Three words. That's all it took to shatter what was left of her heart.
"Maggie, come on." Hannah heard the desperation in her own voice, hated it. "It's still me."
"That's the problem." Maggie's voice hardened even as her eyes filled with tears. "We all trusted you. Trusted your family." She swallowed hard. "And now my parents have to rent out their farm to stay afloat. I lost my college fund, Hannah."
The words hit like physical blows. Hannah gripped the edge of the table to stay upright.
"I didn't—" But what could she say? That she didn't know? That she was sorry? That she would have stopped it if she'd understood?
It didn't matter. Maggie was already walking away, movements deliberate and final.
Hannah's vision blurred. She felt Jake shift closer, felt the heat of him at her back, familiar and dangerous.
"Don't you dare," she whispered. But she wasn't sure if she was talking to him or herself.
Because right now, with the weight of the town's judgment crushing her chest, all she wanted was to let him hold her together.
And that terrified her more than anything.
Hannah madeit exactly three minutes after Maggie walked away. Three minutes of mechanically arranging pastries with shaking hands. Three minutes of feeling the town's eyes on her, of hearing the whispers, of trying to breathe through the weight crushing her chest.
Then a child's voice—clear and cruel: "Mommy says we can't buy from her anymore because her daddy's bad."
Something inside Hannah shattered.
She turned blindly, needing to escape, to hide, to breathe?—
Strong hands caught her shoulders, guiding her behind the stall. Jake. Of course it was Jake. It was always Jake.
"Don't—" she started, but her voice broke.
"Back here." He steered her behind their shared tent, into the narrow space between canvas and brick wall. "No one can see."
The sobs hit then, hard and ugly. Hannah pressed her hands to her mouth, trying to hold them in, but they tore free anyway. Days of holding it together, of keeping her head high, of pretending she was fine—all of it crumbled in the face of the town's rejection, ofMaggie'srejection.
"Hannah." Jake's voice cracked. Then his arms were around her, pulling her against his chest, one hand cradling her head as she broke apart.
She should push him away. Should remember that he was part of why her world had shattered. Should hate him for witnessing her weakness.
Instead, she clutched his uniform shirt and let herself feel safe for just one moment.
"I didn't know," she whispered against his chest. "I swear I didn't know. About stealing the money, about Maggie's college fund, about the Harrison's expansion, about any of it?—"
"I know." His arms tightened. "God, Hannah, I know."
She breathed him in—smoke and coffee and that unique Jake-scent that still felt like home. His heartbeat was steady under her ear, his hand gentle as it stroked her hair.
"I keep thinking," she hiccupped, "if I just explain, if I just make them understand?—"
"Shh." Jake's chest rumbled with the sound. "You don't owe them explanations. You don't owe them anything."
Hannah squeezed her eyes shut. "They were my friends. My family. And now they all look at me like?—"
"Like they looked at me in that council meeting?" His voice was rough. "When I told them you were innocent?"
The memory hit hard—Jake standing up, defending her when no one else would. When she hadn't wanted him to.
Reality crashed back in. Hannah stiffened, trying to pull away, but Jake's arms tightened fractionally.
