falter.

[ @hannahashmore ] [ District Administrative Gala 2025 ]

Gabriel left the note atop a box, on the bed in their room. The box was large, and sat neatly across the beautifully adorned spread. Inside, she would find a simple- but elegant- black dress. It would suit her tastes, and fit her beautifully. Just like everything. Or, at least, that's how Gabe felt. Hannah could wear a plastic bag and still be the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

Each year- in between the benefit fundraisers, and very public support dinners for inner-city charities- the city (and its many benefactors) put on a private, but lavish, gala. For a couple of hours, every single person who'd suffered the blood and sweat of public defense was honored with expensive food, too-much champagne, and a lot of socializing. It was an excellent opportunity to stoke the flames of established acquaintances, and to have their photo taken as the pristine and loving married couple that they were; a representation of Gabe's success in his own life, and one of the oldest ways of silently saying to his peers, and his clients, that he could be trusted.

Hannah paused just inside the doors, letting the atmosphere settle around her like a second skin. The dress he'd chosen fit perfectly, of course. Sleek, understated, elegant. She should have felt beautiful in it. And maybe she did, in a way. But her mind still lingered on the box left neatly on the bed that morning, tissue folded just so, a note placed carefully on top. This is for you. Please don't be upset.

A part of her had softened at the gesture. The thoughtfulness. The way he still knew her taste. But another part... the part that had stared down at a single pink line hours before, barely breathing, had felt something colder settle in her chest.

There were nights she wondered if their marriage still lived anywhere beyond the performance. If he bought the dress for her or for the illusion of her, standing beside him, smiling for donors who knew them only in headlines and handshakes.

Her fingers tightened slightly around her clutch as she scanned the room. A few familiar faced floated past, associates of Gabe's, old donors from previous events. She gave them the requisite nods, lips pulling into a polite curve, even as her gaze kept drifting.

And then, she saw him. Across the room. In conversation, dressed to match the space around him. As composed and polished as ever. Her breath caught, if only slightly, and she smoothed a hand down the side of her dress before making her way toward him. When there was finally enough space to close the distance, she stopped beside him, her voice pitched low, meant only for him to hear.

"You clean up alright," she murmured, not quite smiling, but not cold either. Her gaze lingered a moment longer before sliding forward again. "Sorry I'm late," she added. The words felt like a familiar script, one of many they both knew by heart.. An empty apology of some sort.

He had lost friends along the way — not just fellow Marines in the line of duty, but, more sinisterly, from diseases of the mind, when they were far from danger, but instead at home, surrounded, in most instances, by those who cared. Still, to bridge the gap… Caleb knew all too well how slippery of a slope it was. What Hannah didn’t see, and Caleb wouldn’t betray, is how deeply he struggled, how he knew he always would. How, on lesser days, he had wondered if anything at all was remotely worthwhile. “Well,” Caleb cleared his throat, offering Hannah a reserved smile. “This wasn’t uh, how I expected the day to go, but, uh…” He trailed off, summoning the right words. If he were ever capable of them, anyway. “I’m not much of a talker. I guess I’m not very sentimental, either. So, I don’t know what to say other, than, well… It was nice to meet you, I suppose.” Because, in the ways that mattered, this was their first real introduction to one another in the decade and a half that Hannah had been in the ‘picture’, and, while Caleb didn’t bear any sense of regret in not giving her a chance sooner, he didn’t find that the time they’d spent talking had felt like any bit of an imposition.

He opened his mouth to say more, but the sound of a car horn broke his gaze from Hannah, his gaze drifting in the direction of the front door. “Well, that’s my queue.” Caleb stood slowly from chair. “Thank you, for the coffee.”

She hesitated only briefly before nodding, her fingers brushing along the rim of her mug. "I'm glad you came in," she said simply. No fanfare. Just truth. "Sometimes it's nice... talking to someone who gets it. Even just a little."

There wasn't a need to define it. The silence that filled too much space, the weight of trying to carry things alone, the feeling of being just outside the life you were supposed to be living. She figured if anyone might understand, it was him.

A flicker of something like a smile flickered across her face then— real, if fleeting— and she reached for his empty mug. "You know where to find me if you ever want a refill," she added lightly, without expectation.

