Chapter 39

Hannah

Noah was silent for a long moment, his expression utterly unreadable in the dim glow of the parking lot lights. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and even.

“We don’t need to talk about love right now, Hannah.”

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head in disbelief. Of course he would dwindle it down to that; down to nothing at all.

“No? Then when, Noah?” I demanded, taking a step closer to him. “When are we going to talk about the fact that you clearly still have feelings for your ex-girlfriend? That you’ve had feelings for her since… forever?”

“Hannah…” Noah pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a weary sigh.

“You’re a coward,” I spat out, the words rushing out of my lips before I could stop them. “You’re too afraid to face your own emotions, and it’s going to cost you everything in the end.”

Noah’s head snapped up, his eyes flashing with a mixture of hurt and anger. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he bit out.

“Don’t I?” I challenged, crossing my arms over my chest. “If you don’t get your act together and start being honest with yourself, Drake is going to swoop right in and steal Zoe away from you for good. And then where will you be? Because I’m not going to be here for much longer, either. You won’t have little old me to fall back on anymore.”

Noah’s jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists at his sides. For a long moment, he simply stared at me, his chest rising and falling heavily. Then, without a word, he turned and wrenched open the car door again, sliding into the driver’s seat.

“Get it,” he said.

I stood there, frozen in place, unsure of what to do or say next. Part of me wanted to apologize, to take back the harsh words I had flung at him in my anger and frustration. But another part of me, the part that was still seething with resentment and jealousy, refused to back down.

The car rumbled to life, and Noah rolled down the window, fixing me with a hard stare. “Get in the car, Hannah,” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Biting back a retort, I yanked open the passenger door and slid inside, slamming it shut behind me with more force than was strictly necessary.

The drive back to Nightcrest was tense and silent, the only sound the low hum of the engine and the occasional crackle of static from the radio. I sat with my gaze fixed out the window, my arms tightly bound across my chest.

As we pulled up to the front of the mansion, Noah put the car in park and turned to look at me.

“Go on inside,” he said, his voice flat and emotionless. “I have some business to take care of.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but the look on his face made the words die in my throat. With a curt nod, I pushed open the door and stepped out onto the gravel driveway, watching as Noah pulled away without so much as a backward glance.

…

The next evening found me standing outside the doors of the community center, my palms sweating and my heart racing in my chest. Beside me, Viona offered an encouraging smile, giving my arm a gentle squeeze.

“You’ve got this, Hannah,” she murmured. “It’s going to be okay.”

I nodded, mustering up a shaky smile of my own. “Thanks, Viona. See you later?”

“Of course. We’ll grab some nachos and you can tell me everything,” she replied, giving my hand one last squeeze before turning and heading back to her car.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the doors and stepped inside, following the sound of muted voices down a long hallway. At the end of the corridor, I could see an open doorway spilling warm light into the dimly lit hall, and as I drew closer, the sound of women’s laughter and quiet conversation reached my ears.

I hovered in the doorway for a moment, my heart in my throat as I took in the scene in front of me. A circle of chairs had been arranged in the center of the room, most of them occupied by women of varying ages and backgrounds.

At the far end of the room, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a gentle smile stood beside a whiteboard, scribbling something down as she nodded along to whatever was being said.

As my gaze swept over the group, a few of the women noticed my presence and fell silent, their expressions morphing into ones of surprise and confusion. Of course they recognized me.

One woman, a girl who couldn’t have been much older than twenty, opened her mouth to say something, but I held up a hand, stopping her.

“Please, don’t get up,” I said, mustering up a small smile as I stepped further into the room. “I’m here as a member of the group tonight, not as the Luna of Nightcrest.”

Murmurs of understanding rippled through the circle as I crossed the room and claimed one of the few empty chairs. The woman at the whiteboard turned to face me, offering me a warm smile.

“Welcome,” she said, her voice gentle and soothing. “We were just getting started for the evening, so you’re right on time. Why don’t you introduce yourself to the group?”

I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling very much like I was back in school, about to give an oral presentation in front of the entire class. “Hi, everyone,” I began, forcing my voice to stay steady. “My name is Hannah, and I... well, I’m here because I struggle with an eating disorder.”

The words seemed to hang in the air for a moment, and then the woman at the front of the room was nodding, offering me an encouraging smile. “Thank you for sharing that with us, Hannah,” she said. “We’re glad to have you here tonight.”

As the meeting progressed, I found myself slowly beginning to relax, sinking into the rhythm of the group as we went around the circle, each woman sharing a bit of her story, her struggles, her triumphs. I nodded along and offering words of support and understanding where I could, but mostly just listened quietly.

Finally, it was my turn to speak. I cleared my throat, my hands twisting together in my lap as I struggled to find the right words.

“I, um… I used to love my body,” I began. “I used to look in the mirror and feel nothing but pride and appreciation for the strength and beauty of my own form. But then…” I trailed off, shaking my head. “Something happened, and everything changed.”

I paused, drawing in a deep breath as memories flickered through my mind—memories of my first month being married to Noah, when it had all started. Of catching sight of my reflection in the mirror and thinking, ‘not good enough, not good enough, not good enough.’

“Now, I feel like a slave to my own mind,” I continued after drawing in another shaky breath. “Like my body is a prison, trapping me inside this... this shell that I can barely recognize anymore. And the worst part is, I know it’s not healthy. I know that the way I see myself, the way I treat myself, is damaging and destructive. Hell…”

My voice trailed off, and for a moment, I couldn’t seem to find the right words to describe how I had died and was reborn on the cold tiles of my bathroom floor. Finally, I managed to continue.

“Sometimes, it… It feels like I was given a second chance,” I managed, furrowing my brow. “If that makes sense; like… I was teetering on the edge, and managed to pull myself back. But I still can’t seem to stop, no matter how hard I try.”

I fell silent then, my chest constricting as I fought back the hot tears that were pricking at the backs of my eyes. Around me, the room was utterly still. I carefully blinked and looked around, afraid of seeing judgment or hatred at their Luna for being so vulnerable.

But instead, I saw nothing but quiet support.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the counselor at the front of the room spoke up with a smile warm enough to melt the ice around my heart.

“Second chances are what this group is all about,” she said softly.