Love is that one thing every human soul hunger for. It is the invisible thread that pulls people through despair, the spark that lights up the darkest nights, the balm that steadies trembling hearts. Without it, life becomes a shadow of itself cold, heavy, and stripped of meaning. Yet love, in all its beauty, is rarely simple. Sometimes it arrives like sunlight through open windows, gentle and expected. Other times, it comes like a storm wild, destructive, and impossible to resist.
There are those whose lives have been marked by cruelty, their hearts scarred and shuttered from the world. They walk through life carrying silence, pain buried so deep it threatens to swallow them whole. And yet, even in those broken places, love finds a way to seep through the cracks. It reaches for what is hidden, brushes against wounds that seem beyond healing, and whispers that even the most shattered heart is worthy of being seen.
To love someone burdened with shadows is to stand before a storm and take one step closer, knowing the winds may break you. It is to choose hope when despair would be easier. It is terrifying, reckless, and irresistibly human. And maybe, just maybe, that is what love truly is.
The cursor blinked on her laptop as the class platform streamed her voice across the screen. It was her turn to present, and she spoke carefully, every word of her speech echoing into the quiet of her little room.
Afternoon light slanted through Agnes's small bedroom window, warm and mellow, casting long shadows across her desk where books and notebooks lay scattered
Her phone rang, breaking the silence. The name on the screen made her breath hitch, Jackson. Even after months of being together, seeing his name still sent warmth rushing through her veins, as though her heart recognized him before her mind did.
"Hi, babe," Agnes answered, her lips curving into a smile she couldn't contain.
"Hi, sweetie," Jackson's deep voice flowed through the speaker, calm yet threaded with concern. "Wait, have you eaten?"
It was such a typical Jackson question. He was always checking on her, always worrying whether she cared for herself as much as she cared for everything else. His protectiveness was one of the things that had drawn her to him, making her feel treasured in ways she hadn't known were possible.
"No, babe. I'm still studying," Agnes admitted, brushing her pen aside. "You know these online courses drain time. But I'll eat soon, promise."
He chuckled softly, the sound both stern and affectionate. "You're still in class? Then kindly step outside. A motorcyclist should be at your gate right now with something for you. I knew you wouldn't take care of my wife properly, so I had to step in."
The word my wife sent heat to her cheeks. It was both playful and overwhelming, as if he was speaking of a future already written in his heart.
"Aww, stop it," Agnes protested lightly, though her pulse raced. "You're too much sometimes. I was in the middle of presenting, Jackson. And you should be thinking about innovations at your workplace, not spoiling me like this."
But Jackson was immovable when it came to caring for her. His tone carried a stubborn tenderness that made argument impossible. "If you want me focused at work, then make sure my wife is well fed. Otherwise, I'll keep handling it. Anyway, I see the notification, he's already there. Go pick it up."
Her eyes stung with sudden tears, that familiar heaviness of being loved pressing into her chest. "Baby… Thank you. I lo.."
He interrupted quickly, almost urgently, as though he couldn't let her finish. "No, it's me who loves you. I love you now, and forever, my sweetie."
The words washed over her like sunlight. Agnes bit her lip, whispering back, "Now and forever, babe."
"Good girl," he said gently. "Take care. I'll call you after work."
"Alright, Daddy," she teased, using the nickname that always made him chuckle.
When the call ended, Agnes hurried outside. The delivery man was waiting with a warm bag of food that smelled like heaven, her favourite meal from the little restaurant she and Jackson had discovered on their third date. Inside, tucked neatly beside the containers, was a folded note in Jackson's handwriting:
''For my brilliant wife to be. Fuel that beautiful mind. – J''.
Her smile lingered as she carried the food to the small garden behind her apartment building. There, her best friend and chosen sister, Katia, was already waiting.
"Goodness, girl! This food, this is love, this man.. are you sure you didn't bribe heaven?
dramatically. Her eyes gleamed with envy and amusement, though the laughter in her tone was genuine.
Agnes laughed, shaking her head. "Stop it, K. You're about to start your usual speech again. Let's just eat before submission time catches us, baby girl."
"I have no worries at all," Katia replied, winking. "My brilliant bestie makes life so much easier."
Their friendship was a bond welded in sleepless nights and shared dreams, the kind of closeness that made them feel less like friends and more like sisters.
"By the way," Agnes asked carefully, "how's Jimmy? Still having those misunderstandings?"
Katia's cheerful expression dimmed. "I told him that if I catch him cheating again, I'm done."
Agnes studied her face, reluctant to believe the worst. "But K… Jimmy always looks innocent to me. Does he really cheat?"
Katia gave a bitter laugh. "Maybe your Jackson is the innocent one. Because that man of yours? He's too perfect. I don't even know how you two avoid fighting."
As if summoned, the garden gate opened. A delivery man appeared, this time carrying a bouquet of white roses and baby's breath. Agnes's breath caught Jackson again. She returned with the flowers, face glowing.
"How can we argue? He's perfect to me. Honestly, I'm the most blessed girl alive."
Katia sighed, both happy and wistful. "Lucky you, bestie. Thank God you found yours. Meanwhile, Jimmy and I? We fight like two rival parties trapped in one country. Our love is a jungle."
Agnes squeezed her hand. "Then let me take you out tonight. Just us."
Katia rolled her eyes dramatically, masking her true delight. "You always treat me like I'm pitiful. Fine. I'll come but only because you begged."
Agnes grinned. "Perfect. Let's finish these assignments, then boom!! Tonight is ours."
