Tainted Love

Episode

The Quiet Return

Time passed like a slow tide…soft, deliberate, and almost unnoticeable until it reached her feet. Vivian had stopped expecting change. She had stopped searching for signs that Victor might still love her. Even though she didn’t want to accept that

The marriage had become routine, polite, a structure held together by habit rather than heartbeat. She had convinced herself that love, once lost, doesn’t come back; it only lingers as a ghost in shared spaces.

But then, suddenly, almost unnaturally, Victor came back to her…not with grand declarations or flowers, but through small, consistent acts that felt more powerful than words.

It started with his presence.

He stopped leaving early. The man who once vanished before dawn now lingered in the kitchen as she brewed coffee, his sleeves rolled halfway, his gaze soft. The one who used to dine out almost every night now insisted on cooking with her.

The kitchen…once a lonely kingdom..became their shared stage. He moved beside her awkwardly at first, unfamiliar with the choreography of domestic life.

He would stir when he wasn’t supposed to, taste sauce when it was still boiling, and complain playfully about onions making him cry. Vivian found herself laughing again, not politely, but deeply…those kinds of laughs that reach your lungs and remind you that you’re still alive.

Their meals weren’t perfect, but somehow, that made them taste better.

Even when the stew was too salty or the rice burned slightly at the edges, Victor would smile and say, “It’s delicious. You made it, so it has to be good.” And she would laugh, knowing he was lying but loving that he cared enough to lie sweetly.

The house began to change too.

The silence that once filled every room was replaced by the soft hum of shared moments…the clatter of dishes, the sound of two toothbrushes in the sink, the echo of laughter bouncing off the walls. Even the air felt different…warmer, slower, gentler. It was as if the house itself had exhaled after holding its breath for too long.

At night, Victor would lie beside her without turning away. Sometimes, when she woke in the middle of the night, she’d find him watching her, his hand resting lightly on her belly, where the child was growing.

And for the first time in a long time, Vivian felt safe.

She told herself she wasn’t imagining it…this return, this gentleness, this rebirth of love. After all, people change. Maybe he had realized that family meant more than pride or distance. Maybe he had simply grown up. Whatever the reason, she accepted it. She wanted to believe in it, to cradle it like something fragile and precious.

They started doing everything together…cleaning, cooking, folding clothes. When she was tired, he’d massage her feet. When she craved something late at night, he would go out and get it, no matter how small. She felt cherished, seen, loved again.

One evening, they sat on the bed after dinner. The city outside glowed in quiet rhythm; traffic hummed softly, like a lullaby. Vivian rested her head on Victor’s chest, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat. It was steady, calm, almost soothing.

Then, breaking the comfortable silence, she said softly, “Victor, I think it’s about time we start buying the baby’s things. Time is moving so fast, and before we know it, it’ll already be the due date.”

She smiled as she spoke, her voice bright with excitement. “My mom used to say that if you get pregnant, you should start packing before the seventh month. I think we should start now.”

Victor froze for a second.

It was the kind of pause that only lasted a breath but carried the weight of a thousand thoughts.

His account was empty.

Completely empty.

The sixty million Vivian had transferred…her money…was gone.

He had spent it. Every dollar. And now, he didn’t even know how to explain it. The money had been meant for investments, for growth, for their future. But his gambling lifestyle, his girlfriend and boyfriend have messed it all up.

He looked down at her…so happy, so pure, so certain…and forced a smile. “Yeah… yeah, we should. You’re right.” His voice wavered, just slightly. “But, you know, let’s wait a little. I want to be the one to get the baby everything myself. I want to be there for that.”

Vivian didn’t sense the fear behind his words. She saw only love…the excitement of a father who wanted to be part of everything. She laughed softly and nodded. “You’re right. I’ll wait. But I hope it’s a girl.”

Victor chuckled. “Whether boy or girl, my child should be human first.”

They both laughed…deep, real laughter that echoed through the room and wrapped them in something that felt eternal.

For a while, everything was perfect again.

