Chapter 73: Hannah
As I picked at the food on my plate, methodically pushing the grilled chicken and roasted vegetables around with my fork, I felt multiple eyes on me. From my peripheral vision, I saw Zoe sneaking glances my way, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Fat, fat, you’re so fat, and they all know it,” the vicious voice echoed in my mind. “Why would you even bother eating when you already look like that? You’re better off not touching your food at all.”
I gritted my teeth, my grip tightening on the fork until my knuckles turned white. I needed to regain control; I had been doing so well lately, eating more and trying to view my body positively. It was just the morning sickness causing this relapse, that was all. I could handle this.
“So, Hannah,” the host said, “I couldn’t help but notice you’ve barely touched your plate. Everything alright?”
I nodded, perhaps too quickly, and reached for my water. “Yes, it’s delicious,” I said with a thin smile. “You’ve really outdone yourself.”
The host eyed me before continuing. “I’m glad to hear it. Actually, I heard a rumor you were spotted at an eating disorder support group recently.”
I froze, feeling the air leave the room, but maintained my smile—a skill honed since my rebirth. “It’s true,” I said. “I have been attending a support group.”
“Must not be working very well if you can barely manage a few bites,” another guest remarked with a light laugh.
My heart clenched, tears of shame pricking my eyes. I knew they weren’t trying to be mean, and had no idea how much their words hurt, but I wanted nothing more than to leave. Just as I considered fleeing, Noah surprised me by speaking, his throat clearing echoing in the quiet room.
“Alright, that’s enough,” he said, his deep voice commanding silence. “Hannah is doing her best to overcome an incredibly difficult and personal struggle. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mock her efforts.”
I gaped at Noah, utterly speechless, as he crossed his arms and leveled his friends with a stern look. Never—not once—had he defended me like this, especially regarding my eating disorder.
An ashamed hush fell over the table, the host quickly apologizing. “Oh my goodness, Hannah, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
I shook my head, struggling to find my voice. “No, it’s quite alright. I understand you weren’t trying to offend.” I offered a reassuring smile as Noah returned his gaze to his plate. “To be perfectly candid…yes, I have been attending a support group for this struggle, but I plan to continue going for as long as I need that extra help and guidance.”
A smattering of quiet murmurs broke out, whispers of admiration and encouragement rippling across the table. The host beamed at me.
“That’s great, Hannah,” he said. “And I’m certain the other attendees will be so proud to have our very own Luna Hannah in attendance. And think of the positive impact you could have—others may very well be inspired to seek help thanks to your example.”
I couldn’t suppress the pride blooming in my chest. He was right—if my public admission to the struggle and my commitment to recovery could convince even one other person to take those terrifying first steps, it would be more than worth it.