Chapter 52 Chapter 52: Hannah
Cathy's P.O.V
"Hannah?" I said again, my voice barely a whisper. "Is it really you?"
Hannah nods, a small, sad smile on her lips as she looks at me. She hasn't changed much since the last time I saw her. Same warm brown eyes, same dark hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, same quiet, steady presence that used to make me feel safe when we were kids.
"It's me," she says softly. "Do you want to come inside? You can rest for a bit. You look like you need it."
I nod without thinking, because I don't have words right now. My throat is raw from the hyperventilating and my mind is still foggy, still trying to catch up with everything that just happened. Hannah helps me to my feet, one arm around my waist to steady me, and guides me gently away from my mother's porch.
As we walk, something heavy settles in my chest. Not the panic from before, but something quieter. Sadness, maybe. Or guilt.
The last time I spoke to Hannah was during college. We had been sitting in the campus café, sharing a table like we used to back in high school, and I had been talking nonstop about Xavier. How charming he was, how handsome, how he had noticed me out of all the people at that event and had come to talk to me. I was glowing, completely lost in the excitement of meeting someone who made me feel special.
Hannah had listened patiently for a while, stirring her coffee and watching me with that quiet expression she always wore when she was thinking carefully about something. And then, when I finally stopped to take a breath, she looked at me with those serious brown eyes and told me not to fall for men like Xavier.
“Don't fall for rich men like him,” she had said. “They only use people. They smile at you and tell you what you want to hear and make you feel like you're the most important person in the world, and then one day you wake up and realize you were never anything more than a tool to them.”
I had stared at her like she had slapped me. I was already head over heels for Xavier by that point. Completely, blindly, stupidly in love. And hearing Hannah say those words had felt like a personal attack, like she was trying to ruin the one good thing in my life.
I had called her jealous. I had told her she didn't understand what Xavier and I had, that what we shared was different, that he wasn't like other rich men. Hannah hadn't argued back. She hadn't fought or yelled or tried to convince me otherwise. She had just gone quiet, picked up her coffee, and looked out the window. And after that day, she never spoke to me again.
I had told myself it was her choice. That she had given up on our friendship because she couldn't accept my happiness. I had let the silence stretch on for years, too proud and too stubborn to be the first one to reach out.
But now, walking beside her on this cold sidewalk, I look at Hannah and I see the truth for what it is. She was right. She was right about everything, and I had thrown away one of the most genuine friendships I ever had because I didn't want to hear it.
Hannah leads me to the small house next door to my parents'. I remember this house from childhood. It's always been modest, tucked between the other houses in the neighborhood like it's trying not to take up too much space. Hannah opens the front door and ushers me inside.
The interior is exactly the way I remember it. Small but tidy. A worn couch sits against the wall, covered with a clean blanket folded neatly over one arm. The furniture is sparse but everything is in its place, arranged with care and intention. There's a bookshelf overflowing with paperbacks, a small television on a wooden stand, and a few framed photos on the mantle above the fireplace.
It's nothing like my mansion. Nothing like the marble floors and designer furniture and endless rooms that I shared with Xavier. But standing here now, in this tiny, humble living room, I feel something I haven't felt in years.
I feel at home.
The realization surprises me. This small house, with its worn carpet and simple furniture, feels more like home than the place I've been living in for the past two years. Because this place is real. Nothing here was bought to impress or to maintain an image. Everything here simply exists, honest and unpretentious, and that honesty is something I haven't been surrounded by in a very long time.
Hannah guides me to the couch and helps me sit down. I sink into the cushions, suddenly aware of just how exhausted I am. Every muscle in my body aches, like I've been running for hours.
"Stay here," Hannah says quietly. "I'll be right back."
She disappears into the kitchen and returns a minute later with a glass of water. She hands it to me and I take it, wrapping both hands around the cool glass. I bring it to my lips and drink slowly, letting the water settle my raw throat.
We sit in silence for a moment. The only sound is the faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the house and the muffled noise of traffic outside. Hannah sits in the armchair across from me, watching me with gentle, patient eyes, not pushing, not asking, just being there.
I stare at the glass in my hands, turning it slowly. Then I look up at Hannah and take a breath.
"I'm sorry," I say. "Hannah, I'm so sorry. For everything. For what I said to you back in college. For not believing you."
Hannah blinks, surprise flickering across her face. She shakes her head slowly.
"Cathy, you don't have to apologize. That was years ago. It doesn't matter anymore."
"It does matter," I insist, gripping the glass tighter. "You tried to warn me. You tried to tell me the truth about men like Xavier, and I threw it back in your face. I called you jealous. I said horrible things. And you were right. You were completely, utterly right."
Hannah leans forward in her chair, studying my face with a look of genuine confusion.
"What do you mean?" she asks carefully. "Cathy, from everything I've seen, it looked like you escaped all of that. You married well, you're living in one of the nicest houses in the city. You looked happy."
A laugh escapes my lips. It's short and sharp and completely without humor, a hollow sound that surprises even me.
"Happy," I repeat, shaking my head. "Hannah, I misjudged Xavier in ways I can't even begin to explain. Everything I thought was real, everything I believed about him and about our life together, none of it was true. And now I feel like the biggest fool alive for having trusted him at all."
Hannah's expression shifts, the confusion giving way to something softer, something that looks a lot like understanding.
I set the glass down on the coffee table and reach for Hannah's hand. She doesn't pull away. I hold it between both of mine, squeezing gently, and look at her with eyes that are already burning again.
"I'm sorry," I say again, and the words tumble out fast, tripping over each other. "I'm sorry for all the lost years. I'm sorry for the things I said. I'm sorry for letting our friendship die because I was too stubborn and too proud to listen to someone who actually cared about me. I'm sorry, Hannah. For all of it."
Hannah squeezes my hand back, her thumb running gently over my knuckles.
"Cathy, it was a long time ago," she says, her voice warm. "We were both young. We've both moved on since then. You don't need to carry all of this guilt."
I look at her, really look at her, and the words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
"I hadn't moved on," I whisper. "Not really. Not even a little."
Hannah's eyes widen slightly, surprise written clearly across her features.
"I thought about reaching out so many times," I continued, my voice cracking at the edges. "Every time something went wrong, every time I felt alone in that big empty house, I thought about picking up the phone and calling you. But my pride wouldn't let me. I was too embarrassed to admit that you had been right. Too stubborn to be the one to reach out after all those years of silence."
I swallow hard, blinking against the tears that are threatening to fall again.
"And now," I say, and the words come out barely above a breath, "now I'm all alone, Hannah. Completely alone. I have no one to fall back on. Not my husband, not my mother, not anyone. You are the first person in a very long time who has done something kind for me without wanting something in return."
The room falls quiet. Hannah holds my hand and says nothing for a long moment, her eyes searching my face with an expression I can't quite read. Something between heartbreak and resolve, like she's seeing me clearly for the first time in years and doesn't like what she finds.