Days passed in harmony. They would wake up together, cook breakfast together, and take walks in the evening. They joked about baby names, argued about which color to paint the nursery, and promised each other that this time, things would be different.

To anyone watching, they were a picture of love restored.

But inside Victor, there was a quiet war.

Every smile, every kiss, every laugh was shadowed by guilt. Every time she mentioned the baby or the future, he felt his chest tighten. The guilt wasn’t loud…it didn’t scream…but it lived beneath his ribs, whispering in the dark.

Sometimes, late at night, when Vivian had fallen asleep with her hand on her belly, Victor would stare at the ceiling and think about the account balance…zero. He would think about the people who had tricked him, the deals that went wrong, the empty promises that had swallowed everything.

And he would think about her…Vivian…how she still believed everything was fine.

He told himself he would fix it. That he’d find a way to make it right before she found out. He started taking more calls, stepping outside for long conversations, making quiet plans to borrow money, to rebuild something from nothing.

But every lie built another wall between them, even as he stood right beside her.

One Saturday, they went to the market. Vivian’s hand in his felt soft, trusting. She pointed at little pink dresses, at tiny shoes no longer than his palm, and Victor smiled, though his throat burned with shame. She picked up a stuffed bear and hugged it close, laughing.

“I can already picture her holding this,” she said dreamily. “I just know she’ll be a girl.”

Victor smiled, but his heart cracked a little.

When they returned home, Vivian sat on the bed, glowing. She talked about their future as if it were already written in light. She spoke of birthdays, of laughter, of a family that finally felt whole again. Victor watched her and wanted to believe it too.

But the secret weighed heavier each day.

In his quiet moments, he could feel it pressing against his ribs, threatening to escape. His lies had become habits…tiny, daily performances that he justified as protection. He told himself it was love that made him hide the truth. Love, not cowardice.

And maybe, in some twisted way, it was.

Because he loved her now more than he ever had before. He loved her for forgiving him without knowing why. He loved her for loving him through his silence. And that made the guilt worse.

Sometimes, when she looked at him and smiled, it felt like she was standing in sunlight while he was buried under shadow.

Nights became harder. He would lie awake beside her, memorizing her face, wondering how long he could keep this up before everything fell apart.

Vivian noticed small things…the way he sometimes drifted off mid-conversation, the faint worry behind his eyes…but she brushed them aside. After all, this was the man who had come back to her. The man who cooked, laughed, stayed home, loved her. She didn’t want to question it. She was done with pain.

Their love was fragile, but it was real.

And that made it beautiful.

On some evenings, the two of them would sit on the balcony and watch the sunset together. The city lights would flicker on one by one, and the orange sky would melt into purple. Vivian would rest her head on his shoulder, whispering little dreams about the baby.

“Promise me you’ll always be here,” she said once.

Victor didn’t answer immediately. He looked at her…the woman who still saw him as good, the woman whose love was pure enough to make him feel almost forgiven….and finally said, “Always.”

It was a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep, but in that moment, he meant it with everything he had left.

The world outside moved on. The days blurred together in quiet happiness. They cooked, they laughed, they loved. On the surface, life looked like a perfect painting…a husband who had returned, a wife who had forgiven, a child on the way.

But paintings don’t tell you what happens after the frame.

Behind the smile, Victor’s eyes carried storms. He began to feel the ticking of time like footsteps approaching a locked door. Sooner or later, Vivian would ask to see the account, to buy the crib, to pay for the hospital.

And when that day came, the world they had rebuilt would tremble.

But for now…just for now…he allowed himself to live inside the illusion.

That night, after dinner, they lay together in bed. Vivian’s head rested on his chest, his arm wrapped around her. The room was dim, the only light coming from the city outside…the gentle orange that slipped through their curtains and brushed over her face like a blessing.

Victor looked down at her, memorizing every detail: the curve of her lips, the calm in her breathing, the innocence of her hope.

And for the first time in months, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to cry silently.

Not out of love. But out of weakness .

Because love, sometimes, is the most painful truth of all.