The Love that Kills me

Chapter 18

Stephen and Hope arrived in New York safe and sound, the long flight leaving them tired but happy. As soon as she got home, Hope wasted no time in visiting her friend Crissa. She brought with her a small bag full of souvenirs—perfume, colorful scarves and dresses from the local market, and sweet candies made from tropical fruits.

“Thanks, Hope!” Crissa exclaimed with delight, hugging her friend tightly. “But next time, just bring me with you instead!”

They both laughed, the easy warmth of their friendship filling the small shop. Hope spent an hour there, catching up and sharing stories about the beach, the ocean, and the little adventures she and Stephen had experienced in Bali.

When she finally went home, the apartment felt a little too quiet. Stephen had been called away on company business as soon as they landed, leaving her alone in their shared space. She thought about cooking something special to welcome him home, but exhaustion settled over her like a heavy blanket. She sank onto the sofa, telling herself she would just close her eyes for a minute.

That minute turned into hours.

When Stephen got home later that evening, he found her curled up on the couch, still in the soft clothes she had traveled in, her breathing slow and steady. A small smile tugged at his lips as he watched her sleep. He knew she must be exhausted from the trip. Quietly, he went to their bedroom and fetched a thick comforter, tucking it around her so she wouldn’t get cold.

He paused for a moment, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. It was still so new, seeing her here in their home—their home. Sleeping peacefully, no longer just a dream in his mind but a real presence beside him. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead before turning away to start dinner.

When Hope woke up, she felt the soft brush of lips on her cheek and opened her eyes to find Stephen leaning over her, his mouth curved in a small grin.

“Stephen, stop it!” she said, her voice still husky with sleep.

“Get up, sleepyhead,” he teased. “The food’s ready.”

She blinked at him in surprise, her heart skipping a beat. “You… you cooked?” she asked, her tone half in disbelief.

“Yeah,” he said, standing up straighter and puffing his chest out with mock pride. “You’re not the only expert in the kitchen here.”

Hope laughed, the sound bubbling up and warming the air between them. She stretched and stood, following the delicious smells coming from the kitchen. They sat together at the small dining table, the meal simple but delicious—pasta with a creamy sauce, fresh salad, and warm bread. Stephen watched her across the table, his eyes warm with amusement as she took a bite and hummed in appreciation.

“It’s really good,” she said honestly. “I didn’t know you could cook like this.”

“Well, I don’t always get the chance to,” he said, grinning as he took a bite himself. “But I can manage when I want to impress someone.”

Hope’s cheeks went a little pink at that, and she ducked her head shyly. They finished the meal together, full of laughter and playful teasing. It was such a small, domestic moment, but it made Hope’s heart swell. This was what she had always wanted—a shared life, filled with quiet joys and warm dinners.

That night, they lay in bed together, Stephen’s arms wrapped around her as she rested her head against his chest. The room was dark except for the soft glow of the city lights outside the window. Hope felt safe here, cocooned in the warmth of his embrace.

“It was fun,” she murmured sleepily. “I’d love to go back there someday… when we have time again.”

Stephen’s fingers traced gentle patterns along her back. “Sure,” he said softly. “Whenever you want.”

They were quiet for a while after that, listening to each other’s breathing. Hope thought she might drift off to sleep, but then Stephen’s voice broke the comfortable silence.

“Hope,” he said, his voice low and careful, “can you come with me this Saturday?”

She shifted to look up at him. “Why?” she asked, curiosity sparking in her eyes.

“My friend is getting married soon,” Stephen said. “He invited me to the wedding, and he said I should bring you with me.”

Hope’s heart gave a little flutter. She tried to keep her face calm, but she couldn’t help the small smile that curved her lips. This was important—he wanted her there, with him, as his wife. It felt like another quiet step forward, another piece of her dream slotting into place.

“Yeah, sure,” she said softly. “No problem.”

Stephen looked down at her, his eyes gentle. “Thank you, Hope,” he said, his voice full of something that made her heart ache in the best way. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering for just a moment.

They fell asleep like that, tangled together in the soft glow of the city. And for the first time in a long time, Hope felt like she belonged.