Chapter 28 Sugar and glass
Hannah
I learned, over time, to measure Timothy’s absence the way sailors measured tides.
Three days passed without even the echo of his presence, no clipped footsteps in the hall, no murmured phone calls bleeding through walls, no cold glances that made my shoulders draw inward. The house felt strangely lighter for it, though the quiet carried its own weight. I filled it the only way I found to know how.
With dirt under my nails and sunlight warming my back.
I was kneeling in the garden when he came, coaxing stubborn soil away from the roots of a rosebush the gardener had helped me plant weeks ago. Gardening had started as something to pass the time, something quiet and noninvasive. Now it felt like breathing. Like proof that something under my care could grow without judgment.
I hummed softly, not realizing I was even doing it, when a shadow fell across the flowerbed.
“Hannah.”
I startled, fingers jerking, nearly snapping a stem.
Timothy stood a few steps away, suit immaculate, expression unreadable. I hadn’t heard him approach. I rarely ever did.
“We’re having dinner at my parents’ place tonight,” he said flatly. “Be ready.”
And just like that, he turned and walked away, disappearing back into the house without waiting for an answer.
I stared after him, heart thudding. My mouth opened, then closed again. There was nothing to say. There never was.
I rose slowly, brushing dirt from my knees, and watched the back of the house like it might explain him. I heard him later on around the house, his voice muffled through walls, clipped and sharp, pacing as he took call after call in his office. Business. Always business.
Dinner with his parents.
Yvonne.
My stomach tightened. I wasn’t looking forward to dining with my mother-in-law for obvious reasons.
By late afternoon, i found myself wandering downstairs in search of Lisa. If there was a protocol for surviving Yvonne, surely Lisa knew it. I found her in the sitting room, tablet in hand, posture straight as ever.
“Hey. Lisa,” I began hesitantly, “I was wondering… what would be appropriate to bring for his parents? A gift?”
Lisa didn’t look up. “Mr. Blackwood did not request a gift.”
“I know, I just…”
“Mrs. Blackwood,” Lisa interrupted coolly, finally lifting her gaze, “it would be best if you didn’t overextend yourself. Simplicity is advised.”
“Oh,” i murmured. “Right. Thank you.”
Lisa nodded once, already dismissing me, and returned to her screen.
I stood there for a moment, feeling foolish, then turned away. As I climbed the stairs, a thought took root, small, stubborn, and hopeful.
I would bring something anyway.
Not extravagant. Not flashy. Just… something human.
I spent the next few hours in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, hair hastily tied back. I chose a dessert I knew well, something warm and familiar, one our childhood nanny, Patricia, used to make before everything she resigned years back. My hands trembled at first, but soon muscle memory took over. Measuring. Mixing. Tasting.
The kitchen filled with the comforting scent of sugar and spice.
I worked meticulously, wiping down the counters, checking the oven twice, humming softly again without realizing. For a while, I forgot where I was. Who I was married to. Who I was trying to impress.
When it was done, I packaged it carefully, tying a simple ribbon around the box. It wasn’t perfect, but it was made with care.
That had to count for something.
I hurried upstairs to get ready, nearly colliding with Timothy in the hallway. He paused, eyes flicking to the box in my hands.
“What’s that?” he asked sharply.
“Uh…I eh….it’s…,” I said. “It’s nothing.”
His mouth tightened. “Don’t be late.”
And he walked past me.
I stood there a second longer, then exhaled and continued to my room.
I showered and dressed simply in nothing ostentatious, but elegant enough. Soft fabric. Muted color. Something that wouldn’t draw attention. I checked myself in the mirror and forced my shoulders back.
You can do this, I told myself. Just tonight.
The drive there was silent, as always. Hannah stared out the window, fingers curled around the box in my lap, while Timothy scrolled through his phone, face lit by the glow. I wondered, briefly, if he ever felt the tension humming between us, or if it was just another inconvenience he endured.
We arrived at the Blackwood estate just as dusk settled in, the house looming and pristine. I swallowed as they stepped inside.
“What are you carrying?” Timothy asked quietly as we handed off their coats.
“My gift,” I said, softly and under my breath.
He didn’t comment further.
Yvonne greeted us with a cool smile that never reached her eyes. Corby, Timothy’s father stood beside her, expression polite but distant.
“Good evening,” I said, summoning my manners. “Thank you for having us.”
Yvonne’s gaze flicked over me, lingering for a beat too long. “Mm.”
I stepped forward, heart pounding, and held out the box. “I brought something for you. I made it myself.”
Yvonne stared at it like it might bite her.
Then she laughed.
“Oh my,” she said loudly. “Carbs? Are you trying to make me fat?”
The words drew a chuckle from somewhere behind them.
My face burned. “I…. it’s just a dessert. I thought…”
“You thought wrong,” Yvonne snapped, her smile sharpening. “Honestly, this is disgusting. Do you have any idea how unhealthy this is?”
She waved a hand, and before Hannah could react, a staff member stepped forward uncertainly. Yvonne thrust the box at them.
“Throw it away.”
My breath hitched. “Please… I worked hard on that. You don’t have to eat it, but…”
The slap came fast and loud.
I stumbled back, shock exploding across my cheek. The room went silent.
Yvonne raised her hand again. “Don’t talk back to me.”
Before it could fall, a voice cut through the air like ice.
“Touch her again,” Timothy said coldly, stepping between us, “and I’ll make sure you regret it.”
I froze.
Yvonne stared at him, stunned. “How dare you speak to me that way.”
“How dare you lay a hand on my wife,” he replied, eyes dark.
For a moment, it looked like the room might shatter. Then Corby cleared his throat.
“That’s enough,” he said evenly. “Dinner is getting cold.”
Yvonne’s eyes flicked to Hannah, showing pure fury then back to Timothy. Slowly, she lowered her hand.
“Fine,” she said through her teeth.
I stood there, cheek throbbing, heart racing. I hadn’t expected him to defend me. The realization left me unsteady.
They moved toward the dining room, the tension thick and suffocating. I felt like I’d ruined everything before it even began.
Then the doorbell rang. A beat passed.
The butler opened the door, and a familiar voice carried in, light and amused.
“Hope I’m not too late.”
My head snapped up.
Rowan stepped inside, smile easy, eyes warm, and when they landed on me, he gave a cheeky smile.
And the evening, somehow, grew even more interesting.