Chapter 3 - The Threshold of Shame
Halfway down the stairs, the floorboard groaned.
It wasn't a soft sound; it was a sharp, dry crack that echoed through the open-plan ground floor. Downstairs, the music seemed to dip, or perhaps Hannah’s heart was beating so loudly it drowned out the audio.
"Hannah?"
It was her mother's voice, calling out from the kitchen. Footsteps approached the hallway—the sharp, rhythmic click of her mother’s low heels on the hardwood flooring.
Hannah froze on the fourth step from the bottom, her fingers clutching the banister so tightly her knuckles turned white.
Her mother stepped into the hall holding a wine glass, a half-eaten slice of plum tart resting on a small napkin in her other hand. She stopped dead when she saw Hannah. Her eyes traveled down—from Hannah’s pale, tear-stained face, past the bare shoulders, down to the thick cream bath towel knotted awkwardly around her waist, and finally to her bare feet.
For a long, agonizing three seconds, neither of them spoke.
"What on earth are you wearing?" her mother whispered, her voice sharp with immediate disapproval. She cast a nervous glance back toward the dining room, where voices were still chattering warmly. "Put your clothes back on, Hannah. You look completely unhinged."
"My clothes are ruined, Mom," Hannah said, her voice raspy from hours of silence. "I told you that on the phone an hour ago."
"I thought you were exaggerating!" her mother hissed, stepping closer and lowering her tone to an urgent whisper. "You always make things sound so dramatic. Look at you! What if your uncle walks out here? What if Julian sees you? You're making a spectacle of yourself."
"I asked for help," Hannah said simply. She felt surprisingly calm now. The panic had burned away, leaving behind a cold, crystalline anger. "I sat in that room for three hours. I asked you to call Dad. I asked you to get my keys."
"We were in the middle of dinner!" her mother snapped, her cheeks flushing red. "It’s impolite to abandon guests over a little upset stomach. You could have just sat quietly until we were done. Now you’re standing on the stairs dressed like a vagrant, looking for a scene."
Hannah didn't argue. She stepped down the remaining four stairs, walked past her mother without making eye contact, and grabbed her heavy winter coat from the rack. She slipped her arms into the sleeves, pulling the long wool coat tightly around her body to cover the towel skirt. She forced her feet into her unlaced boots.
"Where do you think you're going?" her mother demanded, following her to the front door. "You can't drive like that. Sit in the study until we're ready to leave, and your father will take you home."
Hannah grabbed her bag and her ruined trousers, unlocked the front door, and stepped out into the cold, rainy night.
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"Hannah!" her mother called out, standing on the porch, keeping her voice down so the rest of the house wouldn't hear. "Don't you dare walk away like this! You are being entirely unreasonable!"
Hannah didn't turn around. She walked down the long gravel driveway, the rain falling softly on her hair, and didn't look back once.