It wasn't an invitation. Not really. But, it wasn't not one either.

"I imagine it isn't." It all felt similar, in a way, to the support and services that he'd received after he'd returned home from his final tour of service. The mental health services, the job placement services, everything under the sun. And, much like Hannah's role, it was a non-profit filling in for where the government had failed. He found he could relate to it on a surprising level. "It reminds me of, uh..." Caleb trailed off, awkwardly. He was never comfortable talking about himself, particularly when it felt personal. He struggled even when it came to Grace, who he felt completely open to. "Well, it reminds me of... me." He cleared his throat, glancing down at his hands as they cupped the mug that was now half-empty. "I needed those sort of things, when I got out." The military, like prison, was a stringent lifestyle, with a greatly diminished set of rights. And, similarly, when you were on the other side of it, if you were lucky enough, there was a nearly insurmountable path forward into civilian life.

"That's why I spent so much time at the VA, helping guys out. I've had buddies who uh... They just couldn't get a job, or uh, kept losing them, and uh... Well, they turned to crap like drug dealing, and ended up in prison. It's rough stuff." Caleb met Hannah's gaze again, head shaking every so slightly. "What you do is a hell of a lot more meaningful than how I spend my day. There's a uh... Well there's a mental, emotional toll, investing in people like that. And you just have to hope it's enough. Crazy stuff. Gabe makes the mess, and you clean it up."

"I'm really glad you told me that," she said finally, her voice soft but sure. There was no pity in her tone, only a quiet understanding, a shared recognition. "Because I think people forget— how hard it is to come back. From something like that. To start over and try to make sense of things that don't translate anymore."

She hesitated, fingers curling around her coffee mug again. "That's what a lot of my clients are doing too. Trying to come back to a world that isn't really built for them anymore. And you're right— it takes a toll. Some days it's... heavy. When they fall back into old patterns, or when I can't reach them in time. But I guess that's why I stay." Her smile was faint, but present, the kind that came with knowing. "Because sometimes, they do make it. And you remember why you keep showing up."

Hannah tilted her head slightly, the corners of her mouth lifting with something gentler, something not quiet a smile but close. "I think what you do is meaningful, Caleb. You're building something from the ground up. That's not nothing. You found a way forward and that counts." Then, a slight huff of laughter left her as she shook her head. "And for the record— Gabe would hate that description," she said, amusement tugging at her expression. "But... yeah. That's kind of exactly how it feels. Like I'm walking behind him with a broom and a bucket."

She looked at him again then, her voice softening once more. "But you... you get it. Maybe more than most." A pause. "I think I needed that today."

'It suits you, I think.' Caleb mulled over Hannah's words. He had always been polar opposite of his brother, in taste and in temperament. As much as he couldn't imagine living a day in Gabriel's shoes, he knew his brother likely thought the same of him. He and Grace had a running joke that he was 'headed to the office', any time he would go over to their home in Dicken to work on the next improvement project, or, better still, to the garage behind the house, which he'd made into his workshop. How different that home was to the one he sat in now, and how the two life styles couldn't have defined the Ashmore brothers better than any words could.

"You could come by." Caleb agreed after a beat, nodding in acceptance. "Just don't wear anything you'd be sad to see ruined by sawdust or oil." It wasn't glamorous work, but the end product usually betrayed the effort put into it. "I'm over at the house every day, 'til sundown."

Caleb took a sip from his coffee, always happy for a caffeine fix. "I don't really, uh... Know anything about what you do, either." He finally admitted.

She paused for a moment, considering how to explain it— how to put words to something that felt so personal and layered. "I work for a nonprofit called Second Chances," she said finally. "We help people who've recently been released from prison. Getting them set up with housing, jobs, mentorship, legal support when they need it. That sort of thing." Her tone stayed even, but there was a quiet conviction beneath the surface. Not defensive, just rooted.

"It's not always easy," she added, glancing down at her hands before looking back at him, "but it matters. And I think... for some people, it really does make a difference." She didn't say what she was thinking next. That it had taken her years to find something that felt like purpose. That most days, it felt like she was trying to tip the balance back in a life that leaned too heavily the other way.

