Chapter 3 - The Messages Hannah Never Wrote
Thomas arrived twenty-seven minutes later.
Hannah was six centimeters dilated.
He entered the room wearing the same faded blue Oxford shirt he wore to job sites and stopped beside the door when he saw her face.
For one terrible second, Hannah thought he might cry.
Instead he said, “Can I hug you?”
The question nearly broke her.
She nodded.
Thomas held her carefully.
No lecture.
No I told you so.
No questions about Derek.
Just his arms around her while she breathed through another contraction.
When it passed, Hannah said, “Show me the messages.”
Thomas took out his phone.
The first had arrived seven weeks earlier.
Dad, please stop calling. Derek and I need space before the baby comes.
Hannah looked up.
“I didn’t write that.”
Thomas scrolled.
You need to accept that Derek isn’t working for you anymore. Stop trying to punish him through me.
Another.
I’m serious. Don’t come to the house.
Then:
If you actually care about my pregnancy, you’ll stop stressing me out.
Hannah stared at the screen.
Every message sounded close enough to her that Thomas could have believed it.
That was what made them sickening.
Derek knew how she punctuated.
How she shortened words.
How she became slightly formal when she was angry.
Her phone had been beside him hundreds of times while she slept.
“Why didn’t you call from another number?”
Thomas looked ashamed.
“I did once.”
Hannah remembered an unknown Charlotte number appearing during dinner.
Derek had glanced at the screen.
“Spam.”
He declined it.
Thomas rubbed his jaw.
“When you said stress was affecting the pregnancy, I backed off.”
“You believed a text over me?”
“I thought it was you.”
“You could have come here.”
“I did.”
Hannah stared at him.
“Twice. Derek answered.”
“What did he say?”
“That you were sleeping.”
Thomas hesitated.
“And the second time?”
Hannah waited.
“He said you’d threatened to call the police if I kept showing up.”
Hannah closed her eyes.
Derek had spent two months telling her Thomas wanted nothing to do with them.
He had pointed to the silence as proof.
“See?” he would say. “Your dad only loves you when you agree with him.”
Meanwhile he had been creating the silence himself.
But one question remained.
“Why did all this start seven weeks ago?”
Thomas looked toward the window.
“Hannah.”
She caught his wrist.
“Don’t protect me.”
Thomas met her eyes.
“It actually started before that.”
“How long?”
“About six months.”
The same month Derek supposedly resigned from Pierce Custom Homes.
Hannah felt the contradiction lock into place.
“You didn’t fight because he quit.”
Thomas looked away.
“No.”
“Then why did he leave?”
Thomas’s answer came quietly.
“He didn’t.”
May you like
Hannah’s fingers tightened around the blanket.
“I fired him.”
