Chapter 12 Unnoticed
Hannah
After breakfast, I went back to my room and tried to write.
I sat at the desk by the window, notebook open, pen poised, waiting for something, anything to come. A thought. A sentence. A fragment of the girl I used to be. The one who could disappear into words and come out breathing easier.
Nothing happened.
Minutes dragged by. Then nearly an hour.
The page stayed blank, glaring up at me like an accusation. My chest tightened with each passing second, frustration coiling into something ugly and familiar. Writing had always been my refuge. Losing it felt like losing the last part of myself that hadn’t already been taken.
I pushed the notebook away and grabbed my phone.
Things to do when you’re lonely.
Volunteer opportunities near me.
How to stop feeling like you’re disappearing.
That was how I found it.
A small pet shelter about twenty minutes away. Pet Patrol. The website was simple, a little outdated, full of photos of dogs with hopeful eyes and cats curled into themselves like they’d learned not to expect much.
Something in my chest loosened.
I went downstairs and found Lisa in the corridor, tablet tucked under her arm.
“I’d like to go out for a few hours,” I said. “I found a place where I can volunteer.”
She barely looked up. “Where?”
I told her.
She paused, then nodded once. “Security will accompany you.”
Of course they would.
Within fifteen minutes, I was ushered into a sleek black car, two bodyguards flanking me like silent shadows. The absurdity of it almost made me laugh; me, escorted like a threat or a treasure, just to go help clean kennels.
The shelter came into view, small and unassuming, tucked between a bakery and a closed-down bookstore. My stomach fluttered as the car stopped.
What if they didn’t want me?
What if I didn’t belong here either?
I hesitated at the entrance, fingers curling into my sleeves.
“Go on,” one of the guards said gently, stopping a few paces back.
I took a breath and stepped inside.
The smell hit me first, not unpleasant, just alive. Disinfectant mixed with fur and something warm and familiar. The sound followed barking, soft meows, the shuffle of movement.
“Hi!” a bright voice called.
A woman about my age appeared from behind the counter, dark curls piled messily on her head, eyes kind and curious. “You look like you’re deciding whether to run.”
I huffed out a small laugh. “Is it that obvious?”
She smiled wider. “What can I help you with?”
“I was wondering if you needed volunteers,” I said quickly. “I’m happy to do anything. Cleaning, feeding, walking…”
“Oh, thank God. Always,” she said. “I’m Sienna.”
“Hannah,” I replied. Just my first name. It felt safer that way.
She handed me a clipboard. “Fill these out, and we’ll get you started.”
I hesitated then filled it out then handed it back to her. She didn’t blink at my full name. Didn’t react. Didn’t look at me like she recognized something she’d seen on a screen.
Relief washed through me so suddenly I nearly sagged.
Once the forms were done, Sienna gave me a tour. She spoke softly as she introduced the animals, telling me their stories like they mattered; who’d been abandoned, who’d been rescued, who was still learning how to trust.
“This is Milo,” she said, crouching by a timid brown dog. “He flinches at loud noises. Took us weeks to get him to stop hiding.”
I knelt beside him without thinking, holding my hand out slowly. He sniffed, then leaned into my touch like he’d been waiting for it.
My chest ached.
I worked for hours.
I cleaned. I fed. I walked dogs and brushed cats and talked to them like they could understand every word. Maybe they did. None of them judged me. None of them asked questions I couldn’t answer.
Sienna kept trying to lighten my load, and I kept refusing.
“I promise, I don’t mind,” I said, laughing as I scrubbed bowls. “This is the best I’ve felt in weeks.”
She studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. But you’re officially on pet-cuddling duty too.”
I smiled so hard my cheeks hurt.
Lunch came, and Sienna insisted we step out to the café next door. My guards followed at a distance, pretending not to watch us while watching us anyway. I didn’t care. I was too busy laughing over spilled coffee and listening to Sienna rant about a cat who hated everyone but her.
By the time we returned, the sun had shifted. Light poured in through the windows at a different angle, softer, warmer.
It wasn’t until Sienna glanced at the clock and swore that I realized how late it was.
“I should head back,” I said reluctantly.
Something heavy settled in my chest at the thought of returning to that house. I would’ve stayed here forever if I could.
We closed up together, and outside, Sienna hesitated. “Hey, this was really nice. You should come back.”
“I’d love that,” I said quickly. “If you’ll have me.”
She grinned and exchanged numbers with me.
On the drive home, I caught myself chattering to the guards, of all people. Telling them about Milo and a one-eyed cat named Duchess and how one of the puppies had fallen asleep in my lap.
They didn’t respond.
I didn’t care.
The car pulled up to the house, and my smile lingered as I stepped inside, still mid-sentence about how animals didn’t ask you to be anything other than gentle…
I stopped.
The dining room lights were on.
Timothy sat at the table.
So did his family.
Conversation died the moment they saw me.
All eyes turned.
The warmth I’d carried with me shattered instantly, replaced by a cold that crept into my bones as I stood there, caught between the door and their stares