The Same Man, The Same Wounds [POV: Abigail]
The morning started like any other. A few routine consultations, a couple of expectant mothers coming in for checkups, nothing out of the ordinary. The steady rhythm of my work usually kept me grounded, helped me focus on what mattered.
But the moment I saw her name on the schedule, everything inside me stilled.
Hannah Austin.
I stared at the chart in my hands, my fingers tightening around the edges. It had been months since I sent Vincent the paternity results, months since I thought I had closed the chapter on her. I never expected to see her again, much less here.
A slow, steady breath filled my lungs, but it didn’t stop the tightness in my chest. I pressed the intercom button on my desk, keeping my voice as even as possible. “Mara, I’ll endorse this patient to another OB-GYN. Please make the arrangements.”
Before my assistant could respond, a voice drifted in from the open doorway.
“There’s no need for that.”
I turned my head, and there she was.
Hannah stood in the doorway, her posture straighter than I expected, but everything else about her was wrong. Gone was the poised, confident woman who once looked me in the eye and asked me to lie for her. The woman who wore sleek dresses and perfectly applied lipstick, who walked into rooms like she belonged in them.
This woman looked ruined.
Her auburn hair was unkempt, tied into a loose, careless bun with strands falling messily around her face. She had lost weight—too much of it. The clothes she wore, an oversized sweatshirt and worn-out jeans, hung off her thin frame. And her face…
Her face was hollow.
I had never seen Hannah without carefully placed makeup, without that sharp, knowing look in her eyes. But now, dark circles shadowed her gaze, her complexion pale, and her lips were pressed into a tight, exhausted line.
She looked like a woman who had lost everything.
I set the chart down and met her gaze. “Then why are you here?”
She exhaled, stepping further into the room. “I just need my records.”
I studied her for a moment, searching for some kind of ulterior motive. Hannah had never been the kind of woman to walk into a room without an agenda. But for the first time since I met her, she just… stood there.
Tired.
Defeated.
I finally turned to Mara, who had been lingering in the background, shifting awkwardly at the tension filling the space. “Can you retrieve her records?”
Mara nodded, all too eager to leave the room. The door shut softly behind her, and suddenly, it was just us.
The silence was thick, stretching between us like an open wound.
Hannah stared at the floor, her fingers gripping the sleeves of her sweatshirt. She wasn’t looking at me, wasn’t speaking, just standing there like a ghost of the woman I once knew.
Something in me tightened, though I couldn’t say what. Against my better judgment, the words slipped out.
“How are you?”
She let out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking her head. When she finally lifted her gaze, there was nothing but raw exhaustion in her eyes. “We’re divorced, you know.”
I swallowed hard, not sure what to say.
“You must be so happy now,” she continued, her voice dripping with mockery. “You got what you wanted. Thanks for stealing my life.”
I felt the hit of her words like a slap.
Something inside me cracked, and before I could stop myself, I fired back.
“You stole mine first.”
The air between us shifted.
Hannah blinked, her lips parting slightly, as if the thought had never occurred to her. Guilt flickered in her expression, raw and unavoidable.
For the first time, she didn’t have a comeback. No sharp words, no sarcastic smirk. Just silence.
Her gaze dropped, her hands tightening into fists, but I didn’t press further.
Because the truth was, standing in this room with her now, I didn’t know who to hate.
Was it her, the woman who had wormed her way into my fiancé’s life, who had let me believe he had fathered a child that was never his?
Or was it me, the woman who had loved a man who could so easily walk away?
Two women, caught in the same wreckage. Two people who had their lives shattered by the same man.
The worst part? Neither of us had won.
The soft creak of a door broke the silence. Mara stepped inside, a file in her hands. “Here you go, Ms. Austin.”
Hannah reached for the folder, her fingers barely steady as she took it. But before she turned to leave, her eyes flickered to my desk.
To the flowers.
The bouquet of peonies sitting in a glass vase, petals full and soft under the clinic’s fluorescent light.
For a long moment, she just stared at them.
Then, in the quietest voice I had ever heard from her, she murmured, “That’s my favorite flower too.”
Something about that statement, so simple yet so loaded, sent a strange chill through me.
Then, without another word, Hannah turned and walked out of my office.
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving me standing there, staring at the space where she had been.
And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t sure if I had won anything at all.
