Hannah’s hand squeezed. “I wish I could have met her.”
“Me too.” I said finally, when I could speak past the lump in my throat. “She would have loved all of this. The chaos. The color.”
We stood like that for a long moment, the music fading into “Silent Night,” the tree lights blinking their chaotic pattern, the angel watching over us with her serene painted smile.
I pulled Hannah closer, tucking her against my side where fit perfectly, and thought the words that caught in my throat:She would have loved you.
Hannah
Theapartmentwasquiet,golden with early winter light. I woke up on the couch where I’d fallen asleep during last night’s movie, stiff-necked and covered with a blanket Connor must have draped over me before going to bed. He’d left me there instead of waking me up to tell me I’d be more comfortable in the bedroom.
Small mercies.
I padded barefoot into the kitchen, still wearing one of his sweaters—stolen last week and never returned. The coffee pot was full and warm. He’d programmed it last night, a ritual I’d always told myself would be smart yet never adopted.
I was hunting for a clean mug when my eye caught something on the table: Connor’s notebook, topped with today’s date in his careful handwriting.
I didn’t mean to snoop, but it wasright there,open to today’s page, and something about the tidy block letters called to me. I hesitated, then looked
? Follow up w/ Alex re: Q1 planning
? Groceries — Hannah’s milk running low
? Check thermostat (H said she was cold last night)
? Email Teresa re: utilities
? Drop off dry cleaning
? Prep Grace’s Santa breakfast binder
? Order more packing tape
? Upgrade blackout curtains in bedroom so H can sleep better
? Sort Mom’s photo albums (box 3 of 7)
? Hannah’s shift ends at 4 — text to check if she needs pickup
? Clear inbox before 5
My chest went tight.
I was on there three times, four if you counted the milk.
He was tracking my groceries, monitoring the thermostat for me, planning to text me after my shift like I might not be able to get home on my own.
I flipped back a page. Yesterday’s list had similar entries:Hannah working late—leave dinner in fridge.The day before:H looked tired—pick up chamomile tea?
He was managing me like I was a item on his endless list of responsibilities.
I flipped forward and found a second list paper-clipped to the back of the notebook:
PACKING TIMELINE — Deadline: Dec 30
? Books & media (est. 4 boxes) — complete by Dec 18
? Kitchen items (est. 3 boxes) — complete by Dec 20