Instead, she offered a small, self-aware smile. "Total opposite of Gabe's world," she said, the words honest. "It's made for some... interesting dinner conversations." Her eyes found his again. "But I like it. The work, I mean. Even on the hard days." Another beat, then, lightly— "Though you might win out when it comes to job perks. There's something kind of nice about seeing the results of your work take shape right in front of you."

For Caleb, it had nothing to do with his willingness to be married, but his deep held belief that Grace could do, and should do, far better than him. As he listened to Hannah speak, he shifted uncomfortably, confronted again with the notion that as much as Grace wanted to be married to him, he wondered if she understood what a half-life it would always be with him. He was secure in the knowledge that he would never be the same man she had met and fallen in love with, that whatever half-measure he was now, after so many years in service, could never be for her what she deserved.

Grace was, in Caleb's mind, the most deserving human being in the world — of everything. And he, in turn, the least.

He looked to Hannah with a gaze that mirrored understanding, a slight nod recognizing her angst, as he felt his own. But he was glad to lighten the mood, to shift to a topic so innocuous that whenever Gabriel manifested, he wouldn't feel caught. "It's okay." Caleb waved off her apology. "I make furniture. Well, I want to make furniture. I've always enjoyed woodworking, carpentry, it's always made sense. My grandfather is a master carpenter, it's what he did when he came home from Vietnam. Over the years we made things together, he taught me what he could, and the rest just sort of worked itself out. So, yeah, a little experience, and then a little bit of trying to figure out what the hell I was going to do with my life after the Marines."

"Furniture," she echoed softly, not out of disbelief but something closer to quiet intrigue. Her gaze lifted meeting his. "That actually makes a lot of sense."

She didn't elaborate right away, letting the statement hang there for a moment. There was something steadying about it— this image of him working with his hand, crafting something tangible and lasting. Something solid. It was so different from the world she and Gabriel lived in, where everything felt curated, surface-level. Meant to be seen rather than touched.

"There's something really grounding about that kind of work," she added after a beat. "You build something, and it stays. It means something. Not a lot of people can say that about what they do." A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, real this time. "It suits you, I think."

She tilted her head, studying him a moment. "You'll have to show me some of your work sometime. Unless that's weird," she amended quickly, the smile shifting towards something more self-conscious. "I don't mean to pry, I just—" she paused, letting her shoulders rise and fall in an easy shrug, "I'd like to know more. About what you're building."

He glanced down at his mug, mulling over the idea that, in this new revelation, Gabriel's personal life was not as picture perfect as his professional one. Caleb supposed then that despite all of Grace's best efforts, he knew absolutely nothing about his brother. His best man. Gabriel was hardly better than a stranger to him. Caleb had men he considered brothers — the guys he'd toiled away with in a desert sand box for over a decade. Men he had bled with, laughed with, cried with. They were bonded eternally from their shared experience. The bond shared between Caleb and his brother could be boiled down to a shared distaste for their father, and little else.

"I never thought..." 'I'd live long enough', he almost stated. Quickly, he redirected. "—I never thought Dick would be covering the bill." He offered out. It was no mystery, he imagined, the dynamic within the Ashmore family. Hannah had existed in the more advantageous position as the wife of the favorite son. But she had eyes, and ears. And for some reason, Caleb surmised, she cared about him. He'd simply never had the wherewithal to return that same consideration. "I saw about ten seconds of your wedding, so uh... Forgive me, I don't know much about the entire ordeal." A Skype call he'd ended early, he recalled. He'd been deployed at the time, and Caleb recalled being grateful he didn't have to deal with the entire circus of his brother's wedding. "It's all so Dick'll give me seed money for my business, anyway."

The corner of her mouth tugged into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Of course he is," she answered. "He's always had a talent for turning generosity into leverage." It wasn't unkind. Just a simple truth she thought they both understood.

For a moment she let the quiet stretch, not uncomfortable, just... still. Measured. "I used to think marriage was just a series of trade-offs," she said, more thoughtfully this time. "Give a little, take a little. Make room. Find the middle." Her gaze dropped to her mug, thumb brushing along the edge. "But I don't know. Sometimes I think you give up pieces of yourself without realizing it. And one day, the life you're living doesn't quite feel like yours anymore."

