinking.
I couldn't tell him.
"Thank you for the ride," I said.
"Yeah." His voice was rough. He got out and came around to open my door, which he'd started doing again recently. I took his hand to steady myself as I stood, my coat pulling tight over the bump. His palm was warm. Solid. It made my stomach flip in a way I really didn't need right now.
I stepped back as soon as I was on my feet.
"Goodnight," I said.
"Goodnight, Hannah."
I walked to Julia's door without looking back. I heard his car pull away as I let myself inside.
Julia was on the couch with a book and a cup of tea. She looked up when I came in, taking in my face with that sharp teacher's eye that never missed anything.
"How was it?" she asked.
"Fine." I hung up my coat and sank into the armchair across from her. My feet ached. Everything ached. "He gave me credit tonight. In front of everyone."
Julia's eyebrows went up. "Did he."
"Yeah."
"And?"
I rubbed my hands over my face. "And I just asked him for a car seat for the baby. I can't get it ready here."
"What did he say?"
"He said okay."
Julia watched me. She didn't ask if I thought he'd actually do it. She didn't have to.
"I'm not reminding him," I said. My voice came out sharper than I meant it to. "If he wants to follow through, he can do it on his own. I'm done repeating myself."
"Good," Julia said quietly.
I sat there staring at my hands. I'd asked Pierce for something, and he'd agreed without arguing. That should have felt like progress. Instead it just felt terrifying, because now I had to wait and see if he meant it.
The divorce was still going ahead. I'd asked for it, and he'd signed the papers and sent them back. I was still staying here with Julia, still pregnant and still separated from my husband, and nothing about that had changed.
But he'd listened tonight.
I pulled my knees up as much as I could with the bump in the way and wrapped my arms around them.
God, I was tired. Tired of hoping. Tired of being disappointed.
Tired of not knowing whether this version of Pierce — the one who apologized and gave me credit and said okay instead of brushing me off — was real or just temporary.
Julia didn't say anything. She just went back to her book and let me sit there in the quiet.
Days passed.
I didn't hear from Pierce. I didn't ask Julia to check in with him. I went to my appointments and came back to Julia's place and tried not to think about whether he was doing what I'd asked or whether he'd forgotten about it the second I walked through her door.
It was probably forgotten. He was busy. He had work and meetings and a whole company to run, and I'd mentioned the car seat once, quietly, in a car on a dark street. Why would he remember that?
Except I needed him to remember. I needed him to hear me the first time and act on it without me standing over him and managing every detail the way I'd done for six years. If he couldn't do that, then nothing had actually changed.
I told myself not to hope.
I hoped anyway, like an idiot.
Three days later, Pierce showed up at Julia's door.
I answered it because Julia was at work and I was on the couch folding laundry that didn't need folding just to keep my hands busy. When I saw him standing there I froze. He was in jeans and a sweater, not a suit, and his hair was a little messy like he'd been running his hands through it.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey." My pulse kicked up. I didn't know why he was here. For a second I thought something was wrong, that he'd come to tell me bad news, and my hands went protectively to the bump.
Pierce saw it. His jaw tightened. "Everything's okay. I just — I brought the car seat."
I stared at him.
"It's right here," he said. He looked uncomfortable, the box at his feet, his shoulders tense. "I didn't call first because I thought — I thought you'd want it from me in person."
My throat closed up.
He'd done it. He'd actually done it. I'd asked him once, once, and he'd followed through without me reminding him or checking in or asking if he'd forgotten. He'd heard me the first time, and he'd acted on it, and now he was standing at Julia's door with it at his feet.
"You — " My voice cracked. I cleared my throat and tried again. "You did it yourself?"
"Yeah." His eyes were steady on mine. "I didn't send staff. I wanted to carry it up myself."
God. I was going to cry, and I absolutely could not cry in front of him right now.
I looked down at my hands. They were shaking.
I was shaking, just a little, because this was what I'd needed from him for years and he'd finally, finally done it.
Not because I'd nagged him into it. Not because I'd reminded him five times or made a list or turned it into an argument about how he never listened.
He'd just done it.
"Thank you," I whispered.
Pierce took a step closer. I looked up at him and saw something in his face that made my chest hurt — something careful and tentative and almost hopeful. He was standing close enough now that I could feel the warmth coming off him. My stomach flipped.
"Is there anything else you need?" he asked quietly.
I shook my head. I didn't trust my voice.
He nodded. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but he didn't. He just stood there for another moment, his gaze on mine, and then he stepped back.
"I'll let you go," he said. "I just wanted you to know."
"Pierce — "
He waited.
I didn't know what to say. Thank you wasn't enough. I'm still not ready to come back felt cruel. I'm watching you, and I need to see if you can keep doing this was too honest. So I just stood there with my heart pounding and my throat tight and said nothing at all.
"Take care of yourself, Hannah," he said finally. His voice was rough.
Then he left.
I stood in the doorway and watched him walk to his car. He didn't look back. The engine started and he pulled away, and I closed the door and leaned against it with my whole body shaking.
God, what was happening to me?
I pressed my hands to my face. He'd listened. He'd listened, the way I'd needed him to listen for six years, and he'd done exactly what I asked without making me fight for it.
And he still had my wedding ring.
I'd left it on the nursery shelf beside the gray elephant, and I knew he would have found it. He hadn't brought it up. He hadn't tried to give it back to me or asked me to wear it again. He'd just kept it, the way someone keeps something that matters to them.
When Julia came home that evening I was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea I hadn't touched. She took one look at my face and sat down across from me.
"What happened?"
"Pierce came by." My voice sounded strange. Thin. "He brought the car seat. He carried it up himself."
Julia went still. "He did it?"
"Yeah."
"Did you remind him?"
"No." I shook my head. "I said it once, in the car, and that was it. He just... did it."
Julia sat back in her chair. She didn't say anything for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was careful. "That's not what you expected."
"No," I said quietly. "It's the opposite."
She knew what I meant. She'd been the one to name it months ago, when I'd first told her how bad things had gotten.
You are being overlooked. You are being neglected.
You are being ignored in your own home, in your own marriage, by your own husband.
And: You're being humiliated, Hannah. That was what my marriage had been, and we'd both known it.
Pierce waving off everything I said. Pierce answering my feelings with logic.
Pierce telling me I was making mountains out of anthills while I stood there trying not to cry.
This was the opposite of that.
This was Pierce hearing me the first time. Acting on it. Coming to my door with it himself.
"I don't know what to do," I said.
Julia reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "You don't have to know yet."
I looked at her. I wanted her to tell me he'd changed, that this was real, that I could trust it.
She didn't say any of it. She just sat there with her hand over mine, not pushing, not pleading for him, just there.
And I couldn't hide it anymore. Not from her. Not from myself.
I had hope.
God, I hated it. I hated hoping, because hoping meant I could be disappointed again, and I didn't know if I could survive that. But it was there anyway, stubborn and fragile and terrifying, curled up in my chest like something newborn.
Pierce was listening. He'd heard me, and he'd acted on it, and he'd done it the first time I asked.
I believed him.
I didn't know what came next. I didn't know if this was enough to fix what was broken between us, or whether he could keep doing it, or whether I was ready to forgive him for the six years when he didn't listen at all.
But I believed he was listening now.
And that was something.