The Unwanted Wife's Return (Ex-Husband Wants Me Back) novel Chapter 218

Fear with Edges 

HANNAH’S POV: 

Elijah came to the warehouse that Thursday evening. 

He came most evenings actually, sometimes to bring food, sometimes to sit in the office corner and work while I worked so that we were at least in the same building even when neither of us had much to say. I liked that about him. He did not need conversation to make his presence mean something. He could just be there and that was enough. 

That Thursday evening though he was different from the moment he walked in. I noticed it the way you notice things about someone you share a life with, the small shift in how he was holding himself, the way he looked al me a second longer than usual before he spoke. He had something on his mind that he had been carrying for a while and had decided tonight was the night he was going to put it down. 

I sent the last two people home at eight and we were alone in the warehouse. 

He was sitting at the office desk and I came over and leaned against the edge of it and looked at him and said, What is it?” 

He looked up. “How do you always know?” 

“Because you came in and you have been watching me in that specific way you watch me when there is something you need to tell me but you are waiting for the right moment,” I said. “And also because you brought me dinner but you have not eaten any of it yourself which means your appetite is somewhere else.” 

He looked down at the untouched food container on the desk and then back up at me with an expression that was somewhere between exasperated and fond. “I should not be surprised,” he said, mostly to himself. 

“No,” I agreed. “Tell me.” 

He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and put a photograph on the desk between us. 

I looked at it. 

“It came in an unmarked envelope to the gate. Hand delivered.” 

I set the photograph back down on the desk very carefully, the way you set down something you do not want to crumple I looked at Elijah. He was watching me in the way he had developed over the past year of watching me, not with pity and not with that particular brand of hovering concern that some people do where you can see them thinking whether you are about to fall apart and whether they need to position themselves to catch you. He was just watching. Present and steady and fully there. 

I appreciated that more than I would ever be able to properly explain to him. 

I picked up the photograph and looked at it again. I was trying to feel all of it properly instead of any of the options that were easier. The fear was there. I was not going to pretend it was not. The image of myself visible through glass, unknowing and completely exposed, while someone stood in the dark and documented it, was not a comfortable thing to hold in your hands. It was designed to be uncomfortable. That was the point of it. 

But underneath the fear was something else. Something steadier and quieter and a lot less pleasant for whoever had sent this. 

Anger.