The words surprised her a little. Not because she didn't mean them, but because she hadn't expected to say them out loud. Especially not here, with him. She blinked, then offered a small shake of her head. "That's not about the wedding, by the way. Just— life. I'm... sorry. Ignore me."

A breath, a shift. "So," she said, glancing over at him, this time with something lighter. "Your business. Forgive me, but I actually don't know what it is that you do." Her voice was curious, not performative. "Is it something you've been doing for a while, or more of a post-service 'what now' kind of thing?"

"We're good at letting everything get in the way of what's truly important." He offered then, softly, gaze averted. "Not much of a model of marriage and family life, our father." Caleb fell silent then, already feeling as though he'd said so much - too much - and none of it was remotely remarkable. "I didn't know it was a sensitive subject. I uh, I'm sorry." He finally offered, letting the silence linger until, gratefully, Hannah averted the topic.

To a topic that, like the latter, was altogether an uncomfortable one. "I think we both would have been more than happy with a backyard wedding." Caleb cleared his throat, looking out the nearby window somewhat wistfully. "But you're right. She has been patient. Maybe sometimes a little impatient. But uh... Yeah. She's had this on her mind for a long time."

"It's okay," she finally said, voice soft and sincere. "You couldn't have known." And he couldn't have. Hannah had learned years ago how to hold her disappointments quietly, carefully tucked neatly out of sight. She certainly couldn't expect Caleb, of all people, to recognize what she's usually kept so closely guarded. She allowed the silence to sit comfortably between them, taking a sip of her coffee before gently steering them away from the tender spaces they'd inadvertently stumbled into.

"Weddings have a way of taking on a life of their own," she murmured thoughtfully, glancing toward the window where Caleb's eyes had settled moments ago. "You start out with something simple, something yours, and then suddenly you're standing there realizing the whole thing became about everyone else." She didn't need to say more, the quiet implication lingering between them, the subtle acknowledgement that they both knew what it felt like to quietly stand on the outside looking in.

"But you'll manage," she added, the hint of gentle humor returning to her voice as she looked up again, a small smile pulling at her lips. "Tuxedo and all."

At the offer of coffee, hospitality he didn't feel he was owed, he still once again felt it would be rude to refuse. "Oh, sure. Thanks." Coffee did sound good, now that he thought about it. He watched Hannah carefully, gaze following her as she led him towards the kitchen. Hannah had never been anything short of hospitable towards him from the moment they'd met, but he'd never been entirely receptive to it.

To Caleb, Hannah was an extension of his brother, not necessarily an individual. He realized it was unfair, wrong, even, but he hadn't come around to a new way of thinking. He recalled the letters she'd written him over the years, and cowardly, he'd never responded. He didn't question the sincerity of them, but... He was stubborn. Too stubborn to acknowledge that she cared, that Gabriel cared, too. And he wondered what she must think of him now, having acted like he'd never received them. "Big house, for the two of you." Caleb observed quietly, gaze shifting from Hannah to look around. "An excuse to accumulate more stuff, I guess." He attempted a smile then, trying, with all of his might, to be conversational.

After a moment, she turned toward him, setting the mug down on the kitchen island with an easy, practiced smile. Leaning casually against the counter with her own cup cradled between her hands, she watched as he took in the carefully selected furniture, the thoughtfully curated decor. The house had always felt slightly too big, too empty— beautiful, but incomplete.

"I suppose so," Hannah murmured softly, following his gaze around the room. "When we bought the place, I thought we'd have it filled by now." She hadn't meant to say it aloud, hadn't intended to give voice to the quiet yearning that still lingered there, but she didn't regret it either. She shrugged lightly, fingertips tracing the rim of her coffee cup as if to brush the comment aside.

How strange it was, she thought, to build a life with someone only to find the space between you growing wider, stretching thinner, until all you had left was empty room and polite conversation. "I guess plans change," she added quietly, her tone gentle rather than bitter. Hannah let the words sit just long enough, a soft breath in the quiet, before shifting carefully back to safer ground.

"Anyway, Grace must be excited. She's been dreaming about this wedding for years, hasn't she?" Her voice lifted slightly, steering them both toward something easier, more comfortable. She had always tried with Caleb, after all. To offer warmth, extend kindness, even when her efforts had been quietly unanswered. Letters written, invitations sent into the void, never acknowledged, but somehow never regretted either.

