29. Pierce
PIERCE
The laminator jammed again.
I crouched beside it on the floor of Julia's classroom, pulling out the crumpled sheet.
The machine was a relic. Half the buttons didn't work and the heating element smelled like burning plastic every time it warmed up, but Julia had said the district wouldn't replace it until it died completely.
So I'd ordered a new one. It would arrive Monday.
In the meantime, I was on my knees trying to coax this thing through one more batch of sonnet handouts.
The door opened behind me.
I didn't turn right away. My hands were full of warped laminate and I was annoyed enough that I needed a second to get my expression under control. Then I glanced back over my shoulder.
Hannah stood in the doorway.
My chest went tight. She looked tired. Beautiful, but tired. The curve of her stomach showed under her coat, and her face had that drawn look she got when she wasn't sleeping well. I wanted to ask if she was okay, but I knew better than to lead with that. She'd tell me if she wanted to.
I set the laminate down and stood. "Hey."
"What are you doing here?" Her voice was careful. Not cold, but not warm either.
I straightened, wiping my hands on my jeans. "Helping Julia."
Hannah's eyes moved over the room. The bulletin boards I'd hung yesterday, covered in bright construction paper and sonnet handouts.
The shelves I'd reorganized, bins labeled in Julia's neat handwriting.
The stack of laminated handouts on the desk, sorted by unit.
The reading space I'd built two doors down, cushions arranged on a cheap rug I'd picked up because the floor was too hard for kids to sit on for long.
Her gaze came back to me, and I saw the moment she understood.
"How long have you been doing this?"
"A while."
"Pierce."
God, I'd missed hearing her say my name like that. Like she wanted the truth and knew I'd give it to her. "In the weeks after I signed the papers."
She crossed her arms, but it wasn't a defensive gesture. More like she was holding herself together. "Julia didn't tell me."
"I asked her not to." I shoved my hands in my pockets because I didn't know what else to do with them. "I wasn't doing it so you'd know."
Hannah looked at me for a long moment. Her throat moved when she swallowed. She didn't say anything.
I turned back to the laminator and hit the power button.
The machine clicked off. The classroom went quiet except for the hum of the overhead lights and the faint sound of someone's music down the hall.
I'd been using the work to keep my hands busy, to prove something to myself if not to her, but it didn't matter now. She was here.
I faced her again and stayed where I was. "I'm listening."
She didn't move from the doorway. "You stopped what you were doing."
"Yeah."
"Just like that."
"Hannah, you're standing in front of me." My voice came out rougher than I meant it to. "Nothing else matters."
Her eyes went bright. She blinked, looked down, then back up at me. She still didn't come closer. She was waiting.
She's testing you. Shut up and pass the damn test.
I stayed put. Didn't fill the silence. Didn't try to fix whatever she was feeling. I just waited with her, and it killed me not to cross the room and pull her into my arms, but I knew that wasn't what she needed.
Finally, she let out a breath. "I don't know what to do with this."
"With what?"
"You. Here. Doing this." She gestured at the classroom. "I came to see Julia and you're—" Her voice cracked. She steadied it. "You're fixing her laminator."
"It's jammed."
"I can see that."
The air between us felt fragile. Like one wrong word would shatter it. I waited.
Hannah moved further into the room. Not close, but not keeping the door at her back either. She stopped next to one of the student desks, the kind with the chair attached. Her fingers traced the edge of it. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I'm not doing it for credit." I met her eyes. "I'm doing it because I should've been doing it all along."
Her hand stilled on the desk. "What does that mean?"
This was it. The moment I'd been thinking about for three days, lying awake at night. I could hedge. I could ease into it. But Hannah deserved better than that.
"I'm sorry." The words felt too small. "For all of it.
For every time I waved you off. For every time I picked work over you.
For every time I made you feel like you didn't matter.
" My throat was tight, but I kept going.
"For not seeing Sienna. For not listening when you tried to tell me.
For making you handle everything alone while I told myself the marriage was fine. "
Hannah's breath hitched. "Pierce?—"
"I know words aren't enough." I took one step toward her, then stopped. "I know I can't fix six years. But I'm going to keep showing up. I'm going to keep doing the work. Whether you take me back or not."
Her eyes were wet now. She didn't wipe them. "You signed the papers."
"I did."
"You let me go."
"No." My hands curled into fists at my sides. "If you want the divorce, I'll give it to you. If you want me to disappear, I will. But if there's any part of you that still wants this marriage—" Christ, don't screw this up. "Then tell me what you need."
The silence stretched. Hannah looked at me like she was seeing something she hadn't expected. Or maybe something she'd been afraid to hope for. I didn't know. I just knew I'd never wanted anything more than I wanted her to stay.
"What I need," she said finally. Quietly.
"Yeah."
She straightened. Pulled her shoulders back. When she spoke again, her voice was steady. "I just want a marriage where he listens to me."
"Okay."
"I want a husband who's there with me."
"Okay."
