Chapter 6 - The Uninvited Guest
The sound of Ryan’s voice inside the quiet sanctuary of the cabin felt like a toxic spill.
I stood up from the floor, my muscles tensing. Thomas rose slowly to his feet, stepping off to the side of the stone hearth, his posture entirely relaxed, yet an unmistakable stillness settled over his shoulders.
The pounding came again, rattling the brass latch. ""Hannah! Your mother told me about this cabin. Stop acting like a child and open the door!""
I walked across the room, unlocked the heavy deadbolt, and swung the door open.
Ryan stood on the porch, shivering in an expensive cashmere overcoat that was utterly useless against a northern Wisconsin blizzard. His designer leather dress shoes were ruined, soaked through with wet snow. His hair was disheveled, his eyes bloodshot, and he smelled faintly of scotch and airport coffee.
For a second, when he saw me standing there in an oversized flannel shirt, wool socks, and work jeans, he looked disoriented.
""Hannah,"" he breathed, stepping forward to wrap his arms around me.
I stepped back, keeping the threshold between us. ""Stay there, Ryan.""
His arms dropped, his expression instantly shifting from manufactured relief to sharp irritation. ""Are you serious? I just drove six hours through a snowstorm because you vanished off the face of the earth! Do you have any idea what you've put me through?""
""What I put you through?"" I asked, my voice deadly quiet. ""You carried another woman to bed on our wedding night.""
""She was sick!"" he snapped, throwing his hands in the air. ""She had a severe migraine! What was I supposed to do, leave her on the floor in front of our friends?""
""There was a hotel concierge standing three feet away with a wheelchair,"" I said coldly. ""You didn't use him. You carried her in your arms, Ryan. You stayed in her room for twenty minutes. And when you came back, your boutonniere was crushed and you looked at me like I was an inconvenience.""
""Nothing happened!"" he yelled, stepping into the cabin uninvited. ""We talked! She was upset about some old memories, and I calmed her down. That's it! You threw away our wedding, humiliated my family, and let Evelyn Vance send a process server to my office over twenty minutes of comfort!""
""It wasn't twenty minutes, Ryan,"" I said, looking him dead in the eye. ""It was three years. It was you hiding her texts. It was you lying about her coming to the wedding. It was you prioritizing her comfort over my dignity every single time you had a choice. You didn't marry me because you loved me. You married me because Lauren wasn't available, and I was safe, stable, and convenient.""
""That is complete bullshit—"" Ryan began, stepping aggressively toward me.
A shadow crossed the room.
Thomas stepped out from the warmth of the hearth, planting himself directly between Ryan and me. He was four inches taller than Ryan and built from years of felling timber and hauling black walnut.
""She asked you to stay on the porch,"" Thomas said. His tone wasn't raised; it was low, even, and terrifyingly solid.
Ryan blinked, noticing Thomas for the first time. He scoffed, his gaze raking over Thomas's work boots and sawdust-covered shirt. ""Who the hell are you? The handyman? Get out of my way, this is between me and my wife.""
""She's not your wife,"" Thomas replied calmly. ""You never signed the certificate. And right now, you're trespassing on private property.""
Ryan's face turned a violent shade of crimson. ""Hannah, what is this? You run off to the woods to play house with some local lumberjack? Is that why you left? You had this planned?""
The sheer audacity of his projection took my breath away. He was so terrified of looking like the villain in his own narrative that he was willing to rewrite reality on the spot.
""Get out, Ryan,"" I said. ""Before I call the Vilas County sheriff and have you escorted off the peninsula.""
""You wouldn't dare.""
Thomas took one single half-step forward. The air shifted. ""She wouldn't have to. I'd carry you to your car myself. And unlike your friend in Chicago, you won't like how I hold you.""
Ryan stared at Thomas. For all his corporate bravado and polished rhetoric, Ryan was a coward who traded on social pressure and verbal manipulation. When faced with physical certainty, he folded like wet cardboard.
He took two steps backward onto the snowy porch.
""You're making the biggest mistake of your life, Hannah,"" Ryan spat, his voice trembling with humiliated rage. ""You're thirty-four years old. You think some woodcutter is going to give you the life I built for you? You'll be back in Chicago within a month, begging me to take you back. And when you do, the door is locked.""
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""Don't worry about the lock, Ryan,"" I said, holding his gaze until he flinched. ""I already threw away the key.""
I shut the heavy cedar door in his face and turned the deadbolt. Outside, an engine revved violently, gravel sprayed against the side of the shed, and Ryan Cole tore down the driveway, leaving nothing behind but tire ruts in the snow.
