Chapter 75
Hannah awoke with a start to the sound of rustling curtains and soft footsteps across the bedroom floor. Squinting against the morning sunlight, she pushed herself up on her elbows to see her handmaid, Ana, moving around the room. Yawning, Hannah sat up fully and rubbed her eyes. Ana pulled open the curtains to another window, letting even more sunlight stream in.
“Good morning, Luna,” Ana said without turning, her voice sounding more hoarse than usual. “I hope you slept—” Before she could finish, she fell into a fit of coughing. Hannah blinked, taken aback by how sick she sounded.
“Are you sick, Ana?” Hannah asked, furrowing her brow.
Ana turned, and Hannah immediately noticed how pale and sickly she looked. “I’m so sorry, Luna,” Ana said, clearing her throat. “It’s just allergies.”
“Allergies?” Hannah threw the covers off and swung her legs over the side of the bed, standing. As she approached, she could see the dark circles under Ana’s eyes and the pallor of her face. “You don’t seem like someone who’s suffering from allergies.”
Her handmaid paused, clearly grappling with whether to tell the truth. Finally, her shoulders slumped slightly. “I’m sick. I think it was something I ate.” She hurried to add, “But don’t worry, Luna! I won’t let it get in the way of my duties.” With that, she turned and began making the bed.
Hannah frowned, her mind flashing back to the countless times in her past life that Ana had dutifully cared for her through debilitating illness—the severe vomiting, the dizzy spells, the emotional breakdowns. In her past life, she had treated Ana—and all the servants—with cold indifference and callous disregard, too consumed by her own misery to show empathy or kindness.
A pang of guilt twisted in her gut as she looked at Ana—this woman who had devoted herself to her, handling her foul moods and childish behavior without complaint for years. The sting of shame was sharp and visceral.
Well, not anymore. Not this time around.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hannah said, crossing the room to take Ana by the elbow and guide her toward the armchair next to the fireplace. “You’re in no condition to work. Sit down. I’ll be right back.”
Ana opened her mouth to protest, but Hannah’s look silenced her. Before Ana could argue further, Hannah turned and hurried into the bathroom.
She returned moments later with a cool, damp cloth draped over one arm and a small pill bottle in her other hand. Ana was perched on the edge of the chair, her arms folded tightly over her midsection, when Hannah knelt before her.
“Luna, you don’t need to—” Ana tried again, but Hannah held up her hand to stop her.
“Enough,” Hannah murmured, gently dabbing the cloth along Ana’s neck, which seemed to give her relief. “You’ve taken care of me more times than I can count over the years. I’d like to start returning the favor.”
A delicate pink tinged Ana’s pale cheeks as she averted her gaze, seeming almost ashamed. Hannah said nothing, tending to Ana in silence, smoothing the damp cloth across her clammy forehead and flushed face. Only once some of the sickly pallor had faded did Hannah uncap the pill bottle.
“Take these,” she instructed, tipping two pills into Ana’s palm and holding out a glass of water. “They’ll lower your fever and settle your stomach.”
For several long moments, Ana stared at the pills, her expression utterly baffled. Then, finally, she swallowed them with a gulp of water and leaned back in the chair.