“We didn’t waste time; we just took the long way to happiness,” said Hope, pulling herself closer to Roman.
Hope opened her eyes and stretched lazily. It was Sunday—no need to rush.
When her husband died, friends and colleagues expected her to be heartbroken, drowning in tears. So, she put on the mask of a grieving widow. At work, they gave her leave to mourn properly.
Outwardly, they were the perfect couple. What lay beneath—the hidden skeletons—concerned no one. Of course, she pitied Kevin as she would any man taken too soon. But not as a husband she loved.
Hope glanced at the framed photo on the shelf. Time to put it away. She’d kept it there before for visitors who’d search for it while offering sympathy.
Waking up every day to his smug, self-satisfied face was too much. She tossed the blanket aside, walked to the bookshelf, and picked up the photo. For a moment, she studied his well-groomed, confident smirk—the face of a man certain of his charm. How many women had fallen for it? She scoffed.
“Well? Got what you deserved, didn’t you? Think I’m mourning you? Dream on. Goodbye.” She slid the frame between books. “That’s where you belong now—not in my life.” She dusted off her hands and headed to the bathroom.
***
When Hope left the exam hall after her final test, the corridor was empty—she’d been the last. From the side, an unremarkable young man emerged—someone else applying to the same university.
“How’d it go?” he asked.
“Full marks!” she beamed.
“Looks like we’ll be studying together.” He smiled back.
“We still have to wait for the official lists,” she said, though she already knew she’d made it.
“Just a formality. You only got one B. You’re in.”
“When will they post the results?”
“Day after tomorrow. I checked. Fancy celebrating?” His heart pounded as he waited.
Her parents were at work, she had no more studying, nothing else to do.
“Let’s go.”
They wandered the city, ate ice cream, then caught a film.
They ended up in different study groups. Hope didn’t mind—but Roman did. Now they only met between lectures, where he always sat beside her.
Once, Roman was late, and Kevin Dobson slipped into his seat at the last second. Hope nearly said it was taken, but the professor arrived—a strict man rumored to fail students he disliked.
Hope shrugged. One lecture apart wouldn’t hurt.
“Shaw’s jealous. I can feel him burning a hole in my back,” Kevin whispered, amused.
She glanced back. Roman sat in the last row, staring gloomily.
“Gentlemen—and young lady—if you’re not interested, you may leave,” the professor snapped. The whole room turned. Hope ducked her head over her notes.
“He’s taken a mental photo of us,” Kevin muttered, and they stifled giggles.
They were thrown out anyway. They waited in the hall, then Kevin suggested the canteen—why waste time?
Kevin was clever, witty, confident. Even the lecturers respected him.
“Be careful with him, Hope. He’s a player,” Roman warned later.
“Jealous?” she teased.
“What if I am?”
“Roman, there’s nothing between us. One lecture together isn’t a scandal.”
But it didn’t stop there. Hope fell hard for Kevin. Soon, everyone called them a couple; her parents treated them as engaged. Charming, smooth-talking Kevin had even won over her mother. Women of any age adored him.
They agreed not to rush marriage—until Hope got pregnant. To her surprise, Kevin took it calmly.
“Cool, I’ll be a dad. But how’ll we afford it? And our studies? Maybe…we wait? It’s early yet.”
She agreed. There was time. But morning sickness struck at the worst moments, leaving her exhausted. In the end, she had an abortion. How could she study with a baby? They were in love, building their future.
Roman? Just a friend. He lent her notes when she missed class. Always there, unnoticed.
After graduation, they married. Kevin’s father, a high-ranking official, hired them both. Kevin rose quickly. Hope didn’t resent it—his father was helping his son. She was just the wife.
Once, during lunch, she walked into his office and found him entangled with his smug, pretty secretary. The woman smirked, unashamed, as if Hope was the intruder.
At home, Hope erupted.
“What’s the big deal? All men have flings. If you think otherwise, you’re naive. You’re my wife. I love *you*. She’s nothing.”
He fired the secretary—replaced her with someone plainer. Hope let it go.
Leave Kevin for what? A temporary upgrade? They kept up appearances—the perfect power couple.
Then a “well-wisher” called: Kevin had a child with another woman. Again, she threatened to leave.
“Hope, relax. So there’s a kid. It doesn’t change *us*. I love *you*. I’m not divorcing you.”
She should’ve left then. But she was scared. Still in love. Kevin always got his way; Hope never stood firm. Maybe that’s why he kept her. Two strong personalities would’ve clashed.
He came home on time, gave her freedom she never used. Sent her on solo holidays. By then, his father retired, and Kevin took over.
Beach resorts teemed with married men lying about being single. Their attention flattered—for a week. Then it grated. She’d return happily to Kevin, their expensive flat, their life.
He’d sigh, envying her tan, claiming work kept him from the beach. She knew better. He knew she knew.
Outsiders still saw the dream couple. Hope often envied families pushing prams in the park.
She consoled herself: every marriage has its troubles. They were roommates at best—but so were most couples. Passion fades after ten years.
It might’ve stayed that way—until the police called two months ago. They’d found Kevin at their country house.
“Found him? What do you mean?”
The “well-wishers” had stopped calling. Maybe he’d stopped cheating—or gotten sneakier. Hope pretended all was well. Easier that way.
“Your husband died of a heart attack. His companion…” The inspector hesitated. “Called an ambulance, then vanished. We couldn’t save him. In sudden deaths, we investigate…”
Sympathy poured in. She played the grieving widow. Kevin’s father hushed it up—the “companion,” a minor celebrity, stayed out of the papers.
The thought of Kevin dying mid-affair disgusted her. Or had he? She didn’t want to know. Her mourning was for show—restrained, even then.
***
Hope tidied up, sipped her morning coffee. Spring sunlight poured through the windows. She was free—free of Kevin, his lies, the charade.
The doorbell rang. Another sympathy visit, she assumed.
“Can I help you?” she asked the man on her step.
“Don’t recognize me?” He feigned hurt. “Roman. Roman Ashford.” He smiled, studying her face. “Your birthday’s coming up. I’m in town for work, thought I’d drop by. Is Kevin home?”
Now she remembered. Roman—older, glasses, professor-like. Because he *was* a professor now.
“Come in.” She stepped aside. “Kevin died two months ago.”
“What?!”
“Heart attack. Just—come inside. It’s been years. I’m glad you’re here.”
“You’re holding up well. You look great. Not the picture of a grieving widow. Kids grown up, I suppose?”
They talked over tea.
“No kids. I had an abortion at uni. Kevin had two—with different women.”
“You’re so calm about it?”
“Everyone thought we were perfect. Maybe we were. It stopped hurting long ago.”
“He cheated, and you stayed?”
“That’s life.”
“No, it’s not. That’s madness.”
“Please. You think you’d have been better?”
“Maybe. If I had been, you’d have married *me*,” he said suddenly.
She studied him.
He started visiting often—”work trips,” he claimed. One day, he proposed.
“We’re adults. I’ve always fancied you. Back then, I stepped aside. Now you’re free…”
“Roman, I don’t want more complications. Got used to being alone—even with Kevin. Just want peace now.”
He dropped it—but kept visiting.
A year passed.
Hope hadn’t been to the country house since Kevin’s death. Now, she went to check it before selling.
No traces of the police or “companion” remained. The neighbor must’ve cleaned up. She’d thank her later.
For now, she opened windows,As she walked back inside, Roman’s laughter echoed from the kitchen, and for the first time in years, Hope realized she was exactly where she belonged.
