Chapter 64: Hannah

The next morning, I woke feeling more nauseous than ever before. My stomach churned, rebelling against even the thought of breakfast. I barely had time to reach the bathroom before violently emptying my stomach into the toilet. Wave after wave of nausea doubled me over, tears stinging my eyes as bile burned my throat. When it subsided, I collapsed on the cool tile floor, my head spinning. I felt incredibly weak—weaker than I had in months. The last time I felt this way was… when I died.

Worse still, my reflection showed me thinner than ever. All the progress I'd made gaining weight seemed to be vanishing. Better, a voice whispered. Thinner now, better…

I frowned, lifting my shirt to examine my emaciated stomach. For a moment, I wondered if losing more weight would truly be so bad. But a flicker of warmth in my belly instantly dismissed that thought. "No," I said aloud. I had to remember the new life growing inside me—my child, who had died with me in my past life and been given a second chance. Of course, there would be unpleasant side effects, unavoidable changes. This was just one of them. I couldn't let morning sickness trigger another bulimic episode.

A gasp from the open bathroom door made me whirl around. "Luna Hannah?" My handmaid stood there, eyes wide, holding a tray of tea and toast. "Are you alright?"

A fresh wave of nausea, this time born of dread, washed over me. I couldn't tell her the truth, not yet. No one knew about the pregnancy, and I intended to keep it that way until the divorce. But I couldn't lie about being ill either. I needed to think quickly.

"I… I'm fine," I stammered, hating the weakness in my voice. "I just… had a relapse. Made myself sick."

Silence hung heavy in the air before my handmaid set down my breakfast, worry etched on her face. "Oh, Luna…" She checked my pulse, her touch gentle. "But I thought you'd been doing so well lately. Why would you do this to yourself?"

Guilt and frustration welled up, bringing tears to my eyes. I hadn't asked for any of this—the eating disorder, the baby, everything. But I had to deal with it alone, for now.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, forcing a weak smile. "Silly of me. Counterintuitive. But I'll be okay, I promise. We just… need to get me cleaned up and ready for—"

A knock on the bedroom door interrupted me. My handmaid hurried to answer. "I'll get that. You just rest here for a few minutes, alright?"

I nodded weakly as she left. A moment later, Noah's impatient voice echoed through the room. "Is she ready? We're going to be late."

Before my handmaid could respond, I stepped out of the bathroom into Noah's view. His eyes narrowed when he saw me still in my pajamas.

"What the hell, Hannah? We're supposed to leave in fifteen minutes."

I sighed. "I'll be quick. I was just…" I paused, biting my lip. I couldn't tell him, and a lie about a relapse would only anger him more. "I overslept."