27. Pierce
PIERCE
I'd been sitting at my desk for three hours, staring at the same analysis Carter had already handled twice.
The numbers meant nothing. My phone sat exactly where I'd left it — centered on the left side of my desk, within reach, screen dark.
Hannah hadn't called. She hadn't texted.
She was pregnant, staying with Julia, and the divorce papers I'd signed and sent back were probably sitting in some attorney's office, filed.
God, what had I expected?
I pushed the folder away. Carter had this under control. He had everything under control, because I'd handed it all to him. The whole company was running without me, and it turned out the world didn't end when Pierce Langford stepped back from the wheel. That should've been a relief.
It wasn't.
My chest tightened every time I looked at that phone.
I'd brought the thing to Julia's house yesterday — something Hannah had mentioned in the car, something she needed for the baby.
I hadn't waved it off. I hadn't told her to handle it herself or suggested she was overreacting about what a nursery required.
I'd just listened, ordered it, and carried the box up to her door myself.
That was it. No invitation inside. No conversation. I'd left.
She didn't owe me anything more.
I knew that. Knowing it didn't make the waiting easier.
The decision had settled in me somewhere between signing those papers and telling her to take care of herself and walking back to my car.
I wouldn't press her. I wouldn't ask for updates or explanations or reassurance that she was okay.
She'd tell me what she wanted me to know, when she wanted me to know it, and I'd wait for her to decide I'd earned that much.
Pressing her now would be exactly what I'd done for six years — deciding what she needed, when she needed it, without bothering to ask.
I was done being that man.
My phone buzzed.
I grabbed it before the second vibration finished. Hannah's name sat at the top of the screen. A text. Short.
Appointment Friday, 2 PM. Doctor's office on Maple. You can come if you want.
If I wanted.
Jesus. Of course I wanted. My hand shook as I typed back.
I'll be there.
I sent it, stared at the screen, deleted three other messages I'd started writing. Thank you sounded like I thought she was doing me a favor. I want to be there put pressure on her. I won't let you down was a promise I'd already broken too many times to matter. I left it at the three words.
Her reply came two minutes later.
Okay.
That was it. No details. No follow-up. Just okay, like I was some acquaintance she'd invited to a casual lunch instead of her husband — still her husband, technically, even though I'd signed the papers — coming to see the baby we'd made together.
The baby whose room I'd been building, and every time I thought about it my throat closed up and I remembered how badly I'd failed her already.
I put the appointment in my calendar. Typed it in manually, double-checked the time, set two reminders. Friday, 2 PM. Doctor's office on Maple. Hannah would be there. I would be there. Nothing else mattered.
The wedding ring was still in my pocket, wrapped in a white handkerchief.
I hadn't brought it up yesterday. I wouldn't bring it up Friday, either.
She'd left it behind for a reason. When she wanted it back — if she wanted it back — she'd tell me.
Until then, it stayed where it was, in that handkerchief I carried everywhere.
A reminder of what I'd lost. What I'd thrown away without even noticing.
The day dragged.
I stopped by the office because staying home made me crazy.
I sat in on meetings Carter was running.
I answered the odd question about deals I'd stopped following weeks ago, and every single person in that building looked at me like they were waiting for me to snap back into the man I'd been before.
The man who lived at his desk. The man who answered emails at midnight and took calls during Christmas dinner.
I wasn't him anymore.
I didn't know if that was permanent. I didn't know if I trusted myself to stay this version of Pierce Langford once the pressure came back, once the stakes were high enough that stepping away felt impossible. But for now — for Hannah, for this baby — I'd try.
Friday morning arrived.
Hannah hadn't texted again. No reminder, no confirmation, nothing. I hadn't asked. I checked my calendar six times before breakfast anyway, just to make sure I hadn't imagined it. 2 PM. Maple Street. I'd be there at 1:45.
I was going through my notes for a meeting I'd already delegated when Carter called. His name flashed on my screen at 12:30, and dread settled in before I even answered. Carter didn't call in the middle of the day unless something had gone wrong.
"Yeah?"
"We've got a problem." His voice was tight. Professional. The tone he used when he needed me to make a decision and make it fast. "The Singapore deal. Their CEO's flying back to Asia tonight, and he wants to meet before he goes. Today. 2 PM, or it's off the table."
I closed my eyes.
Of course. Of course it was today. Of course it was 2 PM.
"Pierce?" Carter's voice sharpened. "You there?"
"I'm here."
"He won't reschedule. I tried. It's now or never, and if we lose this?—"
"I know what we lose."
I did know. Singapore was six months of work.
Millions on the line, depending on how the terms shook out.
Relationships I'd spent years building. A market we'd been trying to crack since before I married Hannah.
Letting it walk away would cost us. It'd cost the company, cost our expansion, maybe cost Carter his reputation for closing deals I'd started.
I'd already lost one deal after cancelling Sienna's dinner, and I knew what that felt like.
It was 12:32. I had an hour and a half.
"Pierce." Carter's voice gentled, just slightly. He knew. He had to know. "What do you want me to do?"
The fear came up fast and cold. What if I said yes?
What if I told Carter to set the meeting, told myself it was just this once, just this deal, Hannah would understand because this was Singapore and opportunities like this didn't come around twice?
What if I got in the car and drove to the office instead of Maple Street, and I sat in that conference room and shook hands and signed papers, and I told myself I'd make it up to her later?
