Chapter 193: Hannah

I descended the staircase, my hand trailing the polished banister. The chatter from the living room intensified as I approached, and I paused, smoothing my dress before taking the final step. It was the eve of the Lunar Festival, and only hours earlier, Noah had announced a gathering—a gathering that, to my dismay, included Zoe.

I hadn't seen or spoken to Zoe since my visit to her house a week ago. A small, foolish part of me had hoped to avoid her until the festival. But here we were.

Finally, I nodded to myself, rounded the corner, and entered the room. The conversation ceased as all eyes turned to me. My cheeks flushed under their scrutiny; I felt acutely aware of my dark blue dress clinging to my fuller figure. I'd gained weight recently—a positive change, yet still a source of self-consciousness.

Zoe's eyes widened, her gaze appraising me, lingering momentarily on my breasts. Even Noah, by the fireplace, seemed surprised. But it was Drake's reaction that startled me. His eyes met mine, a mixture of surprise and something else unidentifiable flickering across his face.

I stood silently, unsure what to say. The room buzzed with renewed conversation, but I felt isolated in my own silent bubble. Surprisingly, Zoe broke the silence. Before I could speak, she approached with two champagne glasses. "Hannah," she said, her hips swaying, "drink?"

I hesitated, knowing I should refuse. But Zoe's expectant gaze made me falter. I'd need a non-alcoholic alternative, and I couldn't risk anyone discovering my pregnancy, especially with the impending divorce.

"I… thanks, Zoe," I finally managed.

As I reached for a glass, Drake smoothly intervened. "Actually, I think Hannah might prefer this," he said, his fingers brushing mine as he exchanged my drink. "I know you prefer gin and tonics to champagne."

My eyes widened. Drake winked subtly, turning so only I could see. Frowning, I examined the bubbling glass—a non-alcoholic alternative. It was Sprite with a lime wedge.

"Oh, um, yes. Thank you, Drake," I said, smiling gratefully. I glanced at Zoe, dismissively examining her nails, and felt relief wash over me. As I sipped my soda, I caught Noah's eye across the room, but he quickly looked away, his jaw tight.

Dinner was a blur of laughter and conversation, catching up with old friends and packmates. Toasts were offered, speeches made, dessert served, and I maintained a pleasant smile, sipping my soda.

As the party broke into smaller groups—dancing, playing games, chatting—I excused myself to freshen up. In the bathroom, I took a deep breath, running my fingers through my perfectly curled hair.

Exhaling, I turned sideways to the mirror. There, subtly, was a small bump on my lower belly—not yet my baby, but something equally precious: a little extra, healthy flesh.

I smiled. Since beginning my eating disorder recovery, I'd gained eight pounds. It showed—not just in my body, but in my hair, skin, and eyes. I was glowing.

Things were looking up. For a moment, though, my fingers itched for my phone. I checked the forum post daily, watching the likes accumulate. Last week, it had reached five thousand; it had since slowed to just under six thousand, but still…