Chapter 9 Dreamless night
Hannah
I woke up to silence. Not the fragile kind that comes with peace, but the heavy, suffocating kind. When I strained my ears, I could hear few people milling about. The room was dim, curtains half-drawn, the bed still warm from where I’d curled into myself the night before.
For a moment, I forgot where I was. I blinked my bleary eyes.
Then the ceiling came into focus. Unfamiliar. Too high. Too perfect.
Reality settled in again. Right. I was married.
I showered, dressed, and stared at myself in the mirror until my reflection blurred into something distant. Mrs. Blackwood. The name sat wrong on my tongue. I didn’t try saying it aloud.
Dinner was to be served at eight.
So I made my way down to the dining room, my footsteps echoing through halls that still felt like they were actively rejecting me. The room was enormous, the table long enough to seat a small army. Candles were already lit, silverware placed with precision.
Only one setting was occupied.
Mine.
I hesitated at the doorway, foolishly expecting him to appear at the last second, jacket slung over his shoulder, irritation in his eyes. He didn’t.
Lisa stood near the wall. “Mr. Blackwood won’t be joining you this evening,” she said evenly.
“Oh,” I replied, my voice small. “Did he say why?”
“No.”
I hesitated with more questions then swallowed as I took my seat.
The food was exquisite. Perfectly plated. Carefully prepared. I tasted none of it. Each bite felt mechanical, like I was eating because I’d been instructed to, not because I wanted to.
Across from me, his chair and all other chairs remained empty.
After dinner, I wandered.
I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, a distraction, maybe. Somewhere to exist without being reminded of my place. That was how I found the library.
It was tucked away at the end of a quiet corridor, double doors slightly ajar. Inside, floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls, filled with books of every size and color. The smell of paper and polish hit me immediately, grounding in a way nothing else in this house had been.
I ran my fingers along the spines, scanning titles without really reading them. History. Philosophy. Fiction. Biographies of people who’d mattered enough to be remembered.
I picked a novel at random and curled up in a corner armchair, tucking my legs beneath me. The pages blurred together as my body finally relaxed for the first time all day.
I must have dozed off.
When I woke, the room was darker, shadows stretching across the shelves. My neck ached. I checked the time and was startled; it was very late.
I returned to my room and slept dreamlessly.
\---
The next morning, I woke early.
Habit, maybe. Or anticipation. I dressed, smoothed my hair, and headed to breakfast with the quiet hope that this time would be different.
“Good morning,” I said softly as I took my seat. “Has Timothy…?”
Lisa didn’t even pause. “Mr. Blackwood has already left.”
Something tightened in my chest. “Oh. For work?”
“Yes.”
I nodded, swallowing the odd sting of disappointment. I ate alone again, the same empty chair across from me, the same untouched silence.
Afterward, I lingered in the dining room, unsure of what to do with myself.
“Lisa,” I said finally. “Is there… Anything I can do around here?”
She regarded me for a moment, expression neutral. “You’re free to occupy your time as you wish,” she said. “As long as you don’t interfere with Mr. Blackwood’s routine.”
“Interfere how?”
“By being in his way.”
I forced a nod. “Of course.”
So I wandered.
I moved through rooms slowly, carefully, taking in art I didn’t recognize, furniture that looked more like display pieces than things meant to be used. The house was larger than I’d realized, its hallways branching and curving like a maze.
Eventually, I realized I was lost.
Panic flickered as I turned corner after corner, each hallway looking eerily similar to the last. I slowed, trying to orient myself, when I noticed the subtle change in décor; the darker tones, the more masculine edge.
The west wing.
Timothy’s wing.
I stopped short, my pulse quickening. I hadn’t meant to come here. I knew the rules. I turned around, only to find myself even more disoriented than before.
“Mrs. Blackwood.”
I jumped.
Lisa stood a few feet away, arms folded, eyes sharp.
“I was just…” I began quickly. “I got turned around. I wasn’t trying to…”
“This area is off-limits,” she said coolly.
“I know. I swear, I wasn’t snooping. I was trying to find my way back.”
Her gaze lingered on me, skeptical. Measuring.
“Follow me,” she said finally.
She led me back through a series of halls in silence. When we reached the central staircase, she stopped.
“Please be mindful of where you go,” she said. “Mr. Blackwood values his privacy.”
“I do too,” I murmured, though I wasn’t sure it mattered.
That night, I ate dinner alone again.
And the night after that.
And the one after that too.
Days blurred into a rhythm of absence. Timothy left before breakfast and returned long after dinner. Or not at all. I never saw him. Never heard of him. If not for the untouched chair and the faint sense of his presence in the house, I might have believed he didn’t exist.
By the end of the week, the truth settled in quietly.
He was avoiding me.
The realization hurt more than I expected. Not because I wanted him, but because being erased was something I knew too well. I’d spent my life fading into corners, becoming invisible for the sake of everyone else’s comfort.
I wasn’t going to do that again.
He didn’t want this marriage. Neither did I.
But if he thought he could pretend I wasn’t here, if he thought he could make me small enough to disappear….
He was wrong.
I sat up straighter that night, a slow, unfamiliar resolve settling in my chest.
If Timothy Blackwood wanted a game of avoidance, fine.
I would beat him at it.
And this time, I wouldn’t let myself vanish.