Chapter 20 A borrowed breath of joy
Hannah
Two weeks passed.
Hannah threw herself into the shelter with a desperation that surprised even her. She worked until her muscles ached, until the noise in her head dulled, until the animals became easier to face than her own life. There, she wasn’t Timothy’s wife or Loretta’s sister. She was just Hannah, someone who cleaned cages, fed bowls, whispered comfort into fur.
And somewhere along the way, Sienna stopped being just a coworker.
They talked. Laughed. Shared quiet moments between tasks. Slowly, cautiously, Hannah realized she had found something she’d wanted her entire life.
A friend.
One weekend, as they were locking up, Sienna bumped her shoulder lightly. “You know,” she said with a grin, “you look like someone who’s never had a hobby.”
Hannah blinked. “I…what?”
“I’m serious,” Sienna laughed. “Come on. Accompany me. Let’s find you one.”
The word accompany made Hannah smile despite herself.
Her security followed from a careful distance as they went to the mall. Hannah wandered through a clothing store first, instinctively drifting toward expensive fabrics before stopping herself. She made an offhand comment about the cut of a blouse, something that sounded unbearably snobbish the moment it left her mouth.
She winced. “I’m sorry. That sounded awful.”
Sienna just laughed. “Relax. You’re learning.”
And so they ended up thrifting.
Digging through racks. Holding up ridiculous outfits. Laughing until Hannah’s stomach hurt. It felt… normal. Glorious in its simplicity.
Next, they wandered into a small art shop and left with a beginner’s clay kit. The woman behind the counter chatted animatedly, showing them how to knead the clay, how to keep it from cracking, how mistakes were part of the process.
Mistakes are part of the process.
The words lingered with Hannah as they stepped back outside.
She felt light. Exhilarated. Like she’d been allowed to breathe for the first time in weeks.
To round out the day, they stopped at a quaint flower shop, warm and fragrant. Hannah lingered near the window, admiring a bundle of pale daisies.
Then she felt it.
A pause.
A whisper.
“That’s her…”
She stiffened.
Sienna leaned closer. “Hannah?”
“I’m fine,” Hannah said quickly. Too quickly.
But the murmurs grew louder. Phones appeared. A voice rose, sharp and accusing.
“Isn’t that the girl who trapped him?”
A flash went off.
Then another.
The paparazzi flooded in, questions cruel and invasive, voices overlapping.
“Did you plan it?”
“How does it feel stealing your sister’s fiancé?”
“Are you pregnant again or was that a lie too?”
Sienna reached for her hand, but Hannah barely felt it as security surged forward, ushering them out amid chaos and noise. They were pushed into the car, the door slamming shut like a seal on the outside world.
The drive away was silent.
Hannah’s hands shook in her lap. Her throat burned.
Sienna tried gently, “Hey… talk to me. Please.”
“I’m okay,” Hannah said, staring straight ahead.
But she wasn’t.
When they reached Sienna’s place, Hannah didn’t look at her. Didn’t return the hug Sienna offered. She just nodded faintly and closed the door.
The moment the car pulled away, the tears came.
She sobbed openly, shoulders shaking, not caring that her guards could hear, not caring that the world had already decided who she was.
The best day of her life dissolved into grief as she cried all the way home.
——
Hannah didn’t go to the shelter for three days.
At first, Sienna texted lightly;
hey, everything okay?
; followed by a picture of one of the dogs Hannah had grown fond of, tongue lolling, eyes bright. Hannah stared at the image for a long time, thumbs hovering over the keyboard, before locking her phone and setting it face-down on the nightstand.
The second day, the messages came more insistently. A missed call. Another text. Hannah didn’t answer those either.
She stayed in her room, curtains drawn, lights dim, cocooned in a silence that felt heavy rather than comforting. Meals were brought up by staff and left untouched until she forced herself to eat a few bites hours later. Her notebook lay open on the desk, blank save for one smeared sentence she’d written and scratched out: I am so tired.
The laughter at the mall still rang in her ears. The way Sienna’s face had gone tight with worry. The way Hannah had shut down, retreated, run. Shame curled in her chest like a living thing.
By the third day, even the thought of the shelter, of warmth, wagging tails, uncomplicated affection felt like something she didn’t deserve anymore.
So she hid.
It was on the fourth day that Lisa knocked on her door, crisp and unyielding as ever.
“You’re required downstairs in an hour,” Lisa said through the wood. “There’s an event tonight.”
Hannah closed her eyes.
“Another one?” she asked hoarsely.
“Yes.”
No comfort. No explanation. Just inevitability.
—
The event was some charity gala attached to a comedy fundraiser; long tables, stage lights, champagne flutes, and a buzzing crowd dressed in practiced elegance. Hannah stood beside Timothy as flashes went off, her arm looped through his like a decorative accessory.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Timothy murmured as they posed.
“I’m fine,” Hannah said automatically, lips curved just enough.
“Hm.”
They were seated near the front. Hannah smoothed her dress over her knees and focused on breathing evenly as the host, a well-known stand-up comedian, bounded onto the stage to applause.
He started harmlessly enough. Jabs at politicians. Rich people. Himself.
Then his gaze slid to the front row.
“And of course,” he said, squinting theatrically, “we can’t ignore Blackwood Enterprises in the house tonight.”
