Chapter 50 The weight of quiet things
Hannah
I was already in a foul mood by the time the car pulled out of the gates, and it only worsened with every red light, every too-slow pedestrian, every cautious turn the driver made like he was afraid I might combust if he breathed wrong.
Which…fair.
I crossed my arms tightly over my chest and stared out the window, jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached. The city blurred past in soft grays and browns, usually comforting, today unbearable.
Behind me, one of the guards cleared his throat.
“Ma’am, we’ll be there shortly…”
“I can see that,” I snapped without turning. My voice came out sharper than I intended, like a cracked whip. Silence fell immediately, thick and awkward.
A few minutes later, my phone buzzed. I ignored it.
Another guard shifted, probably exchanging a look with the driver. I could feel their restraint, the careful distance they were keeping from my mood, like handlers around a wild animal.
Good.
Let them.
I pressed my forehead briefly against the cool glass and exhaled through my nose. I hated this feeling—the tight coil in my chest, the restless agitation that had nowhere to go. I hated that I’d let myself hope again. That was the real crime.
Hope.
We finally pulled up outside Sienna’s building, a modest brownstone tucked between two newer constructions. The car came to a smooth stop, and before anyone could open my door for me, I was already reaching for the handle.
“Ma’am…” one of them started.
“I’ll be right back,” I said, climbing out. “Unless she’s been kidnapped in the last five minutes.”
That earned me another stretch of silence.
I shut the door harder than necessary and walked up the steps, my irritation cooling just enough to allow a flicker of self-awareness.
Why am I here unannounced?
I slowed at the door, lifted my hand to ring the bell then hesitated.
Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe Sienna was busy. Or sleeping. Or simply not in the mood to deal with my… whatever this was.
I rang the bell anyway.
Nothing.
I waited, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. The quiet of the hallway suddenly felt loud. Exposed.
After a few seconds, I let out a small, humorless laugh.
Great. Just show up, dump your feelings, and…
I turned, already embarrassed, already composing a mental apology text…
The door opened.
“Hannah?”
Sienna stood there in socked feet and an oversized hoodie, her hair pulled back in a messy bun that was unraveling by the second. Her eyes were red. Not puffy-red from allergies or exhaustion.
Crying-red.
My irritation vanished so fast it felt like my chest dropped out from under me.
“Sienna,” I said quietly, turning back immediately. “Hey. Are you…”
Her face crumpled.
That was all it took.
I stepped forward without thinking, pulling her into my arms as she folded into me, a broken sound tearing out of her throat. I shut the door with my foot and guided her further inside, holding her like she might dissolve if I let go.
“Oh no,” I murmured, my hand coming up to cradle the back of her head. “Hey. Hey, I’ve got you.”
She shook, fingers curling into my jacket, breaths hitching like she couldn’t quite get enough air.
“I…” she tried, then sobbed harder.
I led her to the couch, sitting us down slowly, rocking us both as if that might somehow soothe the ache tearing through her. My throat tightened painfully.
“What happened?” I asked softly. “Talk to me, baby.”
She tried again, words tumbling out tangled and broken.
“I…she…Hannah, I…I just…”
“Slow down,” I whispered. “You don’t have to rush.”
She pressed her face into my shoulder, voice muffled. “She’s gone.”
My body went still.
“Who?” I asked, though something in my chest already knew.
“My granny,” she choked. “She…she lost… she lost the fight. They called me this morning. I…I just found out.”
My arms tightened around her instinctively.
“Oh, Sienna,” I breathed. “Oh my God.”
“She was…” Her voice cracked completely. “She was the reason I left, remember? The emergency? The chemo, the surgeries…she was doing better for a bit, and then…and then…”
She broke off again, sobbing openly now, grief pouring out of her in raw waves.
I closed my eyes, rocking her gently.
“I’m so sorry,” I murmured. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“I didn’t call you,” she whispered after a moment, guilt creeping into her tone even through the tears. “I didn’t want to bother you. I know you have… everything going on.”
I pulled back just enough to look at her, my hands coming up to frame her face.
“Don’t,” I said firmly. “Do not do that.”
She sniffed, eyes glossy. “Hannah…”
“You are never a bother,” I said, my voice gentle but unwavering. “Not to me. Ever. I don’t care what I have going on. You call me. You hear me?”
She nodded weakly, fresh tears spilling over.
“I should’ve been here already,” I added softly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t.”
“You came,” she whispered. “That’s what matters.”
We hugged again, quieter now, the storm easing into something heavy and sad instead of sharp. We stayed like that for a long while, just breathing together.
Eventually, Sienna pulled back, wiping her cheeks with the sleeve of her hoodie.
“I think,” she said hoarsely, “that we need ice cream.”
I let out a small, surprised laugh. “I think you’re absolutely right.”
“There’s none,” she added flatly.
I stared at her for a beat, then stood decisively. “I’ll fix that.”
I marched to the door, yanked it open, and leaned out.
“Gentlemen,” I called, my tone urgent. “We have an ice cream emergency.”
One of them straightened immediately. “What kind, ma’am?”
Sienna leaned over my shoulder and shouted, “Mint chocolate chip. Not the cheap one. And the cookies with the jam in the middle. And the salty caramel popcorn!”
I glanced back at her. “Anything else?”
She sniffed. “Maybe chocolate sauce.”
The guard nodded solemnly. “On it.”
I shut the door and turned back to her, hands on my hips. “See? Crisis management.”
She gave a watery smile. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You love me.”
She did.
We settled back onto the couch, Sienna tucking her legs beneath her. After a few minutes of quiet, she glanced at me sideways.
“So,” she said carefully. “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” I said automatically.
She raised an eyebrow. “You looked like you were about to bite someone’s head off when I opened the door.”
I sighed, leaning back. “I’m not the priority right now.”
“You don’t get to decide that,” she said firmly. “Something was off before I even told you about Granny.”
I hesitated, then slumped slightly.
“Yesterday was… good,” I admitted. “Really good. And today…” I shrugged helplessly. “It was like whiplash.”
I gave her the short version. The warmth. The laughter. The way it felt like something had shifted—only for him to pull back so abruptly this morning it left me dizzy.
“He does this,” I said quietly. “Gets kind. Then distant. Over and over.”
Sienna’s eyes flashed. “That man needs a very firm talking-to.”
I snorted. “Please don’t.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know,” I said softly. “But it’s not important right now.”
She studied me, then nodded reluctantly. “Okay. But we’re not done with that conversation.”
The doorbell rang.
Ice cream salvation.
We spread everything out on the coffee table, grabbing spoons and blankets, settling in side by side. I flipped through channels until we landed on an old favorite.
“Oh yes,” Sienna said immediately. “That one.”
We curled into each other as the opening theme played, spooning ice cream straight from the tub, the world narrowing to sugar, familiarity, and shared silence.
For the first time all day, the tightness in my chest eased.