{CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO}

                                 
                                     ~~~~~~~~

"Lisa, I'm so tired of all this," I confessed, my voice trembling slightly. "I know I shouldn't be telling you this, especially after the death of your mom, but..."

"Hanna," Lisa replied, her tone softening. "It's fine. I know you feel sympathy for me, and that shouldn't stop you from confiding in me."

Bringing up the issue of yet another failed attempt to locate the young boy felt utterly futile. It was as if fate conspired against us, determined to keep our paths from crossing. This would be my final search; I knew I had to let it go. I longed to thank him and ask a few questions about that fateful day, but deep down, I realized Lisa was right. It was time to move on. I was now married, living the perfect life I had always dreamed of, and I was certain this was what Dad would have wanted for me too.

"I failed again, Lisa. He wasn't the young boy who saved me," I said, my voice heavy with disappointment.

"I know how much you wanted to find and thank him, but it's time to move on now. Besides, you've got a birthday coming up soon, and you've got Jackson now."

Lisa fell silent for a while. I could almost hear her thoughts echoing through the phone, and it was clear what was on her mind. Her mother had always wanted to see her married before the cruel hands of death took her away, and it was heartbreaking that her mother's wish never came to pass before she passed.

I could sense the hurt in her silence—if only she had listened to her mom, perhaps her mother would have been there to witness her big day. It seemed we were both marked by misfortune; my dad hadn't been there for mine, and now, sorrowfully, her mom wouldn't be there for hers either.

"Lisa, are you..." I ventured, trying to break the heavy silence that hung between us. I didn't want her to feel pitiful—especially not from me, her friend.

She rushed in with a big sigh, her voice a mix of frustration and relief. "It's fine, Hanna. I don't know what came over me, and yes, I'm really fine."

I watched her, knowing that beneath her tough exterior lay a whirlwind of emotions. "You know you don't have to hide it. You don't always have to act like a tough girl. It's okay to just yell and scream sometimes, you know."

"Yeah, I know." She gave a sigh, her voice wavering slightly then continued, "But I'm really fine."

"Alright, if you say so," I said, trying to keep the conversation light. "Lisa, I've gotta go downstairs real quick to grab a glass of water. Talk soon, okay?" I could hear the faint hum of the world around her, hoping she would find a moment of peace before our call ended.

Neither Lisa nor I deserved whatever happened to us. We had endured so much over the past few months, especially with the loss of a loved one weighing heavily on our hearts. I found myself hoping that one day she would discover the happiness her mom had always wanted for her. And yes, Henry was clearly out of the picture, he was now a distant memory to both Lisa and me.

I descended the stairs lazily, spotting the nanny standing with her back to me, sniffing as if she was shedding some tears while holding something in her hands. It looked like the necklace from the other day. I could feel the weight of her sadness, and it made me think about how much we all miss our loved ones.

I walked slowly in her direction, careful not to disturb her moment of solace. As I placed my hands gently on her shoulders, she jolted out of her reverie, turning back to face me with a swift movement. I watched as she quickly wiped away the tears that glistened in her eyes.

"Hanna! It's you," she let out, her voice a mix of surprise and relief.

With a gentle nod, I replied, "I didn't mean to poke my nose in, but I was just worried."

"Hmm, I understand, and it's fine," she said, her voice quivering slightly. "Sometimes I just miss my family so much that it becomes overwhelming, and I lose control and start to cry."

"If you don't mind, would you like to talk about it?" I asked, my voice softening.

"It's a really long story," she replied with a faint smile, her eyes reflecting a blend of vulnerability and warmth. As she closed the gap between us, her fingers brushed through my hair in a tender gesture. "I don't want to bore you with my self-pity story."

"It's fine if you don't wanna tell me," I said gently. "I truly understand that it must be so hard for you."

"Thank you for understanding..." she replied, her voice trailing off as she took a long pause, delicately placing the necklace back in its rightful place. "But one thing I can say is that I owe the man who saved me from dying."

Man? What man?—I thought, my mind racing.

Now it was all becoming so confusing. What other secrets was she hiding from us? What story did she carry with her, woven into the fabric of her life? First, she spoke of her dead husband and son, and now she was talking about a man who had saved her. It couldn't get any weirder with all these secrets swirling around us.

"What man?" This time I asked out, my curiosity heightened, the weight of her words hanging in the air.

"He was a very good friend to my husband," she replied, her expression darkening as a shadow passed over her features. "Sadly, he passed away—in a car accident." The sadness in her voice was palpable, wrapping around her words like a shroud, deepening the mystery of her past.

Alright, this just keeps getting worse—now there was an accident? Her story was becoming more disturbing, and every time she spoke, she just sounded weirder to me. It all piled on top of her strange reaction the first time Jackson and his friend came over. I hadn't even had the chance to ask her about that, not with Mom telling me to stay out of it. But right now, it felt like she had a lot of answers to give.

She stroked my head once more, but this time with a smile, "Your father would want me to look after you."

Her statement this time wasn't just weird; it was downright disturbing. What the hell did she mean by that? And what did Dad have to do with any of this? Sure, I knew it was supposed to be her duty to look after Phil and me, but the way she talked about it made it sound like she was obligated to do so.

She went on, "You know your father was such a good man," her hand slipping away from my hair. "If only we had listened..."

I couldn't bear the suspense anymore; I needed to know where she was going with her story.

I had to speak up, "What does Dad have to do with your family and story?"

An uncomfortable silence stretched between us, heavy with anticipation. Finally, she reached for my hand, gently pulling me toward the sofa, as if seeking refuge in its familiar embrace.

"I think it's time to tell you all about it," she said, her voice steady but laced with emotion. "My son..."

At that moment, as she was about to spill it all, a queasy sensation washed over me. It felt strange, like an unsettling tide rising in my stomach, twisting and turning as if something was wrong. I couldn't hold it any longer; it was as if my belly was in turmoil, signaling that I needed to escape. Before I realized it, I was bent over, and a rush of vomit poured forth.