"Michael, please?—"
"Your father looked me in the eye on Monday and said everything was fine." He stepped closer, his voice dropping. "And you stood there, Hannah. You smiled. You knew they were coming for him, and you smiled."
"I didn't know about any of it!"
"Right." He straightened his jacket, a bitter smile twisting his lips. "You just accidentally signed all those transfer documents. Just accidentally sat in on all those meetings. Just accidentally helped destroy half the families in Crystal Lake."
He turned to leave, then paused. "You know what's funny? I actually liked you, Hannah. Trusted you. Guess that makes me as stupid as everyone else in this town."
He walked away, leaving Hannah with the red letters screaming behind her and coffee grounds scattered at her feet.
Her hands didn't shake as she went inside for cleaning supplies. Didn't shake as she scrubbed at the paint until her fingers were raw and red. Didn't shake as she scraped away yet another piece of her world.
But when she finally stepped back, arms aching and chest tight, she could still see the ghost of those letters bleeding through.
THIEF.
Hannah lifted her chin and went back inside. She had bread to bake, a business to run. She wasn't going to let this town see her break.
But she made sure to lock the back door.
And this time, her hands did shake on the deadbolt.
Hannah was still scrubbingred paint from her hands when the bell above the front door chimed. She didn't turn—couldn't bear to see another former friend come to cancel an order or deliver judgment.
"What can I get you?" she called out, her voice raw from holding back tears.
"Hannah."
Every muscle in her body locked at that voice. Jake's voice. The one that used to mean safety, used to mean home. Now it felt like another weapon aimed at her heart.
She heard his footsteps—measured, careful, like he was approaching a wounded animal. The sound of his expensive dress shoes against her hardwood floors was wrong. Everything about him was wrong now.
"Don't." The word scraped her throat. She still hadn't turned around.
The footsteps stopped. "I wanted to make sure you're okay."
A bitter laugh escaped before she could stop it. She finally turned, and the sight of him hit her like a physical blow. Jake stood in his crisp FBI suit, badge glinting at his belt—Special Agent Jacob Cooper, not the man who'd fixed her sink, who'd held her through storms, who'd whispered "I love you" against her skin.
"Okay?" Her voice shook. "You want to know if I'm okay?"
He took a step forward. She jerked back, bumping the counter. A container of utensils clattered to the floor, spatulas and whisks scattering across the tiles.
Jake moved automatically to help, but Hannah's voice cracked like a whip: "Don't touch anything."
His hands froze mid-reach. "Hannah, please?—"
"Are you here to arrest me?" The words came out raw, ragged. "Or just gathering more evidence?"
"That's not—" He straightened, and she saw the muscle working in his jaw. "I'm here because I care about?—"
"Please." She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold in the scream building in her chest. "Don't you dare say you care. Don't you dare stand there in that suit, with that badge, and pretend any of it was real."
Jake's face did something complicated—pain or guilt or both. "It wasn't all a lie."
"Really?" Hannah gestured at his FBI badge. "Which part was real,Special Agent Cooper? When you fixed my sink to get close to me? When you made me fall in—" Her voice cracked. Sheswallowed hard. "When you held me all those nights while you were planning on destroying my life?"
"Hannah—"
