Updated Dec 11, 2025 • ~7 min read
HANNAH
One month passed.
Thirty days of silence. Of rebuilding. Of pretending I was fine.
I wasn’t fine.
I’d moved into a tiny studio apartment in Brooklyn. Cheap. Barely furnished. But mine. No memories of Oliver. No reminders of what I’d lost.
I found work waitressing. Not glamorous. Not my dream. But it paid rent. And it kept me busy enough that I didn’t think about him every second.
Just most seconds.
Elise tried to get me to talk about it. Tried to show me the articles, the press conference where Oliver had announced his separation from Vivian, his plans to resign from King Industries.
I refused to look. Refused to hope.
He’d made his choices. I’d made mine.
We were done.
“You’re miserable,” Elise said over coffee one Sunday morning.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re waitressing when you should be running your own company. You’re living in a shoebox when you deserve a palace. You’re alone when you should be with the man who loves you.”
“The man who married someone else.”
“To protect you—”
“Stop.” I set down my coffee. “Stop making excuses for him. He had a choice. He chose the company. End of story.”
“It’s not that simple—”
“Yes, it is. When you really love someone, you choose them. First. Always. Not as a backup plan. Not when it’s convenient. You choose them.”
“And he chose you. Just too late.”
Maybe. Probably.
But too late was still too late.
My phone buzzed. Unknown number.
I almost didn’t answer.
“Hello?”
“Hannah? It’s Tristan. Oliver’s cousin.”
My heart stopped. “Is he okay?”
“Define okay.” Tristan sighed. “Look, I know you don’t want to hear this. But he’s a mess. He resigned from King Industries two weeks ago. He’s been trying to start over, but—Hannah, he needs you.”
“Then he should’ve thought of that before he married Vivian.”
“He did that to protect you. To buy time—”
“I know the story. Vivian called me. Explained everything. And I don’t care.” Lie. I cared so much it hurt. “He made his choice.”
“Then unmake it. Come see him. Let him apologize properly. Let him show you he’s changed.”
“People don’t change, Tristan.”
“They do when they lose everything.”
I hung up. Stared at my phone. Fought the urge to call him back, to ask where Oliver was, to run to him.
I stayed strong. For thirty more seconds.
Then Elise showed me her phone.
A photo. Oliver. Outside a restaurant. Looking devastating in all black, looking thin, looking like he hadn’t slept in weeks.
Looking exactly how I felt.
“Where is this?” I asked.
“Morrison’s. That Italian place on 5th.” Elise watched me carefully. “He goes there every Tuesday. Sits alone. Orders wine he doesn’t drink. Looks at his phone like he’s waiting for a call.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because it’s Tuesday. And you’re off work. And you’re both miserable.” She grabbed my coat. “So go. Talk to him. Yell at him. Whatever you need to do. But stop pretending you don’t still love him.”
I took the coat. Stared at it.
Going to see him was stupid. Dangerous. Opening myself up to being hurt again.
But staying away was killing me.
“If this is a mistake—”
“Then it’s your mistake to make.”
I went.
OLIVER
I’d been coming to Morrison’s every Tuesday for a month.
Same table. Same wine. Same pathetic hope that maybe this week would be different. That maybe Hannah would walk through that door and give me a chance to explain.
She never did.
“More wine, sir?” The waiter, Carlo, had stopped judging me three weeks ago.
“Please.”
He poured. Left me alone with my misery.
I’d resigned from King Industries. Walked away from everything my father had built. Started freelance consulting to pay rent. Moved into an apartment that was closer to Hannah’s tax bracket than my old penthouse.
And I’d never been more miserable.
Because none of it mattered without her.
“This seat taken?”
I looked up.
Hannah stood beside my table, looking nervous and beautiful and exactly like my every dream for the past month.
“Hannah.” I stood. Knocked over my wine. Didn’t care. “You’re here.”
“I’m here.” She sat. I sat. We stared at each other across the table. “Elise said you come here every Tuesday.”
“I was hoping you’d show up.”
“That’s pathetic.”
“I’m aware.”
A smile ghost across her lips. Then disappeared. “Tristan called me.”
“I didn’t ask him to—”
“I know. He’s worried about you.” She folded her hands on the table. “Are you okay?”
No. Not even close.
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.”
“Fair.” I leaned forward. “I’m miserable, Hannah. I wake up every morning and remember I destroyed the best thing that ever happened to me. I go through my day pretending I have a purpose. And I come here every Tuesday because this was your favorite restaurant and I thought maybe, if I hoped hard enough, you’d walk through that door.”
Tears filled her eyes. “Oliver—”
“I’m sorry. For everything. For choosing the company. For marrying Vivian. For hurting you.” My voice broke. “I was scared. Scared of losing everything. And in trying to save it all, I lost the only thing that mattered.”
“You should’ve told me. Before you married her. You should’ve explained.”
“I know. I thought I was protecting you. Thought if I handled it myself, you wouldn’t get hurt. I was an idiot.”
“Yes. You were.”
We sat in silence. The restaurant hummed around us. Other people having normal dinners, normal conversations, normal lives.
“I left King Industries,” I said. “Walked away. Filed for divorce from Vivian. It’ll be final in four months.”
“I heard.”
“I’m starting over. Building something new. Something that’s mine.” I reached across the table. Stopped just short of touching her. “But it doesn’t mean anything without you.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I choose you. Not as a backup plan. Not when it’s convenient. I choose you first. Always.” I finally touched her hand. Felt electricity shoot through me. “Give me another chance. Please. Let me show you I’ve changed.”
“People don’t change—”
“I did. I had to. Because living without you is worse than losing everything else combined.”
She pulled her hand away. Wiped her eyes. “I don’t know if I can trust you again.”
“I know. And I’ll spend however long it takes proving you can.” I pulled out my phone. Showed her. “See this? The background is blank. Not you. Not Vivian. Nothing. Because I’m not assuming I deserve you in my life. I’m earning it. Starting now.”
A small laugh escaped her. “That’s dramatic.”
“I’m a dramatic person.”
“Yes, you are.”
Silence again. But softer this time. Less hostile.
“I missed you,” she whispered.
“I missed you too. Every second.”
“This is crazy. We’re crazy.”
“Completely crazy.”
She reached across the table. Took my hand. “One more chance. But Oliver? If you mess this up, if you choose anything over me again, I’m done. For real.”
“I won’t. I promise. It’s you. Always you.”
She smiled. Really smiled. And the world got a little brighter.
“Okay. Then let’s try again.”
We talked through dinner. Through dessert. Through three hours of catching up, rebuilding, learning each other again.
And when I walked her home—to her tiny apartment in Brooklyn that was nothing like my old penthouse but felt more like home than anywhere I’d ever lived—she kissed me on the doorstep.
“Goodnight, Oliver King.”
“Goodnight, Hannah Whitman.”
“See you tomorrow?”
“You couldn’t keep me away.”
I walked home floating. Giddy. Stupid in love.
I had her back. I had a second chance.
I wasn’t going to waste it.
But the universe had other plans.
Because two weeks later, everything fell apart again.
Reader Reactions