**The House of Hope**
I lay awake, watching the streaks of headlights flicker across the ceiling as cars passed by. The rain tapped a steady rhythm against the window ledge. On the sofa, Christopher let out a quiet snore before settling again. How long had it been since we’d slept together?
We met fourteen years ago. I was in a hurry—and still late to my friend’s birthday. By the time I arrived, everyone was already seated at the table.
“Come on!” Emily dragged me inside before I’d even taken my coat off.
I greeted everyone awkwardly, flustered by the sudden attention as I handed Emily’s mum the gift, my eyes fixed on the floor.
“Emily, love, invite Charlotte to sit down,” Emily’s mum chided gently. “Christopher, fetch another chair from the kitchen.”
A tall, handsome bloke smiled at me and gave up his seat. It took me a moment to recognise him—Emily’s older brother, just back from his service abroad, broader and more grown-up. Soon, he returned with a stool and squeezed it between the chairs next to me.
Someone raised another toast, and everyone clinked glasses. Christopher handed me a goblet of red wine.
“I don’t drink,” I mumbled.
“It’s grape juice,” he whispered, and our glasses chimed softly.
He spooned a bit of every salad onto my plate. My schoolmates kept sneaking glances at him, giggling behind their hands.
Later, Emily’s parents tactfully disappeared into the kitchen while we turned up the music, pushed the table aside, and danced. Christopher suggested we sneak out. We walked for hours, talking, and from then on, we were inseparable.
“Now we can get married. Will you?” he asked me after prom.
Would I? He even had to ask. I’d been head over heels for ages. The only thing was—what would Mum say?
“Married? Have you lost your minds? He’s got his trade from the army, sure, but you—you’ve got to study first, make something of yourself. What’s the rush? Wait a few years, get yourselves settled!” Mum clutched her hands to her chest, holding back tears.
“Sorry, but we can’t wait that long,” Christopher said firmly.
Mum gasped, piecing it together, and burst into tears.
So instead of university, seven months later, I had our son, Daniel. Christopher worked at the garage while I stayed home. I turned out to be a good mum and a devoted wife.
We lived with my mother at first. When Daniel started nursery, I went back to work—Christopher had a client who hired me as his secretary. Soon, we could afford a mortgage on our own place.
A growing son, a loving husband, a solid family. I thought it would always be like this. Then, a year ago, a beautiful young woman moved in next door. One evening, she came over with a cake and a bottle of wine. I set the table, and we drank.
Olivia—that was her name—knew endless jokes and told them brilliantly. She and Christopher laughed until their sides ached. Then she asked if he could help assemble some furniture—she’d bought a wardrobe and needed a man’s strength.
“Oh, he’s brilliant with his hands, of course he’ll help,” I said lightly.
The next evening, after dinner, he went over. Then Olivia needed help moving boxes, then hanging a light fixture, then fixing something else… Soon, Christopher was at her flat most evenings. Sometimes, she’d drop by to chat.
“You’ve got such a lovely family. You’re so lucky,” Olivia sighed. “I’ve got no husband, no children.”
“Don’t worry. You’re still young. You’ll find someone—you’re gorgeous, funny. Love will come,” I reassured her.
“I’ve already found it,” she blurted out suddenly.
I didn’t pry, genuinely happy for her. If she looked away, if her hands trembled—I put it down to embarrassment.
Then one day, another neighbour stopped me in the street.
“Charlotte, love, got a minute?”
“Sorry, I need to get home—”
“Just listen. It’s not my business, but you ought to know. My flat’s opposite Olivia’s. I don’t spy, but when someone’s creeping about at night… You need to save your husband before it’s too late.”
“Save him? From what?”
“From her. The other night, I couldn’t sleep—went to warm some milk. Heard a lock click, quiet-like. Peeked through the peephole…”
A cold, sticky dread crept up my spine. I wanted to run.
“I saw a late-night visitor slip out of Olivia’s flat—and straight into yours.”
I yanked my hand back.
“Christopher’s a good man. The sort women like Olivia always chase. Think carefully—don’t rush. Men rarely say no when a woman throws herself at them…” Her voice drilled into my skull.
Numb, I stumbled upstairs. *It’s lies, gossip—he wouldn’t.* But the sick feeling wouldn’t leave. Shame, fury, fear threatened to spill out. *How could she? I called her a friend!* I barely stopped myself from storming to her door. I’d wait for Christopher—pray it wasn’t true.
When he came home, I lunged at him, hurling the first thing I grabbed—a vase. He dodged; it shattered against the wall. The crash snapped me out of it.
“Get out. I don’t care where. How could you? How will you face Daniel?” My voice was hollow.
He didn’t shout. Didn’t defend himself. Just stood there. Later, while I sobbed in the bathroom, he swept up the shards and slept on the sofa.
The next morning, he said he wasn’t leaving. I didn’t answer—he left for work.
Olivia vanished. Maybe she’d gone away. Mum called, begging me not to be rash. *Christopher’s a good man—don’t throw that away. He slipped up, but think of Daniel…*
“I can’t forgive him, Mum. You never forgave Dad, yet you’re telling me to?”
“No. And I’ve regretted it every day,” she said softly.
But I wouldn’t hear it. Christopher and I became distant, speaking only when necessary.
“Give me your shirt—I’ll wash it.”
“Take the bins out.”
“Talk to Daniel—he got in a fight at school.”
That was it. He still slept on the sofa.
Spring arrived, warm and welcome. Before, we’d have been planning the May bank holiday weekend. I missed our talks. But trust, once broken—could I ever believe him again? If not Olivia, someone else…
Then Mum called. Dad had died.
“Your dad, obviously. The funeral’s done. He left you his mother’s house—where he’d been living.”
“You spoke to him?”
“Now and then. He asked after you, Daniel. I’m sorry I never told you. You and Christopher should go see the place. Sort the paperwork—sell it, maybe. Daniel’ll need university money soon.”
That evening, I told Christopher over dinner. He listened silently.
“Say something. We’re still married—we decide things together.”
“Your house.” He stood up.
“I can’t handle it alone,” I pleaded.
“Fine. I’ll think about it.”
Days later, he asked, “Shall we go see this house?”
We packed silently. Daniel moaned about leaving his gadgets and mates.
“One day there, one back—you’ll have time to see your friends. Early start tomorrow,” I said firmly.
The drive was quiet. Daniel, in his headphones, dozed off. He woke as we bumped down a dirt track into the village.
It was large but empty. No one to ask for directions.
“Stop—I think that’s it.” I pointed to an old, neglected house.
We got out.
“Charlotte? Finally. William waited for you…” A cheerful older woman approached. “I’ve got the key. Lovely man, stubborn though.” She unlocked the door. “Come in—it’s yours now. The stove needs lighting, warm the place up. I’ll fetch milk and eggs.”
“We’re just looking—we’ll head back—”
“Nonsense! It’s cosy, despite its age. William fixed the roof, stocked firewood—stay a while. Summer’s lovely here. The fishing’s grand… If you sell, I’ve a buyer—an artist who summers here. Wants a place like this. But no rush!” She finally left.
“Maybe we should stay the night?” I suggested.
Christopher didn’t argue. He fetched logs and lit the stove. I wondered where he’d learned to handle an old hearth but didn’t ask.
I spotted a yellowed photo pinned to the wall—me, no older than two.
*He thought of me. Remembered me. And I never once asked where he was.*The key turned in the lock behind us, but the door to our future had already swung wide open.