"I want him at the prenatal appointments." Her hand moved to her stomach, resting there. Protective. "I need you there when the baby comes. I want the baby to have a father who shows up. Who doesn't miss the moments that matter because work came first."
The weight of it settled in my chest. Not heavy. Right. "Okay."
"I need—" Her voice wavered. She steadied it. "I need to know that I matter more than your work. That we matter more."
"You do." I meant it. God, I meant it. "You matter more than all of it."
Hannah stared at me. Searching. I didn't look away.
"That's it?" she said. "Just okay?"
"What do you want me to say?"
"I don't know. I thought—" She stopped. Started again. "I thought you'd negotiate. Or tell me which ones you've already done."
"I'm not negotiating." I took another step toward her. Still not touching, but close enough to see the gold flecks in her eyes, the freckle just below her left one. "And I'm not keeping score. You just told me what you need. I'm saying yes."
Her breath caught. "To all of it."
"To all of it," I said. "No conditions. No buts. You want me at every appointment, I'm there. You want me to put you first, I will. You want a husband who listens—Hannah, I will spend the rest of my life learning how to hear you."
A tear slipped down her cheek. Then another. She didn't move to wipe them away.
I waited. Everything in me wanted to reach for her, but this was hers. Her choice. Her terms. I'd given my answer. Now it was her move.
"I heard you," she whispered.
It wasn't relief. It wasn't anything yet. Just an acknowledgment that I'd said the words. I nodded. "Okay."
She looked at me for another beat, and I couldn't read her face. Couldn't tell if she was about to tell me to leave or ask me to stay. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.
Then she closed the distance between us and kissed me.
I'd been bracing for her to walk away. When her mouth found mine instead, it hit me like whiplash.
For half a second I froze, my brain trying to catch up with what was happening.
Then my hands came up to her face, her waist, pulling her closer.
She tasted like tears and something sweet she must've had earlier.
Her fingers curled into my shirt, holding on tight.
God, I'd missed this. Missed her. The feel of her against me, the way she fit like she'd been made for this, for me. The softness of her lips, the small sound she made when I deepened the kiss. My chest ached with it.
When we broke apart, we were both breathing hard. I pressed my forehead to hers, careful not to lean my weight on her, careful of the baby between us. Her hand came up to the back of my neck, fingers sliding into my hair.
"I love you," I said. The words came out rough. Raw.
"I love you too." Her voice shook. "I never stopped."
"Hannah—"
"I'm withdrawing the divorce."
I went still. "What?"
She pulled back just enough to look at me. Her eyes were red, but she was smiling. Smiling. "I'm withdrawing it. I don't want the divorce."
My heart slammed against my ribs. "You're serious."
"Yes."
"You—" I couldn't get the words out. My throat was too tight. I kissed her again instead, hard and desperate, and she laughed against my mouth. The sound broke something open in my chest.
When I pulled back, I was shaking. "You didn't tell me you'd decided."
"I wanted to hear what you'd say first." Her hand moved to my jaw, her thumb brushing over my cheek. "I needed to know you'd take my terms. All of them. Without negotiating."
"I would've taken anything you gave me."
"I know." She smiled again, softer this time. "That's why I'm staying."
I kissed her forehead. Her temple. The corner of her mouth. I couldn't stop touching her. Couldn't quite believe she was here, that she'd said yes, that I hadn't lost her. My wife. Jesus Christ, my wife.
Hannah made a soft sound and pulled back. She looked down at her left hand. Her ring finger was bare.
The skin there was paler than the rest, a faint tan line marking where the ring used to sit. A shadow of what had been.
She touched the spot with her other hand. The gesture was small, almost absent, but it landed in my gut like a punch. She looked up at me. "Do you still have it?"
I didn't have to ask what she meant.
I reached into my pocket. The ring had been there for weeks. I'd carried it like a talisman. Like keeping it close would bring her back.
I pulled it out and held it in my palm.
Hannah stared at it. Her breath went uneven. She reached for it, then stopped. Her hand hovered over mine. "I didn't know you kept it with you."
"I wasn't letting it go."
She looked up at me. More tears, but she was smiling through them. "Can I?—"
"It's yours." I held it out.
She took the ring from my palm. Her fingers were shaking. For a second I thought she'd ask me to put it on her, but she didn't. She held it, turned it in the light, looked at it like she was making sure it was real. Then she slid it onto her finger herself.
It settled into place like it had never left.
Hannah let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sob. She held her hand up, staring at the ring like she couldn't believe it was back where it belonged. Then she looked at me.
I pulled her close, and she came. Her arms went around me, her face pressed to my chest. I held her tight, one hand in her hair, the other at her back. She was shaking. Or maybe I was. I didn't know.
"I've got you," I said against her hair. "I'm not letting go."
"Good." Her voice was muffled against my shirt. "Don't."
I tightened my hold and closed my eyes. The classroom was still a mess. The laminator was still broken. But my wife was in my arms, her ring was back on her finger, and I had the rest of my life to prove I could be the man she needed.
I'd take it.