Hannah was flying on wings of happiness, finally reuniting with the love of her life. Her son had just graduated from school and been accepted into university. Now, at last, she and her husband could live together properly.
The very day her son left for his studies, she bought a bus ticket and set off to meet William. They had only been married two years, but it felt like they had known each other forever.
Their relationship had been anything but easy—slow to start, tough to maintain, but fate had promised them a happy future together. At least, Hannah was sure of it.
She and William had met eight years ago. Back then, she was still healing from her divorce and hesitant to let anyone in—until he came along. Even with him, she had been cautious. He’d had to work hard to convince her he wasn’t like her ex, Daniel.
After six months of dating, they moved in together. William left his tiny flat because there wouldn’t have been room for all three—Hannah had a ten-year-old son, Oliver. A good boy, though it took time for him to warm up to his stepfather.
Three years later, William began talking about marriage, but Hannah wasn’t keen. She thought the institution was outdated—no piece of paper could guard against betrayal. She was happy; why change anything?
At first, William respected her views, but eventually, he realized it wasn’t enough. He wanted to call Hannah his wife in every sense. It escalated until he gave her an ultimatum: marry or walk away.
His persistence irritated her. She chose to leave. For six months, they were apart.
During that time, William moved to another town for a lucrative job offer. He rarely visited home, only stopping by every other month to see his parents. Then, on one of those trips, he saw Hannah again.
She was strolling through the park, looking carefree—until their eyes met. In that instant, he saw it: she still loved him. And she couldn’t hide it.
They started seeing each other again, but long-distance this time. Sometimes she visited him, sometimes he visited her. Each meeting was planned meticulously yet filled with warmth and passion.
They usually met once a month, sometimes twice. William often asked her to move in with him—he’d even bought a two-bedroom flat (though the mortgage wasn’t paid off). Hannah wanted to, truly, but life kept getting in the way. Oliver was a teenager, needing constant oversight, and her mother, Margaret, had fallen ill, requiring care.
For over two years, Hannah tended to her mother until she finally recovered.
“She’ll live a while longer!” the doctor said cheerfully at her discharge.
Margaret no longer needed her, but Oliver started his GCSEs. He begged her not to make him switch schools, so she stayed—until he left for university.
That summer, before Oliver’s final year, Hannah and William finally married. Seeing the joy it brought him, she almost regretted not doing it sooner—but no use crying over spilled milk.
Now, they weren’t just dating—they were in a “commuter marriage,” separated by a few hundred miles.
Then, Oliver got into university. Proud as she was, Hannah knew the time had come to fix her personal life. She didn’t tell William she was moving in—she wanted to surprise him.
(Though, if she was honest, he probably suspected.)
She packed her suitcase, boarded the bus, and headed to him, imagining every detail: the lace lingerie she’d bought, the rose petals on the bedsheets, the dinner she’d make before he returned from work.
But it was she who got the surprise.
She unlocked his flat with her key—and froze. Staring back at her were bright blue eyes belonging to a young, red-haired girl.
“Who are you?” Hannah demanded.
“Oh! You must be Hannah. I’m Molly. Sorry, I’ll just—”
“Go? Go where? Who *are* you?”
“Please, don’t be upset. I’m William’s girlfriend.”
“His *what*? Are you mad?”
The world seemed to stop spinning.
“He’s a good man, and he loves you so much,” Molly babbled nervously.
“Loves me? So he’s living with another woman behind my back? How old are you—even twenty?”
“Just turned! We met by chance. I had nowhere to stay—he took me in. At first, we were just friends, but I fell for him. I know he doesn’t love me, never could—not when he has you. But he was lonely. I just… helped with that.”
Hannah couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She had never once suspected infidelity—no unfamiliar belongings, no signs. How was this possible?
Molly hurried on, “I’ll pack and leave. He didn’t know you were coming, so—”
“Wait. You’ve been here before?”
“…For a year and a half. Whenever you visit, I clear everything out—every hair, every trace. He never wanted to hurt you. He wouldn’t even let me touch your things.”
“And you think that makes it *better*?”
The door opened—William walked in, his expression stricken. Molly must have texted him.
“Hannah, love, this doesn’t mean anything—” He reached for her, but she shoved him away.
“A year and a half of lies—that’s your love?”
“You *told* her that?” William snapped at Molly. “How could you?”
“I didn’t know she was coming!”
“Neither did I!” He turned back to Hannah. “Sweetheart, she’s leaving now—we’ll talk—”
“Nothing to talk about. Molly, no need to go—*I* won’t be staying.”
“No! It’s you he needs—it’s always been you!”
“My place is wherever *I* decide!” Hannah grabbed her suitcase and walked out, fury and heartbreak choking her.
The entire trip home, she replayed it in her head. How could he do this? How could he juggle two women—one barely older than her son?
For weeks, she drowned in anger and self-loathing—because despite everything, she still loved him.
Then, a knock at her door.
Molly stood there, holding a cat carrier. Inside was Snowball—William’s beloved pet.
“I’m sorry to show up unannounced,” Molly said. “I got your address from William… before he passed.”
“What? *Passed?*”
“After you left… he was devastated. A week ago, he said he wasn’t coming back. I thought he was joking—but then… there was an accident. I think he did it on purpose. I’m so sorry.” She held out the carrier. “Snowball… I didn’t know who else to give her to. Will you take her?”
Numb, Hannah took the cat. The grief crushed her. The tears came uncontrollably.
Then—
“Miss, wake up—we’re here!”
Hannah jolted awake. The bus driver was shaking her shoulder. She touched her damp cheeks.
*Just a dream… thank God.*
Yet doubt lingered—what if it had been a warning? She decided not to call ahead.
She arrived, unlocked his door with her key, and held her breath.
No Molly—just Snowball’s happy *meow*.
That evening, William came home to find Hannah in rose petals on fresh bedsheets—her surprise. His delight was unmistakable.
“I’m staying for good,” she said, wondering if she should tell him about the dream.
“Finally!” he beamed, blissfully unaware of the nightmare she’d lived through.
Sometimes, fear shows us what we stand to lose—but trust is the only way to keep it.