I'd be right back where I started.
The man who put work first. The man who waved off his wife's needs because the company needed him more. The man who missed things that mattered because business was always urgent and Hannah — patient, steady Hannah — had always been willing to wait.
I wasn't doing that again.
"Handle it," I said.
Carter was quiet for three seconds. Then: "You sure?"
"Yeah." My voice steadied. "I'm sure. You've been running point on this for weeks. You know the terms as well as I do. Close it if you can. If he won't deal with you, we'll find another market."
"Pierce, this is?—"
"I know what it is." I looked at my calendar. 2 PM. Hannah. The baby. The appointment I'd promised I'd be at. "And I know where I need to be. Handle it, Carter."
He exhaled, low and slow. "All right. I'll do my best."
"I know you will."
I hung up before he could say anything else.
My hand was still shaking. The fear hadn't left — if anything, it'd gotten sharper, colder, wrapping around my ribs and squeezing until I couldn't breathe right.
What if I'd just cost us everything? What if Singapore walked and the board came after me for it, or the investors pulled out, or Carter looked at me like I'd finally lost my mind? What if I'd made the wrong call?
What if Hannah didn't even notice?
That was the worst part. The idea that I'd blow up a deal, walk away from millions, choose her over the company — and she wouldn't know it was a choice. She'd just see me show up at 2 PM like I'd said I would, and she'd think it was easy.
It wasn't easy.
But I was doing it anyway.
I left the office at 1:30. Drove to Maple Street with my hands locked on the wheel and my heart hammering against my ribs like it was trying to break out.
The fear followed me the whole way. Not fear of losing the deal anymore — that was done, that was Carter's problem now.
Fear that I'd slip. That I'd get to the doctor's office and my phone would ring, and I'd look at Hannah and I'd see her waiting for me to choose, and I'd pick it up anyway.
I wouldn't.
God, I wouldn't.
I pulled into the parking lot at 1:50. Hannah's car was already there.
I sat in mine for two minutes, trying to get my breathing under control, trying to smooth the panic off my face so she wouldn't see it.
She didn't need to know about Singapore.
She didn't need to know what it had cost me to be here.
This wasn't about me proving something or asking her to notice.
This was about showing up. Being the man who went with her.
I got out of the car.
She was in the waiting room, sitting in one of those chairs that looked uncomfortable as hell, her hands folded over the swell of her stomach.
She looked up when I walked in. Her expression didn't change.
No surprise, no relief, nothing. Just a small nod, like I'd done exactly what she'd expected and nothing more.
"Hi," I said.
"Hi."
I sat down next to her. Close enough that I could've reached for her hand if I'd thought she'd let me. I didn't reach. I just sat there, feeling like an idiot, feeling like I should say something and having no idea what.
"Thanks for coming," she said quietly.
"Of course." My throat tightened. "I wanted to be here."
She didn't answer. Just looked at me for a second, like she was measuring something, then looked away.
The nurse called her name ten minutes later. Hannah stood, and I stood with her. She didn't tell me not to. We walked back together, and the nurse showed us into a small room with an exam table and a monitor and a smell like antiseptic that made my stomach turn over.
Hannah sat on the table. I stood against the wall, hands in my pockets, trying not to take up too much space.
The doctor came in. Asked questions. Hannah answered them. I listened. When the doctor looked at me and asked if I had anything to add, I shook my head.
"No. I'm just here."
Hannah's eyes cut to me. I couldn't read her expression.
The appointment went on. My phone stayed in my pocket.
It didn't buzz — Carter knew better — but even if it had, I wouldn't have looked.
I kept my eyes on Hannah. On the monitor when the doctor turned it on.
On the small grainy image that was supposed to be our baby, and Jesus, I couldn't make sense of it at first, couldn't see what they were pointing at.
Then Hannah's face changed. Softened. And I saw it.
A heartbeat.
The doctor talked. Measurements, dates, everything looked good, next appointment in two weeks. I nodded when it seemed like I should nod. I didn't ask questions. This wasn't my appointment. I was just here because she'd let me be here, and I wasn't going to screw that up by trying to take over.
When it was done, we walked back to the parking lot together. The silence stretched. I wanted to say something — wanted to tell her I was glad I'd come, wanted to ask if she was okay, wanted to know if this meant anything or if it was just one appointment and nothing more.
I didn't.
We stopped next to her car. She looked at me. Really looked at me, for the first time since I'd walked into that waiting room.
"You stayed the whole time," she said.
"Yeah."
"Your phone didn't ring."
"No," I said.
She studied my face. I didn't know what she was looking for. I just knew I wasn't going to lie to her.
"Okay," she said finally.
That word again. Okay. It didn't mean forgiveness. It didn't mean anything was fixed. But it meant she'd let me come to the next one, maybe. It meant I hadn't screwed this up yet.
It meant I still had a chance.
She got in her car. I watched her pull out of the parking lot, watched until her taillights disappeared around the corner. Then I stood there in the cold, my breath fogging in front of me, my heart still racing.
I'd done it.
I'd shown up. I'd stayed. I'd put her first.
And I knew — standing there alone, hands numb, chest aching — I wouldn't slip back.
Not into the man who would've taken that meeting.
Not into the man who would've chosen Singapore over his wife.
I wasn't perfect. I'd probably screw up a hundred other things before this was over. But I wouldn't be that man again.
I couldn't afford to be.