The Unwanted Wife's Return (Ex-Husband Wants Me Back) novel Chapter 250

The Morning of the Show 

HANNAH’S POV. 

I woke up at four forty-seven in the morning on the day of the show. 

Not because my alarm went off. It did not go off until six. I woke up because my body had apparently decided that sleeping past four forty-seven on this particular morning was not something it was going to allow and that was the end of the conversation. I lay there in the dark for a moment listening to Elijah breathe beside me, slow and even and completely peaceful, and I thought, as I had been thinking every single morning for the past thirty days, about everything that had to happen today. 

Then I got up very quietly, went to the bathroom, splashed water on my face, and went downstairs. 

I made tea instead of coffee because my stomach was already doing things that coffee was not going to improve and I sat at the kitchen island in the dark house and I did something I had been doing every morning since the fire. I opened the notebook of mother-memories and I wrote in it. Not anything planned or structured. Just whatever came. This morning what came was this: she kept everything. She kept it in a folder and she trusted someone to hold it and she believed someone would need it one day. And I think she knew it was going to be me. I think somewhere she knew. 

I sat with that for a while. 

Then I heard footsteps on the stairs and Elijah appeared in the kitchen doorway in his pyjamas, squinting slightly at the kitchen light, with his hair in the state it was always in first thing in the morning. 

“You should be sleeping,” I said. 

“You should be sleeping,” he said. 

“I could not.” 

“Same.” He crossed the kitchen and kissed me on the top of my head and then went to make himself tea as well. We sat at the kitchen island in the quiet house in the dark of early morning and we did not say much and it was exactly right. 

At some point around five thirty Andrew appeared in the kitchen doorway in his pyjamas with his hair also in an interesting state and the air of a boy who had woken up, remembered what today was, and decided immediately that sleeping was no longer relevant. 

“Today is the show,” he said. 

“Today is the show,” I confirmed. 

He looked at us both sitting at the island with our tea. He considered the situation. Then he went to the fridge, took out the orange juice, poured himself a glass, and came to sit beside me at the island with the quiet ease of a child who had decided he was simply going to be part of whatever was happening regardless of the hour. 

Five minutes after that Amelia appeared in a pink dressing gown and assessed the kitchen with the expression of someone who had suspected a gathering was happening without her and had been correct. “Why is everyone awake?” she demanded. 

“Today is Mummy’s show,” Andrew said. 

Amelia’s face went through several emotions very quickly and settled on the particular type of excitement that was too large for five thirty in the morning but which she was not going to tone down for anyone. “Oh!” she said, and came to sit beside her father and looked at me. “Are you nervous?” 

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