Chapter 45

Hannah

The next morning, I woke up feeling more nauseous than I could ever remember. My stomach roiled and churned, protesting even the mere idea of breakfast. I barely had time to throw myself out of bed and stagger to the bathroom before violently emptying the contents of my belly into the toilet.

Wave after wave of intense nausea rippled through my body, doubling me over the porcelain bowl as I heaved and retched. Tears pricked at the backs of my eyes, my throat burning from the harsh, acidic sting of bile.

When it finally seemed to pass, I collapsed in a trembling heap on the cool tile floor, my head spinning.

Goddess, I felt so weak—weaker than I had in months. In fact, the last time I remembered feeling like this was… well, when I had died.

What was even worse, though, was that when I finally mustered the strength to push myself upright and glance at my reflection in the mirror above the sink, I looked thinner than ever. All the careful progress I had painstakingly made in eating more and gaining weight lately seemed to be rapidly dwindling right in front of my eyes.

Better, that little voice said in the back of my mind. Thinner now… Better…

I frowned, lifting my shirt to get a better look at my emaciated stomach. For a moment, just a moment, I wondered…

Would it really be so bad if I lost a little more weight?

A tiny bit of warmth in my belly, however, immediately brushed aside those thoughts. “No,” I said out loud. I had to remind myself that I was growing a new life inside me—my child. My child who had died alongside me in my past life, who had been given a second chance along with me.

Of course there would be unpleasant side effects, unavoidable changes to my body. This was just one of them. And I couldn’t let the morning sickness urge me into more bulimic episodes.

Suddenly, the sound of a gasp coming from the open bathroom door caused me to whirl around. “Luna Hannah?” My handmaid stood in the doorway, her eyes wide, holding a tray of tea and toast. “Are you alright?”

My stomach twisted with a fresh wave of nausea—only this time, it was born of dread rather than morning sickness. I couldn’t exactly tell anyone the truth, not yet. No one knew about the pregnancy, and I planned to keep it that way until the divorce was finalized.

But I also couldn’t very well lie about being ill, could I? No, she had seen too much; I needed to think. Quickly.

“I... I’m fine,” I finally managed to reply, hating how weak and unconvincing my voice sounded. “I just, um... had a bit of a relapse, that’s all. Made myself sick again.”

Dead silence answered me for several long moments before my handmaid scurried over to the counter and set my breakfast down, her face tight with worry. “Oh, Luna…”

She hurried over and peered at my face, touching my wrist to check my pulse. “But I thought you’ve been doing so well lately,” she said as she checked me over. “Why would you do this to yourself?”

My eyes burned with a sudden prickle of tears, equal parts guilt and frustration. I hadn’t asked for any of this—the eating disorder, the baby, the… well, everything. But that was a reality I would have to deal with on my own for now.

“I’m sorry,” I rasped out, forcing a thin smile. “Silly of me, I know. And counterintuitive. But I’ll be okay, I promise. We just... need to get me cleaned up and ready for—”

Suddenly, a knock on the bedroom door cut me off.

My handmaid rose to her feet without hesitation and scurried over to the door. “I’ll get that. You just rest here for another few minutes, alright?”

I could only nod weakly as she made her way out of the bathroom. A few seconds later, Noah’s voice floated through the room, his tone impatient as ever.

“Is she ready? We’re going to be late.”

Before my handmaid could answer, I swept out of the bathroom and into Noah’s view. When his eyes caught me and saw that I was still in my pajamas with my hair down, they narrowed a fraction.

“What the hell, Hannah? We’re supposed to leave in fifteen minutes.”

I sighed. “I’ll be quick. I was just…” I paused, biting my lip. Obviously I couldn’t tell him—and if I lied again and said it was a relapse, he’d be just as angry. “I overslept.”

Noah stared at me for a moment over my handmaid’s shoulder, who made no move—thankfully—to tell him the truth. Finally, checking his watch, he took a step back.

“Fine. Just hurry.”

With that, he turned on his heel and disappeared. My handmaid quickly shut the door, scurrying into the closet to pick something out for me to wear.

While she was doing that, I made my way back into the bathroom, my body still feeling wrung out and utterly drained of energy. After splashing some more cool water on my face and dabbing on a bit of makeup to hide how worn and pale I looked, I tugged on the simple knit dress and boots that she had picked out for me.

It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.

By the time I emerged from the bedroom and made my way down the stairs, Noah stood waiting in the foyer, his arms crossed and his foot tapping with obvious impatience. He glanced up sharply as I approached, his eyes raking over me from head to toe in a single dismissive sweep before checking his watch with a scowl.

“Good, you’re finally ready,” he huffed, already heading for the door. “I almost left without you.”

I bit back a wounded retort, swallowing hard around the lump of dejection lodged in my throat as I hurried to catch up with his long stride. If only he knew what I was going through... but no, I couldn’t tell him before the divorce was finalized. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

An uncomfortable silence lingered between us for the entire drive to the orphanage, Noah’s jaw ticking tightly with obvious tension. When we finally arrived, I was more than ready to get out of the car and put some distance between us.

No sooner had the driver cut the engine, however, than a gaggle of young children came scurrying around the side of the building, giggling and shrieking with delight. I blinked in surprise as they swarmed toward us, each one wearing a colorful paper crown perched crookedly on top of their little heads.

Then, a kind-faced older woman—the orphanage director, if I had to guess—followed behind, two larger crowns clutched in her hands.

“Luna Hannah, Alpha Noah, welcome!” she called out warmly as she joined the children. “The little ones made these hats for you. Of course, you don't have to wear them if you’d prefer not to.”

Before Noah could respond with what was sure to be a curt refusal, I was shaking my head vehemently. “Nonsense!”

Bending down with a bright smile, I allowed two of the giggling little girls to place the oversized paper crown on top of my head before straightening, sweeping one of the smallest children up into my arms as I did so. She shrieked happily, her tiny fingers immediately finding their way into my hair.

“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest little thing!” I cooed, tickling her belly until she dissolved into a fit of squealing laughter.

When I finally glanced up, still cradling the little girl against my hip, Noah was staring at me with an indecipherable expression, his paper crown dangling forgotten from one hand at his side.

An impish grin tugged at the corners of my lips as I jerked my chin toward the top of his head. “Aren’t you going to put yours on, Alpha Noah? I think it would be rude not to.” At that last statement, I narrowed my eyes fractionally—a warning that I hoped he would heed.

All eyes turned expectantly toward Noah, dozens of wide, hopeful gazes fixed on him. To his credit, he held my challenging stare for all of two seconds before his shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly with a resigned sigh.

Moving with clear reluctance, he carefully situated the slightly squashed crown on top of his head, smoothing a stray piece of paper back into place.

I beamed at him over the little girl’s head, thoroughly pleased with myself. “Well? What do you think?” I asked, turning to face the children again. “Doesn’t Alpha Noah look handsome?”

A delighted chorus of giggles and excited squeals erupted around us, all the children clamoring to get a better look at their Alpha sporting his makeshift hat.

The tips of Noah’s ears turned the brightest shade of red I had ever seen.