Chapter 81

Hannah

I couldn’t breathe. Something dreadful swelled in my chest, my breath caught in my throat as I stumbled blindly from the library. Hot tears streamed down my cheeks, my shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Seeing Noah like that—laughing, joking, and carrying on with those children—felt like a punch to the gut. It was as if the air had been knocked from my lungs, the rug pulled out from under me.

He was so good with them. So natural, so playful, so utterly at ease. It had taken him a few minutes, but…a part of me had always known, deep down, that he would be a wonderful father. But seeing it firsthand was almost unbearable. Especially knowing I was pregnant with his child—his child he might never know, never experience this joyful connection with.

The hallway swam as I found a quiet stairwell, sinking onto the steps and burying my face in my hands. Wave after wave of sobs crashed over me, my shoulders heaving. I couldn’t let anyone see me cry.

I don’t know how long I sat there, lost in thought, before a creak reached my ears. I flinched, hunching my shoulders, trying to stifle my cries. But it was too late.

“Hannah?”

Noah’s low voice drifted toward me, achingly familiar yet infuriating. He’d come to me now? At the haunted house, he’d gone to Zoe instead. If she were here, would he even have come?

I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling fresh tears fall as my cheeks burned with humiliation and anger. I heard him approach, and a moment later, the stair creaked as he sat a few feet away. He didn’t speak, didn’t press. His silence was both comforting and infuriating. Why couldn’t he just say something?

“What do you want?” I hissed, perhaps more forcefully than intended.

He remained silent. I didn’t look at him, didn’t remove my hands. But I felt the air shift as he extended an arm, the warmth of his palm pressing against my back. He didn’t circle it, didn’t pull me in. He simply let it rest there as my body shook.

And somehow, impossibly, that simple gesture made me cry even harder.