'But I don't understand, Hanna. We've known each other for so long and there's no real acrimony now, so why can't you stay in my life?'
Richard's imploring had lasted too long for Hanna. That he knew her intimately but didn't understand her need to end everything between them was another reason the divorce was necessary.
'I can't be a part of things. It'll break me to see you move on, and we both need a fresh start. You want things I don't. How am I supposed to cope with that?'
He finally backed down. 'Alright. I'm disappointed, but I see your reasons.'
Richard was a lawyer, Hanna was an ad exec. They were both driven, both high achievers. Marriage seemed like the logical thing to do. But the death of Richard's father had thrown what was once order into unforeseen chaos. Hanna loved Richard dearly, as much as someone like her could love a person. She didn't love what he now wanted from life.
It was a shame things had to end this way. Her family said this often. She said it to herself just as much. A shame. What the hell did that really mean?
The papers were signed, Richard agreeing to have everything finalised as soon as possible so Hanna could move on as she wished. His demeanour by then had Hanna angry and irritable, so she was happy when he left.
Happy she could get on with her work.
Her assistant, a plucky girl of twenty-three named Bridget, excelled at personal assistance to the point she practically organised Hanna's entire working life. The arrangement suited them both. Hanna's lunch was waiting on her desk when she returned to the office. She had a few meetings scheduled for that afternoon, one with the CEO of Olympia Tech. She'd been trying to land an account with them for months, but Brandon Connor had rebuffed all her advances.
She knew Brandon from high school, but really he was a mere acquaintance. The school was exceptionally large. He'd made the appointment, and now Hanna's mind was full of questions. She unloaded a few on Bridget.
'I got the call this morning,' Bridget said. 'His receptionist said he'd like to meet with you today.'
'But he's not bothered to answer my calls until now.'
'Perhaps our Remington campaign aroused his interest. It did win a few awards.'
'I was there, Bridget.'
'Didn't go well with Richard?'
Hanna shook her head in such a way Bridget would see the topic was off limits.
'I got you a latte,' Bridget admitted. 'I know you didn't ask but I also knew you'd need one.'
'Thank you.'
'You're welcome.' She paused at the door to add, 'You're allowed to deal with this anyway you want, Hanna. If you need to talk...'
'I'm fine,' Hanna muttered, holding up her hand to cease the conversation.
Bridget exited and Hanna's appetite was too diminished for her to consider eating. She drank the latte and leaned back in her chair with the view she needed twenty minutes to herself, that was all she was permitted. Any longer and she'd grow complacent, or a thought of Richard would invade and leave her needlessly distracted.
She still thought of them fucking. She still remembered how good it had been in the beginning before work and life got in the way. The last few and sporadic times had been mechanical. And it would have remained that way had she agreed to him wanting a child.
He hadn't wanted one, not when they met, not even after they were married. But the sudden heart attack his father suffered -- the loss and the turmoil it caused -- woke up a need in Richard to have something meaningful in his life besides his job.
He wasn't picky, a girl or a boy would be fine. He raised the issue with Hanna, and her emotions, her reactions, they all pointed to the fact she wasn't prepared to have a baby. She had no maternal instinct, no drive to care for anyone but Richard. A third person in their life made no sense. They were workaholics. She'd have to take leave. He said he could care for the baby and she could work. That didn't detract from the fact she still had to carry the damn thing in her body; a body she'd put a lot of effort into keeping attractive and presentable.
'That's vanity,' he'd argued. 'How can you think of that as a reason not to do it?'
'I'm not meant to be a mother,' she'd protested. 'And how do you know you're meant to be a father?'
'I just know. I can see now I put it aside for practical reasons and I've made a mistake. But I have time to correct it.'
'Richard, I can't...'
'You're not even willing to consider it?'
She tried. For him. Because she loved him and couldn't lose him. And that would've been the very worst reason to do it.
This bone of contention ruined everything. Richard's resolve on the matter was concrete. Even his suggestion of adoption was knocked down by Hanna. She didn't want a child. By any means.
The argument didn't even last a month. He came home from work one evening, and Hanna had made dinner as a peace offering. As she poured him a glass of his favourite wine, he made his announcement.
'It's killing me to do this,' he said. 'But I have to.'
'And you'd do it alone if you had to?'
'I'd prefer not to, but yes.'
Hanna put the bottle down, sighed and picked up the glass to throw it at the wall, the red wine running purple streaks down the dark blue paint. She'd have aimed it at him had she not loved him so much.
So how in the hell could they remain friends? Her resentment was as thick as it'd been that night. Someone else was going to make him happy -- a woman willing to bear his child, and they weren't exactly in short supply. Hanna could see him falling for this willingness and not the woman herself.
She had to let it go.
Brandon was her one o'clock and she had fourteen minutes to get her shit together and appear as though she hadn't just gone through the worst experience of her life.
Bridget buzzed her just before one to tell her Brandon had arrived. Hanna was calm now and breathing evenly. She would navigate this conversation with ease and professionalism. Every word would be purposeful and delivered clearly. She was not a mess. She was not a horrid person for not wanting a baby... She was not a failure.
Jesus, shut up. Enough already.
Hanna walked out to greet Brandon. Twelve years hadn't aged him much. He was in a dark grey suit, white shirt, and no tie. His black hair was longer and cut neater than it had been in his youth. His smile was the same as it was then: distant and cold. By his eyes Hanna could sense he warmed to few people, and probably for his own ends. His handshake was firm and his voice, gentle.
Bridget stood by, starry-eyed. She was playing with her wispy blonde hair as she spoke, unbecoming in her flirtations. Hanna was too tired to care.
Brandon followed Hanna into her office and took a seat.
