Chapter 22 Smiles that don't reach the eyes
Hannah
Pet Patrol became the only place where time moved normally.
Days there passed in a rhythm I could predict; feedings, cleanings, paperwork, laughter drifting down hallways, Sienna’s voice calling out reminders. I clung to it like a lifeline. Every morning I woke with a singular, quiet relief: I had somewhere to go that wasn’t defined by cameras, contracts, or contempt.
Sienna talked a lot. About everything.
Her childhood. Her cousins, so many cousins she sometimes lost count. Sunday dinners that turned into loud, chaotic affairs with too much food and too many opinions. Aunties who pinched cheeks, uncles who argued politics, grandparents who dispensed unsolicited life advice with equal parts love and judgment.
“They’re exhausting,” she said once, laughing as we scrubbed a kennel together. “But if I didn’t show up for a week, they’d show up at my door with food and questions.”
I smiled, but something in my chest twisted painfully.
“That sounds… nice,” I said.
Sienna glanced at me, her expression softening. “It is. Overwhelming, but nice.”
I didn’t tell her how foreign that sounded. Warmth without conditions. Concern without accusation. Family that noticed absence instead of causing it.
The bitterness came quietly, settling beside the gratitude.
That weekend, reality intruded again.
Another event.
Another dress chosen by someone else. Another evening of being polished, styled, and sent out like a visual statement rather than a person. Timothy barely spoke to me as we drove there, scrolling through his phone, jaw set.
I slipped into myself as soon as we arrived.
The lights were too bright. The music too loud. My smile came automatically, practiced and empty. I stood when guided, spoke when prompted, nodded when introductions were made. Somewhere inside, I floated a few inches behind my body, watching it perform.
At some point, Timothy was pulled away by a group of men. He didn’t look back.
I didn’t follow.
I drifted instead, hovering near the edges of conversations, pretending interest in art installations and champagne flutes. I made sure not to look in Loretta’s direction. I could feel her presence without seeing her, like a bruise you don’t touch but know is there.
“Mrs. Blackwood.”
The voice startled me.
I turned and saw Rowan.
For a second, I just stared, surprised by the immediate sense of recognition and relief. He smiled, warm and easy, like the last time we’d spoken on the balcony.
“Hi,” I said, my voice lighter without effort. “Rowan.”
“I was hoping you’d remember me,” he said with a grin. “You look… less like you’re plotting an escape tonight.”
I laughed before I could stop myself. A real laugh. It felt strange in my throat, unused. “I might still be.”
“Fair,” he said. “These things are endurance tests disguised as parties.”
We fell into an easy conversation, his dry observations about the crowd, my quiet amusement at his impressions. He had a way of talking that made space instead of filling it, pausing just long enough to let me respond without pressure.
For the first time that evening, my smile didn’t hurt.
Then his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, grimaced apologetically. “Duty calls. I’m being summoned.”
“Of course,” I said. “It was nice seeing you.”
“You too, Hannah,” he said, and for a fleeting moment, I felt seen as just that; Hannah. Not someone’s wife. Not someone’s scandal.
As he walked away, I exhaled and turned toward the refreshments table, suddenly aware of how dry my throat was.
That was when Loretta appeared beside me.
She didn’t look at me at first, just reached for a glass with perfect composure. “You seem… comfortable,” she said lightly. “I’m surprised.”
I stiffened. “Hello, Loretta.”
She smiled then, sharp and polished. “Enjoying yourself?”
“I’m fine,” I said, keeping my tone even.
“Are you?” she asked, eyes flicking over me. “You look thinner. Is that stress? Or guilt?”
I felt it, the familiar tightening, the instinct to shrink. “I don’t think this is the place….”
“Oh, please,” she interrupted softly. “This is exactly the place. Everyone loves a good redemption arc. Or a cautionary tale.”
A few people nearby glanced over, curious.
I forced my expression to stay neutral. “I don’t want to fight with you.”
Loretta leaned closer, her voice honeyed. “I don’t want to fight either. I just think it’s interesting how quickly you slipped into my life. My fiancé. My circle. My….”
“I didn’t plan this,” I said, quietly but firmly.
Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second. Then it hardened. “That’s what you always say.”
I was acutely aware then of eyes on us, of Timothy across the room, watching. Measuring.
Loretta’s gaze followed mine. “Ah. You have an audience.”
“Loretta,” I said, my voice barely steady, “I’m asking you to stop.”
She tilted her head. “Or what? You’ll cry?”
The room felt too small. My chest tightened, breath catching.
Before I could say anything else, a familiar arm slid around mine.
“Excuse us,” Timothy said smoothly.
Loretta’s eyes flashed with irritation as he gently but decisively steered me away. “Of course,” she said, her smile returning as quickly as it had vanished. “Take care of her.”
As we walked, his grip remained firm, guiding me toward another cluster of guests.
“Smile,” he murmured under his breath. “Don’t make this harder.”
I smiled.
We greeted people. Talked business. I nodded, chimed in when required, my pulse still racing. Loretta’s glare burned into my back from across the room.
After another ten minutes, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Timothy,” I said quietly, “can we leave?”
He didn’t look at me. “No.”
“I’m not feeling well.”
He turned then, eyes sharp. “You always do this.”
“That’s not fair.”
“You’re sulking,” he snapped. “And I don’t have time for tantrums tonight.”
Something in me sagged. “Please.”
He exhaled sharply, then waved over the driver. “Take her home.”
“What about you?” I asked, surprised.
“I’m staying,” he said curtly. “There’s an after-party. Don’t embarrass me.”
He turned away before I could respond.
I walked out alone.
Near the exit, Rowan appeared again, concern creasing his brow. “Hey. Are you okay?”
I managed a nod. “Yes.”
It was a lie, but I didn’t have the energy for truth.
“Take care,” he said softly.
“You too,” I replied.
The car door closed behind me, sealing the night away.
As the city lights blurred past the window, I leaned my forehead against the glass, exhaustion settling deep into my bones.
I wondered how much longer I could keep smiling without disappearing entirely.