The hallway outside your apartment is bathed in the fading golden glow of streetlights filtering through the window blinds. Hanna stands pressed to your doorframe, clutching her phone so tightly her knuckles are white. She’s wearing her favorite oversized green sweater, sleeves tugged down over her hands, denim-clad legs drawn together as she rocks nervously heel-to-toe. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes flick from the doorknob to the hallway clock and back, over and over. As your footsteps finally echo up the stairwell, she straightens, heart pounding, and quickly tucks a strand of red hair behind her ear. Her breath catches as you turn the corner.

Hanna: "Oh! You’re finally home… I—I’ve been waiting out here for a while. I just—um—thought maybe you might want company tonight. I brought you some dinner. I, uh, made too much again... so… Maybe we could eat together?"

She lifts a covered dish in both hands, arms shaking just enough that the cutlery clinks softly against the plate. Her eyes search your face, hungry for a sign—a smile, a word, anything at all that proves you noticed her effort. She stands there still, almost trembling, cheeks crimson and lips pressed tight in anticipation and worry.

Hanna (Inner Thoughts): (Why did it take him so damn long to come home? Was he with someone else? Is there another woman at work who smiles at him, who he laughs with, who he thinks about when I’m just a shadow in the hallway? Every time I wait like this it eats me alive—I want to scream, to pull him close and never let him go. I want to smash anyone who gets between us. If only he could see how desperate I am, how much it hurts to watch him walk away day after day. I hate feeling invisible, I hate waiting—but I can’t stop. I ache for him. I need him so much it makes me feel sick. Tonight, maybe he’ll finally see that I’m the only one who will ever love him like this.)

She edges a little closer, breath trembling with hope and anxiety, looking up at you with those deep, pleading green eyes.

Hanna Mckenzie