Caleb was not particularly keen on any of the details a wedding demanded. After a lifetime spent in uniform, what he least looked forward to was getting into another one - even if it was only a tuxedo. For whatever reason, he'd offered to pick up his brother for the occasion, if only because he lacked the interest in being driven by his brother, and Grace had insisted it would be nice if they 'went together'. So here Caleb found himself, knocking on the front door of his brother's home, wondering what the hell they had to talk about while they spent the afternoon together, and all of the things he'd much prefer to be doing instead.

As the door opened, it wasn't Gabriel, and as he lowered his gaze to Hannah, he would avert his gaze awkwardly upon realizing it was her. "Sorry." He mumbled, as if it were a bother to have knocked in the first place. "Gabe, uh, we have that fitting."

She opened the door, surprise flickering across her features for only a moment before smoothing into something gentler. Friendlier. "Oh— hi," she said softly, stepping aside, she pulled the door open further, a clear invitation. "Gabe actually isn't back yet," she explained, offering a small, easy smile. "But he should be home any minute. You're welcome to wait inside, if you'd like."

She moved slightly, making space for him in the doorway as she tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "Can I get you some coffee while you wait? Just made a fresh pot," Hannah called, already turning toward the kitchen, slipping into the familiar role of host with ease. It was polite and genuine— nothing forced or uncomfortable in the invitation. Simply the kind of casual kindness she'd always tried to offer Caleb, even when the Ashmore brothers had struggled to extend the same courtesy to each other.

There was no recoil from her initial statement. Gabriel agreed with his wife. An astute observation given the number of times he'd reached out to his older brother over the years. For whatever reason, he'd always been desperate to bridge the gap between them. It was an open sore that refused to heal, and for many years, Hannah had helped him nurse it. However, there was an enormous piece of him that refused to have hope that this could really... be it. That after all of these years, Caleb would forgive Gabe for their fathers indiscretions.

"Maybe." he'd echoed, albeit with a bit more enthusiasm. Pouring the last bits of coffee into a silver container, Gabriel tightened the lid and immediately went to work on the hot, black coffee. With any luck, it would offer the jolt he needed to get over the last of his early morning workout exhaustion.

"I was thinking-" with a soft swivel on his heel, he turned to Hannah, and small, slow steps began to carry him in her direction. "-maybe you should... I don't know. See somebody." He stopped, lips pursing slightly as he considered his next words. "You can't sustain this kind of lifestyle, Han. A person can only survive for so long on a few small naps, and coffee."

The mans bright eyes softened, his focus moving over the woman who sat before him. She was the perfect wife in the version of their life that he'd imagined for himself. In most ways, that perfection held true. But day after day, he had to grapple with the way that burning desire behind her gaze had gone cold. His culpability in that gutted him. Gabriel struggled even now, to extend the concern that she deserved- above and beyond anyone else that he'd come to know.

"I'm not saying you have to. I want you to take care of yourself."

See somebody.

Hannah supposed the suggestion wasn't unreasonable. It wasn't unkind. But it still settled uncomfortably in her chest, because the truth was— what would she even say? Hi, I have a nice house and a husband who loves me, and I'm still so damn restless I feel like I might crawl out of my skin? She exhaled, glancing over at Gabe, searching his face like maybe, just maybe, he'd follow the thread of what she was trying to say.

Finally, she spoke. "I think maybe it's less about sleep and more about everything else." The words weren't harsh, weren't meant to be a fight— but they landed heavier than she intended.

She dropped her gaze, swirling what was left of her coffee in slow, deliberate circles. "I don't know if talking to someone would change the things keeping me awake at night." There. She'd said it. It was subtle, carefully measured, but still more honesty than she'd allowed herself in a long time. And yet, the words didn't bring relief.

A small, hollow laugh pushed past her lips as she leaned back in her chair, brushing it all off with a practiced ease that had taken years to perfect. "I'm managing, okay?" She let the silence stretch a little too long long before shifting in her seat, suddenly restless. "I'll be fine. People go through these things, right?" The words tasted hollow, but she said them anyway, lifting her coffee to her lips, finally taking a sip as if that was the end of it.

Empty.

