She stops in front of a bay window, afternoon light casting a halo around her. "This one feels right, doesn't it?"
I step closer, drawn in by her warmth. For a moment, I let myself imagine coming home to this, to her. The thought should terrify me, send me running. I won’t say it feels right, but it does settle something restless inside my chest.
"It does," I admit quietly, surprising us both.
I follow Hannah up the curved staircase, watching her trail her fingers along the polished banister. She's been quieter here, more thoughtful, like she can sense this place is different.
"Oh, my God." She stops in the doorway of a sun-filled room, her breath catching. "This would make the perfect art studio."
The space spans the width of the house, with windows on three sides flooding it with natural light. Built-in shelves line one wall, and there's even a small sink in the corner.
"Look at these storage cabinets." She opens and closes them, peering inside. "And the lighting… it's perfect."
I can easily see her here, surrounded by canvases and color, creating beauty in a world filled with so much darkness.
“You’re an artist?” I ask, remembering her comment about sketching.
“I like art.” She moves past me into the hall and pauses at another doorway. It's a small, buttery yellow room. I can’t make sense of it. It’s like an afterthought off the main bedroom.
“This is the nursery,” the realtor says.
Hannah doesn't say anything, but I catch the longing in her eyes as she takes in the room. I'd sworn off the idea of family. What’s the point? The danger, the loss, it’s not worth it. But watching Hannah now, I can almost see it, a dark-haired child with her green eyes, padding down these halls. Maybe I could give her that if it would help her endure a life with me.
“But you can use it for something else,” the realtor finishes. “There are plenty of other bedrooms.”
We make our way to the main bedroom. Like the room Hannah wants to use as an art studio, it’s large and bright.
Hannah moves to the window, gazing down into a large back yard with a pool. "The water looks so inviting."
I step closer, drawn by the peace in her expression. She's right. The pool and landscaped yard is the kind of place wheresummer afternoons could be filled with laughter and splashing water.
The kind of place I never thought I'd want again.
"This is it." Hannah's voice rings with certainty as she turns from the window. "This is our home."
The word “our” makes my heart stall.
She moves past me to the realtor, who's been hovering near the doorway.
“Can you contact the sellers?” Hannah asks.
The realtor looks at me. “Do you have an offer?”
I give a number. “But if necessary, you can go up. My wife wants this house. You need to make that happen.”
Hannah blinks at me, and at first, I’m not sure why. Then I suspect it’s my referring to her as my wife.
“Of course.” The realtor leaves us.
Once the realtor is gone, Hannah spins in a slow circle, taking in the room. "This is a perfect house. Probably too big for just the two of us, but…”
She doesn’t say anything, but I suspect she’s thinking of the nursery and the other bedrooms that could be filled with children.
I ignore my suspicion. "If you want it, it's yours." I keep my voice neutral, professional.
"You mean it's ours," she corrects, those green eyes challenging me. "Unless you're planning to stay at that hotel forever?"
I shift uncomfortably. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t considered it. It would definitely make my life easier.
