She moved slowly, like every motion punished her. She clung to the couch to pull herself up… then collapsed back to the floor, gripping her lower back, face tight with pain. She tried again. Her whole body shook. Her feet barely moved. After only a few steps, she sank down again.
Ethan’s stomach dropped.
He rewound another day.
Hannah was cleaning while the baby slept. Every time she bent, she flinched. Her hands shook. Another day showed her walking the baby around the room—each step looked like a battle.
Ethan stared, stunned—like his heart was being torn open. He heard his own voice in his head: Stop the drama. You’re overreacting.
He rushed into the living room.
Hannah was there, sitting on the floor with the baby in her arms, eyes squeezed shut, forcing herself not to moan so she wouldn’t wake the child.
Ethan dropped to his knees beside her. He touched her back—too stiff, too tense.
“Babe…” his voice cracked. “Is it really this bad? Everything you said… was true?”
Hannah opened her eyes, exhaustion swallowing what little strength she had left.
“I’m not pretending,” she whispered. “You just didn’t want to believe me.”