Chapter 103 Stay a little longer
Hannah
I don’t realize how tired I am until I’m already in his arms.
Timothy is still on the phone, his voice steady and controlled, speaking in that low, composed tone he uses for work calls. Something about numbers. Deadlines. A decision that needs to be made tonight.
I’m not really listening.
My cheek is pressed against his chest, and I can feel the vibration of his voice more than I hear the actual words. His hand rests against my back, moving slowly, almost absentmindedly, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
I close my eyes.
Just for a second.
The day catches up with me all at once—the outing with Sienna, the laughter, the tension, Nate, the movie, the bathroom, the conversation, the things she said that I wish she hadn’t.
My body feels heavy.
Safe.
Warm.
And before I know it, I’m drifting.
Not fully asleep, but close enough that everything feels distant and soft around the edges.
“…we’ll finalize it tomorrow,” Timothy says somewhere above me.
There’s a pause.
Then, “Yes. I’ll handle it.”
Another pause.
His hand shifts slightly on my back, more deliberate now.
“Goodnight.”
The call ends.
I feel it before I hear it, the subtle shift in his body, the way he exhales quietly.
“Hannah.”
His voice is softer now.
Closer.
I hum faintly in response, not quite ready to open my eyes.
He shifts slightly, and I feel his arms loosen around me.
Reluctantly, I pull back.
My eyes blink open slowly, adjusting to the soft lighting of the lounge.
For a second, I forget where I am.
Then it all comes rushing back.
The house.
Timothy.
Everything.
He studies my face carefully.
“You okay?”
I nod, pushing myself to stand properly.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice a little rough from sleep. “Just… long day.”
His gaze lingers like he doesn’t fully believe me, but he doesn’t push.
“What was that about?” I ask, nodding toward the phone in his hand.
He glances at it briefly.
“Work.”
“That sounded serious.”
“It’s handled,” he says easily, dismissing it with a small shrug.
Of course he does.
Timothy never brings work home unless he absolutely has to.
I don’t press.
“Have you eaten?” he asks instead.
I shake my head slightly.
“I had snacks with Sienna earlier.”
“That’s not dinner.”
“I’m not really…”
“Eat with me,” he cuts in gently.
I pause.
Then I nod.
“Okay.”
He gestures toward the living area.
“Come on.”
We move to the couch, and I sink into it gratefully.
It’s soft. Comfortable.
I tuck my legs under me at first, then stretch them out, propping my feet against the edge of the cushion.
Timothy sits beside me, not too close, but close enough that I can feel his presence.
Lisa comes in a few minutes later with trays of food.
She gives me a small knowing smile before setting everything down neatly on the table.
“Call if you need anything,” she says before leaving.
We start eating.
The room is quiet.
Not awkward.
Just… calm.
Timothy checks his phone occasionally, typing out quick responses between bites.
I pick at my food at first, then realize I’m actually hungrier than I thought.
For a while, we eat in silence.
The kind of silence that doesn’t demand to be filled.
But my mind doesn’t stay quiet.
It drifts.
Back to the day.
To Nate.
To the way he looked at me.
To Sienna’s words.
Your marriage isn’t real.
Timothy will hurt you.
He already has.
My grip tightens slightly around my fork.
I glance at Timothy.
He’s focused on his phone again, brows slightly drawn, jaw set in that familiar way he gets when he’s thinking.
He looks… normal.
Untouched.
Like none of this affects him the way it affects me.
And maybe it doesn’t.
Maybe this is just another situation he’ll walk away from eventually, while I’m the one left picking up whatever pieces fall apart.
My chest tightens.
He looks up suddenly.
Catches me staring.
“What?” he asks.
I blink.
“Nothing.”
His eyes narrow slightly.
“Hannah.”
“I said it’s nothing,” I repeat, forcing a small smile.
He doesn’t look convinced.
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re thinking too much.”
I huff softly.
“Maybe I am.”
“About?”
I hesitate.
Then shake my head.
“Forget it.”
He studies me for another second.
Then, unexpectedly, I say, “Talk to me.”
His brows lift slightly.
“About what?”
I shrug.
“Anything.”
He leans back slightly, looking at me like I’ve just asked something unusual.
Then he tilts his head, thinking.
For a moment, I think he’s going to refuse.
But then he exhales softly and says, “Alright.”
He glances up toward the ceiling briefly, like he’s sorting through possible topics.
Then he starts talking.
At first, it’s something simple.
A story from work.
Something about a deal that almost fell apart because of a ridiculous clause in a contract.
His voice is steady.
Calm.
There’s a dry humor in the way he tells it that I don’t think most people get to see.
I shift slightly, getting more comfortable, resting my head against the back of the couch as I listen.
He keeps going.
One story turns into another.
Small things.
Random things.
Nothing particularly important.
But the way he talks… it pulls me in.
I find myself watching his face.
The way his expression changes when he’s amused.
The slight curve of his lips when he’s being sarcastic.
The way his eyes soften when he looks at me, like he’s checking to see if I’m still listening.
I am.
Very much.
But at some point…
The exhaustion wins.
My eyelids grow heavier.
His voice becomes softer.
Distant.
I don’t even realize when I fall asleep.
The next thing I feel is movement.
Gentle.
Careful.
My eyes flutter open just slightly.
Timothy is in front of me, his hand steady as he takes the plate from my lap before it can slip.
“Easy,” he murmurs.
I don’t respond.
I’m too tired.
The world tilts slightly, and then suddenly I’m off the couch.
My arms instinctively loop around his neck.
He’s carrying me.
I let out a soft breath, my head falling against his shoulder.
I don’t have the energy to protest.
Don’t want to.
Everything feels warm and quiet.
Safe.
I drift again.
Half-asleep.
Aware only in fragments.
The sound of his footsteps.
The faint creak of a door.
The softness of my bed as he lowers me onto it.
Cool sheets against my skin.
He starts to pull away.
And something in me reacts before I can think.
My hand shoots out, grabbing his arm.
“Don’t go,” I mumble, my voice thick with sleep.
My grip tightens weakly.
“Stay…”
I don’t even know if the words come out clearly.
I don’t hear his response.
Don’t see his face.
Sleep pulls me under again before I can.
And just like that, I’m gone.