My Love for You is Unmatched

Ingrid didn’t notice the quiet roll of the hospital trolley wheels over the linoleum or the hurried footsteps beside her. Her head swayed faintly in rhythm with the movement. She didn’t see the fluorescent lights flashing above, didn’t hear James shouting her name—”Ingrid! Ingrid!”—nor did she see the doctor block his path.

“You can’t go in there. Wait here.”

James slumped onto the connected chairs outside the intensive care unit, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. She saw none of it. She was lost in a relentless rush of light, longing only for the motion to stop, for stillness to claim her.

***

She had performed in a short comedy skit at the university’s International Women’s Day celebration, playing a student who’d shown up unprepared for an exam and tried to talk her way out of it. The audience roared with laughter, clapping wildly. Later, during the dancing, James had asked her.

“You were brilliant up there—like a proper actress,” he said, his admiration genuine as he gazed at her.

“I wasn’t even supposed to be in it. Emma backed out last minute, scared stiff. I was so nervous I forgot my lines, had to improvise. I was shaking the whole time.” Her eyes still sparkled with adrenaline.

“Could’ve fooled me. You looked completely in control. It was brilliant. You’re in the wrong profession.”

After the dance, he walked her back to halls and, awkwardly, kissed her cheek. James still lived with his parents. They started dating, and within a month, they rented a small room from an elderly widow near campus. James had fought tooth and nail with his parents. Eventually, they relented, agreeing to help the young couple.

The old woman next door was hard of hearing, but they still turned the music up, just in case. Ingrid would remember those days as the happiest of her life.

“I love you,” James would whisper, breathless beside her.

“No, I love you more,” Ingrid murmured, pressing her cheek to his damp chest.

“Impossible. I love you even more than that.”

They delighted in the game. Later, they’d dream aloud—graduating in a year, finding work, buying a proper house, having children. A boy and a girl.

“No, first a girl, then a boy,” Ingrid insisted.

“Then another boy,” James added, kissing her.

They were certain no one had ever loved as deeply as they did.

Their happiness drew envy from classmates, while professors smiled wistfully, mourning their own lost youth. They’d seen countless couples like this, had been those couples once—now they were just ageing lecturers cramming the basics of medicine into flighty students’ heads.

After graduation, James and Ingrid worked in a city dental surgery for two years before moving to a private clinic run by a friend of James’s father. Another two years later, the friend opened a second clinic and put James in charge.

They earned well. James’s parents covered most of the mortgage. True to plan, Ingrid had a daughter first, then, three years later, while still on maternity leave, a son.

Weekends often saw the children whisked away to their grandparents, giving Ingrid and James time to rest and reconnect. A happy, thriving family. What more could anyone want?

When their son started school, Ingrid decided to return to work. Tired of being home, afraid of losing her professional edge.

“Why? I earn enough. Stay home, raise the kids,” James suddenly protested. “Let’s have another son. We’ll manage. Mum and Dad adore the grandkids, they’re still happy to help.”

But this time, pregnancy didn’t come. Ingrid blamed herself, spiralling into anxiety, visiting doctor after doctor, all of whom found nothing wrong.

“Stop worrying. If we had no children, I’d understand. But we’ve got two. And they’re perfect. There’s no reason to stress. Just relax,” James insisted.

She tried, but still, she begged to work.

“I don’t want you at my clinic,” James said flatly. “First, it’s unprofessional—husband and wife working together. Second, it’s been seven years. You’ve lost your skills. No clinic would hire you now.”

And so, the cracks began in their seemingly perfect life. Ingrid threw herself into the kids, the house. But when James’s parents took the children, the emptiness crushed her. One evening, she drank wine to dull the ache. It helped—the tension melted away. She fell asleep on the sofa, not hearing James return. When she woke the next morning, she realised he hadn’t come home at all. He answered on the third call.

“You didn’t come back last night—”

“I did. You were too drunk to notice.” His voice dripped with irritation—disgust, she thought.

“I had one glass! What else am I supposed to do? You won’t let me work, your parents took the kids—”

“I’ll call them to bring them back. I’ve got to go.” He hung up.

Ingrid hurled her phone against the wall, watching it shatter.

When had it all gone wrong? Everything had been perfect. When had their love cracked, when had life fractured like that phone? She paced the flat, rearranging objects mindlessly. She craved another drink but resisted—James’s parents would bring Sophie and Oliver back soon. No one could see her like this. But hours passed, darkness fell, the phone was broken. She drank again, passing out on the sofa.

She heard James return and stumbled to meet him. His polished, rested appearance struck her—she looked ragged in comparison.

“You look well. Doesn’t seem like you’ve been working two days straight or sleeping in your office. And that shirt’s new. I don’t remember it.”

He ignored her. Then, as if shoved, she blurted:

“Are you cheating? Why didn’t I see it sooner? That’s why you wouldn’t let me work—so I wouldn’t notice?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re drunk again.”

“One glass, and suddenly I’m an alcoholic?” Her voice rose.

The argument exploded. When James finally admitted it—yes, there was someone else, no, he didn’t want to come home to her—Ingrid slapped him with all her strength. He raised his hand in return.

“Do it. Hit me. Half the council’s your patient—they’d get you off. Marry her, then.”

She didn’t see it coming. His blow sent her reeling into the wall. Her jaw burned, but her pride, her heart—hurt worse.

He’d hit her. The man who’d once been so tender. She remembered their cramped room, the music turned up, their playful fights over who loved the other more. Now everything they’d dreamed of was real—but the love was gone, as if material comfort had been enough.

Ingrid tore off her wedding ring, flung open the window, and hurled it into the night. She waited for James to do the same. Then she saw his hand—bare.

“You…” She choked, the truth crushing her lungs. He’d been doing this for ages.

“You…” No words came.

“I’m tired of you. Look at yourself. What have you become? You’re not fit to care for the kids. Just a drunk, hysterical mess—”

Each word carved deeper, stealing her breath. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t inhale. Then the room tilted, James blurred, and darkness swallowed her.

***

Ingrid woke slowly. Even before opening her eyes, she knew she wasn’t home. The smells were sterile, clinical. Machines beeped nearby. Something pressed against her ribs, forcing air into her. She tried to open her eyes. The beeping quickened.

*Did I leave the fridge open? The food will spoil. The kids—*

Light seared her vision. She winced.

“She’s awake! Ingrid, can you hear me?” James’s voice, distant.

She tried to speak, but her lips were parched, her throat raw.

“You’re in hospital. You collapsed. Your heart stopped.”

She glanced up at the white ceiling. *Not dead, then.*

“You’re safe now.” He squeezed her hand—and darkness took her again.

When she next woke, breathing was agony, her chest weighted.

“James,” she rasped, barely audible.

“I’m here.” He clasped her hand.

And then she remembered—the shattered phone, the fight, the ring sailing into darkness, his fist.

“The ring…” she whispered.

“What ring?” He leaned closer.

“My wedding ring.”

“You threw it out. Doubt we’ll find it now. Doesn’t matter—I’ll buy you another.”

“Your ring.”

“Mine?” He frowned—sincerely? Then raised his hand. Gold glinted on his finger.

“Enough. She needs rest. Out.” A nurse’s voice. A needle pricked her arm.

Each day, she grew stronger, replaying the past like assembling a puzzle. A week later, James took her home—frail, thinnerAnd as she sat across from him at the kitchen table, the distance between them no longer measured in inches but in all the shattered words and broken promises, she wondered if love, once lost, could ever truly be found again.

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My Love for You is Unmatched