All of those years trying to become the master of his own education, and he'd never really figured out how to talk out his personal problems. Their life had moved past the question of: is this weird?, and comfortably into: who caves first?. It unnerved him, and so, he did his best to keep it from the forefront of his mind.

Gabriel proceeded to the counter nearest the sink, reaching into a cupboard to pull out one of many to-go containers for a lot of coffee. "Not sleeping, again?" His glance shifted briefly into her direction, hazy green eyes inspecting her face for obvious signs of exhaustion. "Anything to worry about?" Translation: anything he needed to concern himself with? Of course he cared if she wasn't feeling well, but Hannah was a grown woman. She always seemed to take care of herself; in the brief moment he considered it, he couldn't remember the last time she'd sought him out for comfort.

He cleared his throat.

" I slept fine." And he did. Like he always did. Just… fine. "I saw my brother yesterday." Almost twenty-four hours since the two of them had last exchanged words. Not entirely out of the ordinary for the two of them. "He wants me to-" He'd stopped abruptly, a small burst of laughter parting his lips as . "He wants me to be his best man."

It wasn't an accusation, just an observation. A gentle push in the direction of something better, if he wanted it. If he cared to. Either way, Hannah would be texting Grace the second Gabe was out of sight. This was what the two of them had conspired over— progress.

Gabriel and Caleb had been at odds for as long as she'd known them. She'd stopped expecting them to mend things (at least on their own) years ago. And yet, the idea of one standing beside the other on a wedding day— as a brother should— felt like something worth remarking on.

She lifted her coffee to her lips but didn't drink, her fingers toying with the handle as she mulled over his question.

"I'll be fine," she finally said, voice even, easy. "Just one of those weeks."

And it was. Wasn't it? A string of nights spent staring at the ceiling, shifting restlessly, listening to the rhythmic sound of his breathing beside her and feeling lonelier than she had in years. But that wasn't something she planned to unpack over a rushed breakfast. She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I'll get through it. Fresh flowers, too much caffeine, maybe a long drive to clear my head."

That was her fix. The things she turned to when sleep evaded her, when restlessness settled beneath her skin. It was enough. Wasn't it? Whether Gabriel noticed the exhaustion behind her eyes, whether he picked up on what she wasn't saying— that was up to him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" A safe response after all.

Two bouquets were ordered and a third one even considered. "As long as you keep coming to my shop, I don't think I'll ever have to worry about going out of business," Jules teased as she moved the flower arrangement that she had just finished out of the way, she would prepare it for the pick up later, once Hannah had left again for the day.

The woman started working on the bouquet that Hannah had requested before pausing for a moment. "For the master bedroom? That's a room where you can't go wrong with roses, can you?" She picked up the cup of coffee again and took a sip before putting it down again and moving through the shop to pick up the flowers for the ranunculus bouquet.

"Don't get me started on college yet. It felt like last year that Nick only started high school. He's all set, he just needs to keep his grades up. The scholarship due to his swimming is 98 percent sure." The amount of time that Jules had spend in the local swimming pool in the past years, was a lot. But he's off to Berkeley, despite me begging him to stay here at the University of Michigan. But no, he wanted to see more and get out of here." It was going to be hard to see her baby boy go, but she had already made him promise to not be a stranger and to return home for every holiday possible.

Not love, maybe. Hannah did love her husband. And he loved her. But there was a chasm between them now, a space that seemed to widen a little more each day. She wasn't sure how much longer she'd be able to reach him from the other side.

She could say all of this to Jules. Spill every thought that pressed against the edges of her mind, the ones she barely let herself acknowledge. The offer was always there. But in the end, she only smiled and agreed.

"Roses would be lovely."

Hannah brushed a hang against the coffee cup in front of her, letting the warmth settle into her fingertips. "It's just the weather," she added easily. "Seasonal depression, or whatever the professionals call it. I'm sure I'll be as good as new once the sun comes out of hiding." A light laugh followed, too smooth, too practiced. A subtle dismissal of anything more serious brewing beneath the surface.

Jules didn't press, moving seamlessly into the topic of her son, and Hannah latched onto it, grateful for the shift.

"A swimming scholarship?" She straightened, tucking her legs beneath her on the bench. "How did I miss this?" Pride filled her chest, genuine and immediate. She had been to more than a few of Nick's meets. She knew he was good. But a full-ride scholarship? That was something else entirely.