Polite laughter rippled through the room.
Timothy gave a tight smile. Hannah felt her spine stiffen.
“Yes, yes,” the comedian went on, “Timothy Blackwood himself. Man of the hour. The market whisperer. The eligible bachelor…well, formerly.”
Laughter swelled again, warmer now.
“And his lovely wife,” the man added, eyes flicking to Hannah. “Who, if I’m not mistaken, came out of absolutely nowhere.”
The laugh this time was louder.
Hannah felt heat creep up her neck.
“I mean, talk about a plot twist,” the comedian continued. “One day you’re dating the glamorous Loretta Vale, and the next, boom!…surprise sister swap.”
The laughter roared.
Hannah’s fingers curled into her lap. She forced a chuckle, the sound thin in her own ears, and lifted her chin. She refused to look at Timothy.
“And hey,” the comedian finished breezily, “at least it keeps things in the family, right?”
Applause. Whistles. More laughter.
Hannah smiled until her cheeks hurt.
When the lights dimmed and the show moved on, she exhaled shakily and stared straight ahead, blinking rapidly.
Timothy leaned toward her. “Don’t sulk,” he muttered. “It was a joke.”
She turned to him slowly. “About me.”
“About us,” he corrected coolly. “This is what you signed up for. You should’ve thought of this before you ruined both our lives.”
Her jaw tightened, but she said nothing.
—
The mingling hour was worse.
Timothy was pulled away almost immediately by business associates, leaving Hannah at a round table with several women she vaguely recognized; wives, daughters, socialites. Their smiles were sharp-edged, their eyes assessing.
“So,” one of them said brightly, swirling her drink, “you’re Loretta’s sister.”
Hannah nodded. “Yes.”
“She was always such a delight,” another chimed in. “Elegant. Poised. You could tell she belonged in rooms like this.”
“Such a shame,” the first woman added, feigning sympathy, “how things turned out.”
Hannah sipped her water. “It is.”
“I suppose it must be difficult,” a third said, tilting her head, “stepping into shoes that clearly weren’t meant for you.”
Their laughter was soft, polite, lethal.
Hannah set her glass down. “Excuse me.”
She didn’t wait for permission. She moved away, heels clicking too quickly, heart pounding. She found a quiet edge of the room near a pillar and leaned against it, fingers trembling slightly as she picked up another drink from a passing tray, something strong this time.
She nursed it slowly, eyes unfocused, watching people drift by in clusters of laughter and whispered judgments.
This was her life now, she thought numbly. A punchline. A placeholder.
“Running away again?”
She stiffened.
Timothy stood beside her, jacket immaculate, expression faintly irritated.
“I wasn’t aware I needed supervision,” Hannah replied quietly.
“You disappeared,” he said. “People noticed.”
“I was being talked about,” she shot back. “Again.”
He scoffed. “You’re imagining slights.”
Her head snapped up. “They compared me to Loretta. Repeatedly.”
“And?” he said. “That’s inevitable.”
She laughed then, short and sharp. “You really don’t hear it, do you?”
“Hear what?”
“How cruel it all is,” she said. “How exposed.”
His eyes hardened. “This whole wounded act is exhausting.”
She stared at him. “I wasn’t acting.”
“Well, stop pouting,” he muttered, taking her arm harshly. “We’re going to greet the Whitmans.”
She let him pull her back into the crowd, her body compliant but her chest tight with fury.
—
They left early.
The car reinforces the silence between them, the city lights streaking past the windows. Hannah stared out, arms crossed, jaw set.
“You embarrassed me tonight,” Timothy said at last.
She laughed bitterly. “That’s rich.”
“You sulked. You disappeared. You made it obvious something was wrong.”
“Something was wrong,” she said. “I was humiliated on stage.”
“And you survived,” he replied coldly. “Congratulations. Do you want a cookie?”
Her hands clenched in her lap. “You didn’t even defend me.”
He turned to her sharply. “This again?”
“Yes, this again,” she snapped. “Do you even hear the things people say?”
“I hear what matters,” he said. “And what matters is perception.”
“I’m a person,” she said, voice shaking. “Not a liability.”
He looked away. “Don’t start throwing tantrums now.”
That word tantrums frayed at something in her.
—
At home, the house was quiet, cavernous. As they stepped inside, Timothy shrugged out of his jacket.
“Have Lisa bring you something to eat,” he said dismissively. “And try to compose yourself. You’re too thin already; people will start talking.”
Hannah froze.
Then she turned, fury blazing through her exhaustion.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” she said.
Timothy blinked, genuinely surprised.
“What did you say?”
“I said don’t,” she repeated, louder now. “You don’t get to order me around like I’m some misbehaving child.”
“Well, you are misbe…..”
“No,” she cut in, voice rising. “I am done swallowing everything you throw at me and smiling about it.”
His eyes darkened. “Watch your tone.”
She laughed, hollow and sharp. “Or what?”
For a moment, he looked like he might say something devastating and cruel.
Instead, she turned and stormed up the stairs, heart hammering, tears burning behind her eyes. She reached her room, slammed the door, and locked it with shaking hands.
On the other side, the house remained silent.
Hannah slid down the door and buried her face in her knees, breath coming in ragged gasps.
For the first time since she’d arrived in this house, she didn’t try to be quiet when she cried.