It’s after one in the morning and she’s annoyingly awake because she’d just woken up from her seven hour “nap” through the evening. She’d shot a text to Hannah to thank her for staying – and cleaning, fixing Caroline meals for today and tomorrow, and to apologize again for Abbie.

She’s in a much clearer mindset, now, which she prefers even if it comes with slightly more pain.

Caroline stares at her phone, momentarily convinced she’s still not seeing things clearly because… why is Hannah calling her after midnight?

“I’m sorry if I woke you up with my text,” she says as she answers, already feeling a little bad about it, but it’s the only conclusion that makes sense to her.

“You didn’t.” Hannah informs her, moving around in what Caroline imagines is her bed, as she can hear blankets rustling. Before she lets out a heavy sigh. “I can’t stop thinking about… seeing you today. Like that. Did you take the Advil I left for you?”

Caroline doesn’t bother beating back a smile as she settles back against her pillows. “I did. Thanks.”

Hannah’s silent for a few seconds, just breathing, before she confesses in a voice much harder than her normal tone, “I’m so fucking angry.” Hearing Hannah swear actually makes Caroline startle because it’s just so… not Hannah.

“At me?” Because, sure, earlier was a little fuzzy in her mind, but she seems to remember Hannah granted her day as extenuating circumstances. “I’ll talk to Abbie, I –”

“No,” Hannah swiftly cuts her off, voice immediately soft again. “Not at you. At the man who – who hit you. I just, I’ve tried to sleep after wrangling Abbie to bed, but I just keep picturing it. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so mad in my entire life and I’m…” She heaves a sigh, and if Caroline could guess, she is running her hand through her hair in that frustrated motion. “He better not get away with it.”

Caroline isn’t going to tell her that this man is a professional athlete in the NFL. Not only because of confidentiality, but because let’s be honest; men in sports get away with literal murder. Knocking someone out isn’t going to merit much.

And while she feels cared for, she doesn’t like being the cause of this strain in Hannah’s voice. So she injects some deliberate lightness into her tone. “Well, he didn’t actually hit me; he flipped a table. It’s sort of funny. Or, it will be, when I can blow my nose again.”

“It won’t be funny, ever.” Hannah’s voice is quiet and solemn.