**Hatred**
James stepped out of the office building and instinctively headed toward the car park, only to remember he’d left his car at the garage the day before. At first, he was annoyed, but then he thought it might be for the best. The idea of squeezing into a stuffy, crowded bus during rush hour held no appeal, so he decided to walk. The only concern was the rapidly darkening sky overhead. A thick black cloud loomed over London, threatening thunder and a downpour.
As he walked, James kept glancing up. A distant rumble of thunder echoed through the streets. He recalled passing a café nearby every day but had never gone inside. Picking up his pace, he barely made it through the café door before the heavens opened. Rain hammered down so heavily that the street outside turned into a blur.
Inside, the café was warm and dry. James scanned the room and spotted a few free tables. Behind him, the door swung open again, letting in the roar of the storm and two young women. He quickly claimed a table before the place filled up. The café buzzed with chatter as people escaped the deluge outside.
A tall, no-nonsense waitress approached, placing a menu in front of him before turning away.
“Just the steak, no sides, a simple salad, and a coffee,” he said briskly.
She scribbled in her notepad and moved on, her workload clearly piling up as more soaked patrons arrived. Outside, the storm raged on. The bartender turned up the music, drowning out the rain. James waited, relieved to have an excuse not to go home yet, not to face his wife’s inevitable complaints about being late.
He’d married Emma eight years ago. At first, everything had been perfect—just like those early months of marriage. Then she changed. Her best friend had married a wealthy businessman, and Emma grew bitter with envy. Suddenly, it was all about designer bags, diamond rings, and Botox.
“Why, Em? You’re young and beautiful as you are.”
“I could be *more* beautiful,” she’d snap back.
One day it was her nose, the next her lips, then her figure.
James tried to talk her out of altering herself. Silicone and surgery wouldn’t make her happy, he argued—if anything, the opposite.
“You only say that because you can’t afford it,” she spat.
Children? Out of the question.
“I’d get fat, and you’d stop loving me. Maybe when you earn enough, we’ll talk.”
James didn’t argue. He still loved her. An old university friend had offered him a partnership in his business, promising great success. James took the leap, quit his job, and joined him. For a while, things were good. He even traded in his father’s old car for a slightly better used one.
Then it collapsed. Tax audits, frozen accounts, predatory competitors forcing a sale. Overnight, James had nothing.
Emma called him a failure. The constant scorn snuffed out whatever love remained. He returned to his old job, drifting through life, unable to leave her.
***
A young couple slid into the booth beside him. James watched them, thinking he and Emma had once been that happy. What had gone wrong?
Shouting at the bar snapped him back. Two young women were fending off a drunken man who seemed intent on dragging one of them outside. The other tried to intervene, but he shoved her hard against the counter. No one in the café moved to help.
James stood and blocked the man’s path.
“Mind your own business,” the drunk growled, swinging at him.
James dodged and threw a punch of his own. The brawl was brief but brutal. When the man finally slumped, someone yelled that the police had been called.
“Let’s get out of here,” one of the girls urged, pulling James outside.
His head throbbed, and his lip tasted of blood. He didn’t argue, letting her lead him into the drizzle. Around the corner, she stopped at a chemist’s.
Inside, she bought antiseptic and carefully tended to his cuts.
“Thank you,” he mumbled.
They stood close. Her curly hair smelled faintly of strawberries. *She’s beautiful*, he realized. Her hands were gentle, like butterfly wings. Their eyes met, and she blushed.
Her friend burst in. “There you are! I’ve got us a taxi. Come on, Katie!”
Katie hesitated, then smiled at James as she left. When he stepped outside, the taxi was already pulling away.
He’d only walked a few steps when he heard, “Wait!” Turning, he saw Katie running back.
“I didn’t even ask your name,” she said breathlessly. “No one else helped me.”
“James.”
She fell into step beside him without question. He learned she’d just graduated, still job-hunting.
Reluctantly, he admitted he was married—though barely.
“I know. I saw the ring.” She bit her lip. “I was afraid I’d never see you again.”
It felt like fate. He could’ve taken the bus. The storm could’ve missed them. Yet here they were. His heart raced in a way Emma had never made it.
“Wait—how far is your place?” Katie suddenly asked.
“We passed it ages ago,” he admitted. “I didn’t want to say goodbye.”
They turned back. He called her a taxi and swapped numbers before she left.
When James got home, Emma pounced. “Where have you been?” She noticed the plasters, the blood. “You got in a fight?”
“Some bloke was harassing a girl at the café—”
“Wish you cared that much about me,” she muttered, storming off.
James followed. “Emma, let’s get divorced. This isn’t working.”
“I knew there was someone else!” She screamed, called him worthless, grabbed a plate—he caught her wrist before it shattered against his skull.
“Calm down. There’s no one. But we’re miserable. Why stay?”
The next day, he moved out.
He was too ashamed to call Katie—older, still technically married. But when she called *him*, his heart leapt. He couldn’t push her away.
They dated quietly. He filed for divorce, waived any claim to their assets. No kids meant it was quick. Only after the papers were signed did he invite her home. A month later, she told him she was pregnant.
James was overjoyed. Katie’s parents? Less so. A divorced man ten years older, no property—just a car. Her mother’s disapproval was plain; her father hid behind his newspaper, silent but tense.
Still, they agreed to the wedding and even gifted the couple a small flat.
Katie’s pregnancy was rough. She barely ate, lost weight, slept constantly. The doctor dismissed it as normal, but James wasn’t convinced. On their way out, a nurse hurried after them.
“I’ve seen this before,” she whispered, slipping him an address. “My aunt can help.”
Skeptical, James went the next day. The elderly woman studied his palm.
“A pregnancy curse,” she said bluntly. “Someone close hates you—and your child. She must forgive you, or it won’t end well.”
Shaken, James confronted Emma.
“Forgive *her*?” Emma scoffed.
“Whatever you’re doing—stop. Or I swear—”
She finally broke, swearing she’d done nothing. James left, praying it was enough.
Two days later, Katie was singing in the kitchen. Relief nearly buckled his knees.
Their son was born healthy. James doted on them both.
Then Emma called. She was in hospital—cancer, terminal.
“Forgive me,” she whispered.
James had long since let go of his anger. She died the next night. The doctor said it was genetic, not magic.
Her father offered them her flat. James refused. They’d manage on their own.
Sometimes, hatred burns the harshest—but letting go is the only way to survive.
