Chapter 67: Hannah

After the meal, I insisted on helping clean up, despite the director’s protests. Noah had spent most of our visit mocking me, and I felt I needed to prove something—to him and to myself.

“Really, Luna Hannah, you’ve already done so much!” the director protested. “We couldn’t possibly ask our Luna to clean the kitchen.”

“Nonsense,” I said, already gathering my plate and rolling up my sleeves. “I’d love to help.”

The director, wide-eyed, showered me with thanks and compliments. As I headed to the kitchen, Noah caught my elbow, giving me a curious look. “Cleaning, too?” he whispered. “What kind of an image—”

“It’s the right thing to do,” I retorted, speaking loudly enough for everyone to hear. “You should help, too, Alpha Noah.”

I pulled away, leaving him behind. I heard him huff, but I didn’t look back. Later, I felt him appear at the sink beside me, beginning to scrub.

While scrubbing dishes alongside Noah, the director, and her staff, a wave of nausea hit me with the force of a punch. Cold sweat broke out as my stomach clenched, and I barely managed to cover my mouth before vomiting.

“Excuse me,” I gasped, hurrying to the nearest bathroom, trying to maintain composure. The moment the door closed, I dropped to my knees and retched. My body shook; tears streamed down my cheeks. Lunch was gone.

Finally, I slumped against the cool tiled wall, breathing deeply. I wiped my forehead, trying not to gasp. I felt utterly drained.

A hesitant knock startled me. “Hannah? Are you alright in there?”

I expected the director, a staff member, or perhaps a child. Instead, it was Noah’s voice.

Panic flared, quickly replaced by annoyance. Of course, now he cared about my well-being. I flushed the toilet, splashed water on my face, and composed myself before answering.

“I’m fine,” I said, my voice raspy. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

A moment of silence followed, then Noah’s skeptical voice: “You sure?”

Gritting my teeth, I opened the door to find him in the hallway, frowning. Our gazes locked, and for a moment, I desperately wanted to tell my husband the truth: that I was pregnant; that I had died before, along with our child; that this was a second chance; and that I needed his help.

But I didn’t. How could I? Instead, I shook my head with a tight smile. “I’m fine.”

Noah watched me silently, his green eyes studying my pale face. Just as I thought he’d demand the truth, he simply nodded curtly.