Chapter 12
1125 Words
Stephen noticed how the shine in Hope’s eyes had changed lately. It was warmer now, softer. She hadn’t changed much in the way she dressed or spoke, but there was a new glow in her—like a fragile light that had finally been allowed to shine. She still woke up early to cook him breakfast, greeting him with a quiet, “Good morning, Stephen,” every time. And though her voice was as gentle as always, it was filled with something… real. Something that he couldn’t quite put into words.
He didn’t know what was happening to him. At first, he told himself it was just to stop the people around them from using her, from abusing her kindness and innocence. But as days went by, he started to forget why he was doing all this in the first place. All he knew was that he liked seeing her smile, liked how her eyes lit up whenever he did something small for her—like opening the car door, or buying her favorite milk tea.
Today was his day off, but he still woke up early to drive her to her store. Before she opened the shop, he stopped by a coffee shop and bought her a cup of her favorite caramel latte. She took it with that shy smile that always made his chest feel too tight.
“Thank you, Stephen,” she said softly.
He just nodded, watching her for a moment longer than necessary before turning to leave.
On his way home, his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and saw it was Timothy McVeigh—his old friend from high school, the one who’d been by his side through all the reckless years.
“Hey! Timothy,” he answered, surprised. “What brings you to call me this early?”
“Stephen, my friend,” Timothy’s voice crackled through the line, bright with excitement. “Can you come here? Let’s have a drink. I just got engaged!”
Stephen blinked in surprise, taken aback. “Engaged? You?” he said incredulously. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Timothy, you’re the biggest playboy I know—you have a new girl every week. How did this happen?”
Timothy laughed. “You sound like it’s unbelievable, Stephen.”
“Well, can you blame me? You’re a total asshole,” Stephen shot back with a laugh of his own.
“Thanks for the f*****g statement,” Timothy said wryly. “So can you come here? Now?”
Stephen hesitated for a moment, but he could hear the genuine excitement in his friend’s voice. “Okay. Text me the address.”
He drove straight to the bar, a low-lit place tucked away on a side street. When he arrived, he found Timothy in a private room, lounging on a couch with a bottle of expensive rum on the table in front of him.
“Should I say congratulations?” Stephen said as he walked in, shaking his head in disbelief. “So… who’s the unlucky one?” he teased, sinking into the seat across from him.
Timothy laughed and handed him a drink. “You’re still an asshole, you know that?”
They talked for a while like old times, trading stories and jabs that went back years. It felt easy—familiar—and for a little while, Stephen let himself sink into the comfort of it.
Then Timothy shifted the conversation. “So… how’s married life?” he asked, swirling the rum in his glass.
Stephen let out a sigh, taking a long sip before answering. “It’s fine, I guess.”
“You’re not looking for Daia anymore?” Timothy pressed.
Stephen looked down at his drink, his fingers tight around the glass. “I’m still… looking for her,” he admitted quietly. “She’s my baby… how can I forget about her?”
Timothy’s expression shifted, confusion flickering across his face. “Then… what about your wife? Hope? I heard the news—your relationship with her has become close.”
Stephen paused, feeling the words stick in his throat. He didn’t know how to explain it—how it felt like the line between what was real and what was just guilt had blurred so completely. “I’m just guilty,” he finally said, his voice low. “I’m trying to be nice to her… to ease my feelings.”
Timothy’s brow furrowed. “Then you’re just playing with her?” he said bluntly.
“No,” Stephen said quickly. “It’s not like that. I’m just… being nice to her. That’s all.”
Timothy stared at him for a long moment, then took a breath. “You’re making that poor lady believe in something that can never happen,” he said quietly. “Do you realize that?”
Stephen didn’t answer. He just shrugged and drained his glass, the burn of the rum doing nothing to quiet the uneasy feeling in his chest.
It was almost four in the afternoon when he finally left the bar. He hadn’t realized how late it had gotten—Hope’s shop closed at three, and he was already an hour late. Guilt clawed at him as he drove quickly through the late afternoon traffic.
When he arrived at the store, he saw Hope standing outside, waiting for him. She was holding her small purse in both hands, her head bowed slightly. As he pulled up, she looked up and gave him a small, tired smile.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said as he stepped out of the car. “Something… came up.”
She shook her head, her soft smile still in place. “It’s okay, Stephen,” she said. “I know you’re busy.”
Her voice was gentle—too gentle—and it twisted something inside him. He didn’t know why, but he hated that look on her face. He hated that she was always the one waiting, the one forgiving.
“Let’s go home,” he said quietly, opening the car door for her. She climbed in, her movements quiet and careful, and he couldn’t help but steal a glance at her as he closed the door behind her.
As they drove home, the silence between them was thick, but not uncomfortable. He wanted to reach out, to say something that would make her smile again. But he didn’t know how.
He glanced over at her and saw the way she looked out the window, her eyes soft and thoughtful. She didn’t ask where he’d been, didn’t demand answers. She just… accepted it.
And for the first time in a long time, he wondered if he really deserved that kind of kindness.
- Writer
