“We didn’t waste time—we just took the long road to happiness,” said Faith, nestling closer to Roman.
Faith opened her eyes and stretched lazily. It was Sunday, the perfect day to lounge without a care.
When her husband died, friends and colleagues expected her to be inconsolable, drowning in grief. So, she wore the mask of a heartbroken widow. At work, they gave her leave to mourn her beloved husband properly.
Outsiders saw them as the perfect couple, but what really lay beneath—what skeletons lurked in their closets—was nobody’s business. No, she pitied Chris as a person cut down too soon, but not as a husband she loved.
Faith glanced at the framed photo on the shelf. Enough. Time to put it away. She’d kept it out before because visitors would look for it, searching for the face of the departed. But waking up to his smug, satisfied expression every day was too much. She tossed back the duvet, walked to the bookcase, and picked up the photo. For a moment, she studied his well-groomed face, the arrogance of a man who believed himself irresistible. How many women had fallen for that charm? She smirked.
“Had your fun, didn’t you? Think I’m weeping for you? Not a chance. Goodbye.” She slid the frame between the books. “There. That’s your place now—not in my life.” She brushed invisible dust from her hands and headed to the bathroom.
***
Years earlier, Faith had stepped out of the exam hall to find the corridor empty. She’d been the last to finish. From the side, an unremarkable young man appeared—a fellow applicant.
“So? How’d it go?” he asked.
“Top marks!” Faith couldn’t hide her delight.
“Guess we’ll be studying together, then,” he said with a smile.
“We still have to wait for the final lists—” Faith began, though she already knew she’d made it.
“Just a formality. You’ve aced it. So, celebrate with me?” His heart raced as he waited for her answer.
Faith considered it. Her parents were at work, she had nothing left to study, and no plans.
“Alright,” she agreed.
They wandered the city, ate ice cream, and ended up at the cinema.
At university, they were placed in different groups. Faith didn’t mind, but Roman was disappointed. They only saw each other during breaks or lectures, where he always sat beside her.
Once, Roman was late, and a charming, last-minute arrival—Christopher Dobson—took his seat. Faith almost said it was taken, but the professor walked in, notorious for his strictness. Rumor had it he’d fail anyone who rubbed him the wrong way.
Faith decided one lecture apart wouldn’t hurt.
“Shaw’s jealous. I can feel him burning a hole in my back,” Chris whispered, amused.
Faith turned. Roman sat at the back, watching them miserably.
“Gentlemen—and young lady—if you’re not interested, you may leave,” the professor snapped.
The whole room stared. Faith ducked her head over her notes.
“And now we’re done for. He’s memorized our faces,” Chris muttered, and they stifled laughter.
They were ejected. Waiting in the hall, Chris suggested the canteen. No point wasting time.
Chris was witty, knowledgeable. Faith admired his confidence. Even professors respected his sharp mind.
“Be careful with him, Faith. He’s a flirt,” Roman warned later.
“Jealous?” she teased.
“What if I am?”
“Roman, there’s nothing between us. It was just one lecture.”
But it didn’t stop there. Faith fell hard. Soon, they were inseparable. Everyone called them a couple; her parents assumed they’d marry. Chris, with his effortless charm, won over even her mother.
They agreed not to rush into marriage—until Faith got pregnant. Chris took the news calmly.
“Cool. But how will we manage? What about our studies? Maybe… wait a bit?”
Faith agreed. But nausea struck at the worst times, leaving her exhausted. Eventually, she had an abortion. How could she raise a child while studying? They loved each other, had plans.
And Roman? Just a friend. He shared notes when she missed class, always there, unseen.
After graduation, they married. Chris’s father, a high-ranking official, gave them jobs. Chris climbed the ranks swiftly. Faith didn’t resent it—she was just the wife.
One lunch break, she walked into his office and caught him embracing a smug, pretty secretary. The woman smirked, unashamed, as if Faith were the intruder.
At home, Faith erupted.
“What’s the big deal? Men have flings. If you think otherwise, you’re naive. You’re my wife. I love you. She’s nothing.”
He fired the secretary—hired a plainer one—and Faith let it go.
Leave him? For what? Another man would be the same. So they played the perfect couple.
Then a “well-wisher” called: Chris had a child. Faith threatened to leave.
“Relax. A child changes nothing. I love you. I’m not letting you go.”
She could’ve left then. But she was scared. Still in love. Chris always got his way; Faith never had his strength. Maybe that’s why he cherished her.
He came home on time, gave her freedom she never used, sent her on solo holidays. When his father retired, Chris took over.
At the seaside, men swarmed. Most were married, lying for fun. Their attention grew tiresome. She returned home, relieved.
Chris sighed, envying her tan while he slaved at work. Both knew the truth: he hadn’t been working.
They remained the envy of others. Yet Faith often watched families in the park with a pang.
She told herself every marriage had problems. Theirs weren’t the worst. A decade of love, then cohabitation.
It might’ve continued—until the police called.
“Found? What do you mean?”
No more tip-offs about Chris’s affairs. Had he stopped, or just gotten sneakier?
“Your husband died of a heart attack. His companion called an ambulance but vanished. We’re investigating…”
Sympathy poured in. Faith played the grieving widow. Chris’s father buried the scandal—no headlines about the singer he’d died with.
The thought disgusted her. She grieved only in public, sparingly.
***
Faith freshened up, sipped her morning coffee. Sunlight poured in. She was free—free of Chris, his lies, the charade.
The doorbell rang. Another pitying visitor?
“Can I help you?” she asked the man on her doorstep. Something familiar about him…
“You don’t remember me.” He feigned hurt. “Roman. Roman Ashford.” He smiled. “Your milestone birthday’s coming up. I’m in town for work—thought I’d stop by. Is Chris home?”
Now she recognized him. Older, distinguished—a professor, she learned.
“Come in. Chris died two months ago.”
“What?!”
“Heart attack.”
Inside, they talked over tea.
“You’re holding up well. No sign of the grieving widow. Grown kids, I suppose?”
“None. I had an abortion. Chris had two—by other women.”
Roman was stunned. “You’re so calm?”
“Everyone thought we were perfect. Maybe we were. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
“He cheated, and you stayed?”
“That’s life.”
“No, Faith. That’s not how it works.”
“Then what, you’d have been better?”
“No. If I had, you’d have married me.”
She studied him.
He visited often—too often for coincidence. One trip, he proposed.
“We’re not kids. I’ve always cared for you. If I lost you to Chris back then, now you’re free—”
“Roman, I don’t want love. Just peace.”
He understood. But he kept coming.
A year passed.
Faith finally visited the country house, planning to sell.
No traces of police or the other woman remained. The neighbor must’ve cleaned up.
She wandered, opened windows. Spring air rushed in. The trees glowed green. Beautiful—but she’d sell. Too much for one.
That evening, a car pulled up. Roman, with flowers. This time, her heart lifted.
Maybe it was the house, the lingering energy of Chris’s affairs, or just spring—but she noticed the way Roman looked at her. Her pulse quickened.
Lying in his arms that night, she smiled.
“All those wasted years. Why did I marry Chris? You warned me. I loved you. Even when I married someone else, I knew we’d find each other.”
“Don’t rush me.”
“Still mourning? Like some Victorian widow?”
She laughed. “Not for Chris. I need to understand myself. I was a coward.”
“I’ve thought a lot. I was obsessed with Chris. Maybe I needed that. If I’d married you”But now I know—sometimes the longest roads lead us exactly where we belong.”