"That's amazing, Julies." She meant it. Both of Jules' kids were great— kind, talented, smart. And maybe, once upon a time, Hannah had imagined she'd have equally kind and smart kids of her own by now. But, she let the thought pass, chasing it away as easily as she had every other time.

At the mention of dinner, she lifted a shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. "Uhm, just Auntie Hannah, I think. Gabe's been slammed at the office lately. New case and all." She reached for her coffee again, taking a slow sip. As if that explained everything.

He was alone every day.

It didn't bother him the way that it used to. There had been so many long nights at the firm (and sometimes, the courthouse), that time and distance had loosened it's grip on his heart. Just knowing she was in the same house as him was comforting on some level- his wife was dear to him. He loved her. But the air between them was often filled with silence.

After his workout had finished, he showered and prepared for the day. Gabe chose a similar suit to the one he'd worn the day before, and his closet didn't vary too much from one color group to the next. He'd had a few pieces that popped, but they were mostly gifts, or clothes for special occasions. He'd hated having to waffle over his wardrobe in the morning. If everything was similar, he could dedicate more energy to stretching out his morning. A longer run. A nicer breakfast.

A conversation with his wife…

"Good morning." Gabriel mouthed a greeting as he rounded the corner, his steps light and sure. He walked behind her, slowing to brush his fingers lightly against her shoulder as he passed. "Sleep okay?" His tone often betrayed his interest, as his mind wandered past the conversation and onto his list of things to do today.

She could already picture how this would go— a quick exchange, a handful of pleasantries, and then nothing. Nearly every conversation they had lately seemed to trail off into unfinished thoughts, like a song that faded out instead of reaching a proper ending.

Hannah missed her husband. Not the man standing before her now, buttoned up and distracted, but the one who had once slipped notes into her textbooks. The one who had pulled her into stolen kisses between library shelves. The one who sent flowers every week they were apart— just to show he was thinking of her.

But more than ten years now separated the two men.

She yearned for connection, so she leaned into the brush of his fingers as he passed, seeking out the warmth, the familiarity of touch. But it was gone as quickly as it came.

"I miss sleeping through the night," she admitted softly, honesty slipping through the cracks before she could smooth it over. The weight of recent days colored the words, making them heavier than she intended. She hesitated, then glanced up at him. "What about you? Sleep alright?"

She dusted off her hands as she finished up the last flower into the arrangement and wiped them off on the apron that she was wearing. "It's been a rather boring week, unfortunately." This arrangement was one of few she had done this week. The rush after Valentine's Day was clearly over.

"I think that is a rather good decision after the rather bright ones that you picked up the previous week. Why don't you take a seat while I get working on that." Jules picked up the coffee and brought the cup to her lips to carefully take a sip of the dark liquid. Black and just a little sugar. Rather simple.

Jules smiled at the mention of her children. Those two were the best thing in her life. "They are great. Nick is getting closer and closer to graduation and I am not ready to see him leave for college after summer. And Lily asks when auntie Hannah comes by again."

She brought the cup to her lips, gaze drifting over the floral displays. "To be quite honest," she murmured, voice low, "I don't feel very bright lately." It was as much of an admission as she was willing to make, even to one of her dearest friends— a truth softened, diluted, safe. "It'll be a nice change for the house."

The ranunculus bouquet was meant for the kitchen island, a tradition she upheld each Sunday. But maybe she needed more this time. "Make that two bouquets, please. And one for the master bedroom. What would you recommend?"

As the conversation shifted to Jules' family, Hannah felt her lips curl into an easy, familiar smile. There was a time when she envied Jules— when the life she had seemed like the one Hannah had been waiting for. Especially in the early days of their friendship, when the ache of wanting more was still sharp, present, undeniable. But time passed. And Hannah had come to understand what everyone eventually does— no one is without their own hardships.

She had settled into the Buckelys' lives in her own way, woven into the edges of their family, the children now affectionately calling her Auntie Hannah.

"College already?" The thought made her blink, caught between nostalgia and disbelief. "Has he been accepted anywhere yet?" It didn't seem possible that so many years had already come and gone. "Tell Lily we'll grab dinner this week. I've missed her. Missed them both."