Chapter 0290

Hannah

“Hannah, are you sure about this?” Noah whispered. “What if we get caught?”

I turned to him, placing one finger over my lips. Glancing over both shoulders to ensure no one was watching, I carefully pulled the side door open, being careful not to make a sound as we slipped inside the hospital.

Noah hesitated at the threshold, looking uncertain. But I didn’t give him a chance to turn back, to run away and claim this was a bad idea. With my eyes flashing, I grabbed his hand and yanked him in after me. I remembered how clammy his hand was, how cold and sweaty his palm felt against mine. But I never released my grip.

We slipped past the security guards, our hearts pounding in unison. I led Noah through a maze of corridors, relying on the signs lining the walls to find the intensive care unit. Finally, we reached his mother’s room. Noah took a deep breath, pausing outside the door.

“Here it is,” I whispered, finally releasing his hand.

He hesitated again, but I could see his green eyes flicker with something in the dim light—something gentle and…grateful as he looked at me. Then, without a word, Noah stepped into the room.

I waited outside, fidgeting nervously, straining my ears for any sign of approaching staff. Thankfully, none came. Soon, the minutes stretched into ten, then fifteen, then twenty. Eventually, I lost track of how long he stayed in that room, although I never left my lookout spot.

When Noah emerged after what felt like hours, his face was filled with sadness, but there was a peace in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

Neither of us spoke as we slipped back out of the hospital. It wasn’t until we were safely outside, in the parking lot lit by amber streetlamps, that I turned to him.

“How is she?”

Noah swallowed hard. “Not good. But…I’m glad I got to see her. To say…to say goodbye.”

Suddenly, it was two weeks later, and we were saying goodbye at the end of that summer. I was returning to Silvermoon for school, and I knew I wouldn’t see Noah for a long time. We stood at the bus stop, the late summer sun casting long shadows around us.

“I’ll write to you,” Noah promised, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Every week.”

I threw my arms around him. He stiffened, tensing beneath my touch, before hugging me back.

“Every week,” I replied.

As I waved to him through the bus window, I took it upon myself to memorize every detail of his face. It was only once the bus pulled out of Nightcrest territory that I finally realized, with a start, that I had fallen in love with this boy I had only known for a summer.

I woke up with a bitter taste in my mouth and an ache in my chest. The morning sun was splintering through my curtains, the birds chirping outside. Groaning, I tugged the blankets up to my chin. I wanted to go back to that dream. Back to a memory of a time when life was gentler.

As I lay there, fuming, those memories—once so sweet—now felt like a cruel joke. Noah and I had been secret pen pals for two years after that summer, writing countless letters to one another. It had been a while since I had looked at them.

Swallowing, I climbed out of bed and went to the closet. There, on the topmost shelf, tucked into a corner, was a dusty shoebox. I hadn’t looked at it in years, but I had never been able to bring myself to throw it away. Not even when I had decided that our marriage was over.

I blew the dust off the top and returned to bed, settling cross-legged on top of the rumpled blankets as I removed the lid. Inside were the letters we had exchanged, each…