CHAPTER 84: HATTIE

CHAPTER 84: HATTIE
For the first time in months, the noise in my head was gone. I turned slightly, looking at him. His eyes were closed, his expression calm, almost peaceful. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him like that. Part of me wanted to stay in that moment forever, to pretend the world outside didn’t exist. But another part—the cautious, wounded part—knew better. This didn’t fix anything. It didn’t erase the pain or the distance or the months we’d spent apart. But it reminded me of something I’d almost forgotten—that underneath all the hurt, there was still love.

I reached up and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. He stirred, eyes opening just enough to meet mine. “Hey,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep. “Hey,” I whispered back. He smiled faintly, his thumb brushing my hand. “You okay?” I nodded, though I wasn’t sure if it was true. “Yeah. I think so.” He pulled me closer, and I let him. For now, that was enough. As I lay there, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, I knew the road ahead would be messy, uncertain.

When I opened my eyes again, the light in the room had changed. The soft gold of morning was gone, replaced by the dim orange of late afternoon. The clock on the nightstand read 5:03. I sat up fast, the blanket slipping down to my waist. My heart started to race before I even knew why.

Preston was still asleep beside me, one arm draped across the empty space where I’d been. Then it hit me. The way everything had happened—fast, desperate, unplanned. My stomach dropped. “Oh God,” I whispered, pressing a hand to my mouth. We hadn’t used anything. No protection. No thought. Just emotion and history and need. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, trying to breathe, trying to think. My pulse was pounding in my ears. I could still feel the warmth of his skin, the weight of everything that had happened between us. How could I have been so careless? After everything we’d been through—after losing the baby—I’d promised myself I’d never let something like that happen again.

I stood, clutching the blanket around me, pacing the room in silence. My mind was spinning through possibilities, through what‑ifs, through the ache of fear that settled deep in my chest. Behind me, Preston stirred. “Hattie?” His voice was rough, still heavy with sleep. I froze, staring at the floor. I couldn’t look at him. Not yet. He sat up slowly. “What’s wrong?” I turned, my throat tight. “We didn’t use anything.” For a moment, he just blinked, the words sinking in. Then his expression shifted—surprise, realization, something close to guilt. “Hattie…” he started, but I shook my head. “I can’t—” My voice cracked. “I can’t go through that again, Preston.” He reached for me, but I stepped back, clutching the blanket tighter. The silence between us was heavy, filled with everything neither of us knew how to say. I didn’t know what would happen next. I didn’t even know what I wanted. All I knew was that the ground beneath me suddenly felt unsteady again, and I wasn’t sure I could survive another fall.

I spent the next few hours in a fog. After the panic hit, I’d thrown on my clothes and left Preston’s apartment without saying much. He’d called after me, but I couldn’t face him—not yet. Back in my place, I sat on the couch, knees pulled to my chest, staring at the wall. My mind wouldn’t stop spinning. Every thought circled back to the same place: what if I was pregnant again? The idea made my stomach twist. Not because I didn’t want it—part of me still ached for what we’d lost—but because I didn’t know if I could survive that kind of heartbreak twice.

I tried to distract myself. I cleaned the kitchen, folded laundry, even took a shower, but nothing helped. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face, the way he’d looked when I told him. Shocked. Scared. Maybe even sorry. By the time the sun started to set, I was exhausted. I sat by the window, watching the sky fade from orange to gray. The city lights flickered on one by one, and I felt small—like the world was moving forward while I was stuck in place. A soft knock broke the silence. I didn’t have to ask who it was. I opened the door just enough to see him standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes uncertain. “Hattie,” he said quietly. “Can we talk?” I hesitated, then stepped aside.

He came in slowly, like he wasn’t sure he was welcome. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” he said. “But if you are—if something comes of this—I’m not going anywhere this time.” I looked at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt. There wasn’t any. “I don’t even know if I am,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s too soon and I should be starting my period here in a couple of days.” “I know,” he said. “But I needed you to hear that from me.” Something in his tone—steady, certain—made my chest ache. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe that maybe this time would be different. But belief was dangerous. I nodded slowly. “Okay.” He reached out, brushing his fingers against mine. “We’ll figure it out. Together.” For the first time that day, I let myself breathe. Maybe it was too soon to hope. Maybe everything would fall apart again. But as I stood there, his hand warm against mine, I realized I wasn’t as afraid as I’d been that morning.

By the next morning, I couldn’t keep it in anymore. The weight of everything—the night with Preston, the panic, the uncertainty—was pressing too hard on my chest. I needed to talk to someone who wouldn’t judge me, someone who knew me better than I knew myself. Maisie. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and stared at her name for a long moment before pressing call. It rang twice before her familiar voice came through, bright and warm.