The Love that Kills me

Chapter 3

It’s been three years now. Three years married to the man I had loved from afar for so long. Three years of being bound to Stephen Kingsley in name only, a marriage that existed on paper but never in his heart.

Those first years were anything but a fairytale. Stephen never really came home. Oh, he would stop by—just to keep up appearances when our parents visited. Smiles for them, polite words and empty promises. But as soon as they were gone, so was he. My father would ask why he was always away, and Stephen would say he was working abroad. Half of that was true. The other half? It was always Daia. He was still searching for her, still obsessed with finding the woman he truly loved.

At first, I thought maybe if I tried harder—if I showed him how much I cared—he would finally see me. Maybe he would realize that I was here, that I was his wife, and that I had loved him for so long. But every time I tried, he pushed me away. He never let me in, never gave me even a sliver of his heart.

His words stung, always wrapped in sarcasm and disguised as jokes, but they cut deep. “Don’t think this changes anything,” he’d say. “You’re just a name on paper, Hope. Nothing more.” He said it like it was a fact, something he didn’t even have to think about.

By our second year, our families began to pressure us. They wanted a child—a grandchild to continue the family name. “You’ve been married for two years,” my mother would say, her voice full of expectation. “Why is there still no baby in the house?” My father would look at me, disappointment in his eyes, as if I was somehow failing in my duty as a wife.

I laughed bitterly at the idea. How could there be a child when my husband wasn’t even here? When he didn’t even want to touch me? Sometimes, late at night when I lay alone in our bed, I would wonder if Daia had been right all along. Love shouldn’t be forced. Marriage shouldn’t be a prison. But I kept holding on to the small, fragile hope that maybe—just maybe—he would see me.

If only he would give me a chance, I told myself. I could show him that I was better than my cousin, that I could be the wife he needed. But that chance never came.

One night, my father showed up unannounced. Stephen wasn’t home, of course. I tried to call him, but he didn’t answer. My father walked through the house, his eyes scanning every room. “Why is there no sign of Stephen here?” he asked, his voice cold.

I tried to smile, to lie, but he saw right through me. “Don’t lie to me, Hope,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “Does your husband even come home to you at all?”

I wanted to tell him everything, but I couldn’t. So I just stood there, silent and ashamed. My father shook his head and left, the disappointment in his eyes cutting me deeper than any blade.

The next morning, Stephen finally came home. He looked exhausted, his eyes bloodshot and his jaw clenched tight with anger. The moment he saw me, his face twisted in fury. He strode up to me and slapped me so hard my head snapped to the side.

“What the f**k is wrong with you?” he shouted, his voice shaking with rage. “Didn’t we already talk about this? I will not live with you, Hope. And don’t you dare think for one second that I’ll ever love you as my wife.”

He didn’t give me a chance to speak. He didn’t care about my tears or the pain in my chest. He just turned and left again, leaving me alone in our empty house with the echo of his anger ringing in my ears.

From that day on, I promised myself I wouldn’t show my pain. I would smile, pretend everything was fine. Maybe if I didn’t make him angry again, he would stop hating me. Maybe if I was quiet and patient, he would finally look at me the way he used to look at Daia.

But deep down, I knew it was just another lie I told myself.

—

Present Day

Now it’s been three years since our wedding. Three years of playing the part of the perfect wife, of holding on to a hope that was never meant to be mine.

Tonight, everything changed.

I was in our bedroom, folding laundry and trying not to think about how lonely it felt in this big, empty house. The door slammed open, and I turned around in shock.

Stephen was standing there, but he wasn’t the Stephen I knew. His eyes were unfocused, his hair disheveled, and the smell of alcohol was heavy in the air. He was drunk—more than drunk. He was lost.

“Daia,” he murmured, his voice slurred, his eyes staring at me but not seeing me. “Daia…”

My heart twisted in my chest. He stumbled forward, reaching for me with trembling hands. “Daia… where have you been?”

I tried to step back, but he caught me by the arms, his grip tight and desperate. “Stephen,” I said softly, my voice trembling. “It’s me, Hope.”

But he didn’t hear me. Or maybe he didn’t care. In his mind, I wasn’t Hope. I was Daia—his lost love, the ghost he could never stop chasing.

“Daia,” he whispered again, his lips brushing my forehead. My heart pounded in my chest as he pulled me closer, his breath warm and heavy with the scent of whiskey. “I’ve missed you so much…”

Before I could say another word, he kissed me—soft at first, then harder, like he was trying to pour all the years of longing and pain into that one desperate moment. My mind screamed at me to pull away, to tell him the truth. But my heart—my foolish, traitorous heart—ached with the touch I had longed for since the day we married.

For a fleeting second, I let myself believe it was real. That he was kissing me, that he saw me. But it was just an illusion. In his mind, he wasn’t kissing Hope—he was kissing Daia.

And in that moment, I didn’t know whether to break away or to cling to the dream I had been living for three long years.

—

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes wild and unfocused. “Daia,” he breathed, his voice raw and broken. “Don’t ever leave me again.”

I opened my mouth to tell him the truth, to remind him that I wasn’t Daia. That I was Hope, the wife he had married but never loved. But before I could speak, he pressed his lips to mine again, and I was lost.

Lost in the taste of whiskey and regret, lost in the fantasy of a man who would never be mine.

In that moment, I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. But for tonight, I let myself believe—just for a moment—that I was the woman he loved.