The Love that Kills me

Chapter 16

Hope woke up early, as she always did, but today felt different. When she blinked her eyes open, the first thing she saw was Stephen sleeping soundly beside her, his breathing slow and even. For a moment, she just lay there, her heart beating a little too fast.

She never imagined she’d see this: Stephen’s face, soft in the early morning light, his features relaxed in sleep. Carefully, she reached out, her fingers tracing the strong line of his brow, the slope of his nose, the gentle curve of his lips. She wanted to memorize everything—every detail, every soft breath he took.

Is he starting to let me in? she wondered, a fragile hope flickering in her chest. Is he finally seeing me? Accepting me as his wife?

But even as she asked herself those questions, another one lingered—one that made her chest tighten painfully.

Does he still love Daia?

She cursed herself silently. Stop thinking like that, Hope. This is the present. This is what matters now.

A few minutes later, Stephen’s eyes fluttered open. He looked at her, a sleepy smile on his face, and then he pulled her close, wrapping an arm around her waist. She let out a surprised little sound as he tucked her against him, her face pressed to his chest.

“Good morning,” he murmured in a husky voice, still thick with sleep. The sound of it sent shivers down her spine.

“Good… morning,” she said shyly, her voice barely above a whisper.

They lay there a little while longer, the room filled with the soft warmth of the early light. Eventually, they got up, and Hope busied herself in the kitchen, trying to calm the butterflies in her stomach. She moved quietly, preparing breakfast as Stephen watched her from the doorway.

His gaze made her skin prickle with awareness, and she found herself feeling almost shy under his steady eyes. She tried to focus on the food, on the simple rhythm of cooking. She set the table carefully, smoothing down the cloth and placing everything just so.

“Enjoy,” she said softly when they sat down to eat.

They ate quietly, the soft clink of cutlery filling the space between them. Hope didn’t dare start a conversation—she didn’t want to ruin the gentle calm of the morning or make things awkward.

But when they were finished, Stephen spoke. His voice was low, almost hesitant.

“Hope… about last night.”

She froze, her fork hovering in the air. Her breath caught in her throat. Is he regretting it now?

Stephen reached across the table, his fingers brushing lightly over hers. “I want you to know that I don’t regret it,” he said. His eyes met hers, steady and calm. “I was fully aware of what was happening.”

Hope felt her chest tighten with a rush of relief. She swallowed hard, her heart hammering. She wanted to believe him—to let herself trust those words.

He seemed to notice the way she was holding back, the way her lips parted like she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the courage.

“Do you have anything to say to me, Hope?” he asked gently.

She hesitated, her fingers twisting in her lap. This is your chance, she told herself. Don’t be afraid.

“If… if you don’t regret it,” she said softly, her voice trembling, “can I ask… what are we, Stephen? What am I to you?”

For a moment, Stephen didn’t say anything. His expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes seemed to flicker—like a shadow passing over the sun.

“We’re married,” he said finally, his voice calm, matter-of-fact.

Hope felt the bright light in her chest flicker and dim. She forced a small smile, nodding even though her heart felt heavy. At least… at least he acknowledges our marriage, she told herself. That’s enough for now.

She stood up, gathering the plates quietly. Stephen watched her, his expression unreadable, but he didn’t stop her. She washed the dishes in the sink, her movements automatic, her mind spinning with thoughts she didn’t dare speak aloud.

After she finished, she stepped back, drying her hands on a towel. She turned to find Stephen still sitting at the table, his eyes following her every move.

“Thank you for breakfast,” he said softly.

“You’re welcome,” she murmured.

There was a silence between them, comfortable and yet not. Hope felt like there were so many things she wanted to say—so many questions she was too afraid to ask. She wondered if he could feel the tension in her, the way her heart was caught between hope and fear.

Stephen stood then, crossing the room in a few easy steps. He stopped in front of her, his hand reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. The touch was so gentle it made her breath catch.

“I meant what I said,” he told her quietly. “About last night. About us. I’m not going to take it back.”

Hope nodded again, her throat tight. She wanted to believe him—she really did. But the shadows of doubt still lingered at the edges of her heart.

He leaned down and kissed her forehead, his lips soft and warm. “Let’s… take it one step at a time, okay?” he murmured.

She closed her eyes and nodded, feeling the sting of tears she wouldn’t let fall.

“One step at a time,” she whispered back.