My Deceased Wife Wants a Divorce (Hannah) novel Chapter 86

She had only walked a few steps before her composure completely shattered. Leaning against a wall, she came to a stop.

A low rumble of thunder echoed overhead, and without warning, the sky opened up. A torrential downpour began.

She raised a hand to her face, her cheeks slick with moisture. She couldn’t tell if it was rain or tears, only that her heart was being torn apart, piece by piece, with every agonizing breath. The pain was so intense it felt as if countless hands were pulling at her heart from all directions, trying to rip it open.

She slid down the wall, crouching on the pavement as heavy raindrops pelted her, soaking her hair and clothes. Staring at her own pathetic reflection in a puddle, she let out another cold, empty laugh.

Every time she thought Lionel had finally listened, every time she allowed herself to believe he might actually change, reality would slap her across the face.

The man would never change. He would always be this way.

The sound of his car speeding away replayed in her mind, a relentless echo of his priorities.

She didn't know how long she knelt there before she slowly, unsteadily, got to her feet and started walking toward the main road. The world swayed around her, each step feeling like she was treading on cotton. She nearly fell several times. Just as she tried to steady herself, her vision blurred, and the world began to spin.

“Hannah—!”

In the moment before she blacked out, she thought she saw a familiar figure running desperately toward her. But before she could make out who it was, everything went dark.

—

When she woke up again, she was in an unfamiliar room.

“Where am I?”

She pushed herself up, looking around. It wasn’t a hospital; it was a private residence.

“Why were you out in the rain? Did Lionel upset you again?” he asked, his voice gentle but laced with concern. “No matter how awful he is, you can’t take it out on your own body. Do you really think torturing yourself like this will make him feel a single ounce of remorse?”

He sighed, his gaze softening. “I’ve already called your office and told them you’re taking a sick day. Just rest here today. Your medicine is on the nightstand; make sure you take it on schedule.”

His quiet, steady stream of concern was a balm to her frayed nerves. It had been so long since anyone other than Mrs. Rosenberg Sr. had shown her such kindness. A warmth spread through her chest.

“Why are you crying?” Quennel reached across the table and gently wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “If you keep crying, the pastas will get soggy, and there’s nothing else to eat in the house.”

Hannah froze, momentarily forgetting to pull away as the back of his fingers brushed against her cheek. It wasn’t until he retracted his hand and teased her again that she snapped back to reality, a faint blush creeping up her ears.

Embarrassed, she ducked her head and began eating in small, quiet bites, too flustered to speak.