Before I can respond, there’s the rapid patter of small feet on the hardwood.
“Mommy?” Dakota freezes at the entrance to the hallway, her eyes wide with disbelief.
“Koda.” Hannah’s voice softens as she bends toward our daughter, her arms opening. “There you are, sweetheart.”
Dakota hesitates for a heartbeat, then races forward, throwing her arms around Hannah’s legs. “You came back! I missed you so much!”
Hannah kneels down to hug Dakota properly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I missed you too, baby. Look how tall you’re getting.” She smooths Dakota’s hair back from her face, though her eyes keep darting elsewhere, her affection feeling forced. She’s going through the motions of a loving reunion, but something feels off. “Mommy just had to take care of some things, but I’m here now.”
Sora appears behind Dakota, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. Her eyes meet mine, questioning. I give a small, helpless shrug.
Hannah’s gaze shifts to Sora, her expression cooling as she takes in the oversized T-shirt—which is obviously mine—sleep shorts, the messy bun, and bare feet. I recognize the look—Hannah sizing up potential competition, assessing weaknesses, plotting strategy.
“You must be the girlfriend,” Hannah says, her tone perfectly pleasant but her eyes sharp as cut glass.
“Sora Cho-Cooper,” Sora confirms, stepping forward with an outstretched hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Hannah.”
Hannah accepts the handshake with the briefest possible contact. “You too.” She turns back to me, dismissing Sora completely. “Forrest, I need to speak with you. Privately.”
Dakota tugs at her mother’s sleeve. “But, Mommy, we’re making chocolate-chip pancakes! You can have some too!”
“Later, sweetie.” Hannah extracts herself from Dakota’s grip with exercised ease. “Mommy needs to talk to Daddy about grown-up things.”
I look to Sora, torn. She gives me a small nod. “I’ll finish making pancakes with Dakota,” she says. “You two can use the study to talk.”
Thank you, I mouth silently as Hannah follows me down the hall.
The study has become Sora’s workspace—her laptop open on the desk, reference books stacked on shelves, notepads filled with her elegant handwriting. My bar exam materials are piled neatly on one corner of the desk, sticky notes marking important pages. It feels like an invasion to bring Hannah into this room.
I close the door behind us, gesturing for her to take the leather armchair while I perch on the edge of the desk.
“What’s going on, Hannah?” I keep my voice low, conscious of how sound carries in the old brownstone. “Why are you really here?”
She sinks into the chair with the fluid grace that once captivated me, crossing her legs and adjusting her coat. “Like I said…I’m back.” When she’s met with silence, she elaborates. “Henry left me, okay? For his twenty-two-year-old assistant.” Her laugh is brittle. “Such a cliché, right? After everything I did for him—moving to Tokyo, giving up…” She trails off, but we both know what she was about to say.Giving up her daughter.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and I am. Despite everything, I never wanted Hannah to get hurt. “That’s rough.”
“It’s more than rough, Forrest.” Her composure cracks slightly, revealing the devastation beneath. “It’s humiliating. I went all-in on Henry. I thought he was the upgrade I’d been waiting for. Wealthy, connected, ambitious.” She swallows hard. “Turns out I was just a placeholder until something younger and shinier came along.”
I shift uncomfortably, unsure how to respond. Hannah and I don’t talk like this anymore. Our interactions have been limited to terse text messages about Dakota’s schedule and needs.
“What can I do?” I ask finally. “Do you need help finding a place to stay, or?—”
“I want another chance,” she interrupts, leaning forward. “With you. With us.”
The words hang in the air between us, impossible and absurd.
“Hannah—”
“I know what you’re going to say,” she rushes on. “That I walked away. That I broke up with you. But I’ve changed, Forrest. I’ve learned that money isn’t everything. I could settle for this.” She gestures vaguely at our surroundings. “A brownstone in need of upgrades. A simpler life. I’m willing to live more humbly now.”
The irony of her calling Sora’s multimillion-dollar brownstone “humble” would be laughable if the situation weren’t so painfully awkward.
“Hannah,” I say gently, “that’s not going to happen.”
“Why not?” A flash of the old Hannah—entitled, imperious—surfaces briefly before she smooths it away. “We have history, Forrest. A child together. We could be a real family again.”
I run a hand through my hair, searching for the right words. “Look, I understand you’re going through a hard time. And I’m genuinely sorry about that. I know what it’s like when life turns out differently than you planned.”
