Hannah was on her way to the man she loved, carried by the wings of happiness. At last, their son had finished school and enrolled in university. Now she and her husband could finally live together.
The very day she sent their son off to study, she bought a bus ticket and set off to see Stephen. They’d only been married two years, but it felt like they’d known each other forever.
Their relationship had seen everything—rocky beginnings, tough stretches, but fate now promised them a happy future. At least, Hannah was certain of it.
They’d met eight years ago. She’d barely recovered from her divorce from her first husband and hadn’t let anyone close—until she met Stephen. Even then, she’d hesitated. It took effort on his part to convince her he wasn’t like her ex, David.
They dated for six months before moving in together. Stephen came to live with her since his tiny flat couldn’t fit three people—Hannah had a ten-year-old son. A sweet boy, but it took time for him to warm up to his stepfather.
After three years together, Stephen began thinking about marriage, but Hannah wasn’t keen. To her, official stamps meant nothing—they didn’t guard against betrayal. She was happy as things were.
Stephen tried to accept her stance but soon realised it wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to call her his wife in every sense. Eventually, he gave her an ultimatum: marry or part ways.
Hannah bristled at his persistence and chose to leave. They separated for half a year. In that time, Stephen moved to another city after a friend offered him a lucrative job. He rarely returned, just the occasional visit to his parents. During one such trip, he ran into Hannah again.
She was strolling through the park, looking carefree—until their eyes met. In that moment, the truth was clear: she still loved him.
They rekindled their relationship, now long-distance. Sometimes she visited him; sometimes he came to her. Each meeting was planned, yet filled with warmth and passion.
They saw each other once a month, sometimes twice. Stephen often asked her to move in—he’d bought a two-bedroom flat, though the mortgage wasn’t fully paid. Hannah wanted to, but life kept pulling her back—their teenage son needed her, and then her mother fell ill, needing constant care.
Two years later, her mother recovered. “You’ve got years left!” the doctor cheerfully declared at her final check-up. Though no longer burdened by her mother, their son was in his final school years, pleading to stay until graduation. Hannah conceded.
That summer, before their son started sixth form, she and Stephen finally married. Seeing his joy, she regretted not doing it sooner—but no use crying over spilled milk.
Now, their relationship wasn’t just dating—it was a commuter marriage, separated by miles.
At last, their son started university. Proud as she was, Hannah also knew it was time to focus on her own life. She didn’t tell Stephen she was coming—she wanted it to be a surprise.
He likely suspected, but she kept the date to herself. Packing a suitcase, she boarded the bus, imagining the look on his face. She’d bought lace lingerie, scattered rose petals on fresh sheets, and planned a candlelit dinner.
Lost in thought, she didn’t notice the journey passing—until she arrived. Keys in hand, she opened the door—only to freeze in shock. A red-haired girl stared back at her, blue eyes wide.
“Who are you?” Hannah demanded.
“Vera. Oh—you must be Hannah. Sorry, I’ll go!”
“Go? Who *are* you?”
“Don’t be upset. I’m your husband’s girlfriend!”
Hannah’s world tilted. “*Girlfriend?* Are you out of your mind?”
Vera, barely twenty, babbled nervously. They’d met when she had nowhere to stay—Stephen took her in. What started as friendship turned into something more. She insisted he still loved Hannah but struggled with loneliness.
Hannah reeled. A year and a half of deceit. How had she missed it?
Stephen arrived, distraught. “Hannah, this means nothing. I only love you!”
She shoved him away. “A year and a half of lies—*that’s* your love?”
Vera left in a flurry of apologies. Hannah stormed out, heartbroken, and returned home.
For months, she wrestled with anger and grief. Then, one day, Vera appeared at her door—holding Stephen’s cat, Marshmallow.
“He’s gone,” Vera whispered. After Hannah left, Stephen grew despondent. A week ago, he’d said he wouldn’t return—then died in an accident. Vera was sure it was deliberate.
Hannah collapsed under the weight of the news. She took the cat, tears streaming. The world stopped—
“Miss, wake up—we’re here!”
Hannah jolted awake. The bus driver shook her shoulder. Her face was wet with tears. *Just a dream,* she thought. *Thank God.*
Yet doubt lingered. What if it was a warning?
She decided not to announce her arrival. Keys trembling, she opened Stephen’s door—and was greeted only by Marshmallow’s happy meow.
That evening, Stephen came home to find her among rose petals, wearing new lingerie. His joy was unmistakable.
“I’m staying,” she said, smiling—wondering if she should ever tell him about the dream.
“Finally!” he breathed, oblivious to the heartache she’d endured in her sleep.
The lesson? Some fears exist only in the mind—but trust, once shattered, leaves shadows. Not every truth needs telling.