Meanwhile, across the city, in the quiet suburb where Agnes had grown up, Marina Gates sat in her home office, her posture calm and commanding as she studied the couple seated across from her. They had come to her at the breaking point of their marriage, their voices sharp with frustration, their silences heavier still. The room around them was a sanctuary she had crafted with care, a place meant to ease tension and invite honesty. Soft light filtered through sheer curtains, blurring the edges of the outside world and casting a warm glow over polished wooden floors and neatly arranged furniture. Along the walls, shelves bowed under the weight of psychology texts and volumes on love, marriage, and human behavior books that had been read, reread, and marked with her handwritten notes. Between the rows of books, she had placed family photographs: birthday cakes with flickering candles, tiny hands clutching school diplomas, smiles that had grown and matured over time. In each frame, her twin daughters appeared again and again Agnes and Iris, her pride, her joy, her greatest testimony that love, despite its hardships, could bloom into something enduring. Every detail in the room spoke not just of professionalism but of the heart of the woman who sat there: a mother, a counsellor, a believer in second chances, even when her clients could no longer see them.
At fifty two, Marina possessed the kind of calm authority that came from years of helping others navigate their darkest moments. Her voice carried the weight of experience as she addressed the couple sitting rigidly apart on her sofa.
Marina folded her hands in her lap and leaned forward. Her tone was not harsh, but it carried the weight of truth.
"Marriage is not a business," she said. "It is not a contract you can abandon when profits run low. It is the heart of a family. And tell me, if the heart in your body breaks, can the rest of you survive?"
The husband, shoulders tense, let his jaw loosen. "No."
"Exactly," Marina said. Her eyes moved between them, sharp yet compassionate. "Then why do you treat your marriage as if it is replaceable? You must protect the heart. Your children are watching, absorbing every word, every wound you create. Do you want them to grow up carrying the poison you feed them?"
Silence stretched. The wife, who had been holding her arms like a shield, lowered them. Her eyes shimmered. "No," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I don't want my children to carry this."
The husband turned to her quickly, as though afraid she might vanish. His voice cracked with urgency. "I love you. I've been stubborn, but please don't leave me. I'll change. Just… forgive me."
Tears slipped down her cheeks. "I love you too. I'll fight for this. From today, I promise."
Marina's lips curved in a soft smile. To see two people clinging to one another after drifting so far apart was a miracle she never tired of. She stood, walking them to the door.
"Now," she said with gentle humor, "which of you will take the other to dinner tonight?"
They both laughed through their tears, speaking at once. "Me!"
As they left hand in hand, Marina exhaled a quiet prayer: May this peace last. May love win again.
Her house settled into silence, but in her heart, she carried the echo of hope.
As the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose, Jackson was driving home through the familiar streets of the city. The radio played softly, old jazz standards that reminded him of quieter times. At thirty-one, Jackson Reynolds carried himself with the kind of calm maturity that drew people to him. His handsome features were complemented by an air of capability, of being someone who could handle whatever life threw his way.
Lost in thought about work and his evening plans, Jackson's attention was caught by two familiar young women walking along the sidewalk. Even from a distance, he could recognize Agnes's distinctive laugh and the animated way Katia gestured when she talked.
Agnes spotted the car at the same moment, her eyes widening with something that looked almost like panic. "I'm dead! That's Jackson!" she whispered in a tone that mingled panic with delight.
Katia, following her friend's gaze, squinted toward the dark sedan slowing along the street. "Are you absolutely sure?" she asked, her voice half-disbelief, half-wonder.
"More than sure!" Agnes hissed, her voice trembling with an emotion Jackson couldn't yet place from his vantage point.
Then came the scene that would lodge itself in Jackson's memory. Without a second thought, the two women clasped hands and broke into a sprint, racing away from him as though fleeing some grand, invisible danger. Jackson laughed aloud, a rich, unexpected sound that merged with the fading evening. They were charmingly reckless, unselfconscious, caught in the simple, innocent thrill of youth like two rebels against the world, if only for a moment.
He could have followed them, called out, and interrupted their flight. But he didn't. Instead, he allowed himself the small pleasure of observing, of letting Agnes and Katia exist fully in their own adventures. Friendships, he thought, required freedom, the small rebellions, the stolen moments of joy that made life sweet.
By the time the pair reached their destination a trendy bar that shimmered with cozy warmth, laughter, and the subtle clink of glasses Agnes was still jittery from the encounter.
"Are you sure he didn't see us?" she asked for what seemed like the third time, her phone trembling slightly in her hand.
Katia struck a pose so confident it bordered on theatrical. "Agnes, darling, I am the queen of this city tonight! You should have full trust in me!"
Before Agnes could respond, Katia's phone erupted with insistent buzzing. The display read: Stress Supplier.
Agnes tilted her head, confused. "Stress Supplier? What is that?"
Katia rolled her eyes with exaggerated annoyance. "The one who provides all my unnecessary drama… Jimmy." She waved the phone as though it were an irritating insect. "Yes, him."
She answered with a boldness that could intimidate most, her voice slicing through the tension. "What is it now?"
"Baby, where are you? I can see you're not at home! Where are you?" Jimmy's voice was thick with suspicion and worry.
Katia's reply was immediate, sharp, and unapologetically dramatic. "Ah ah! So because you cheat, you assume I'm like you? Brilliant logic, darling!"
"I'm asking where you are, Katia!" Jimmy persisted, frustration bleeding through the line.
Katia's laugh was a tempest of defiance. "Fine! I'm on a date! Happy now? Goodbye!" She ended the call with the flourish of a prima donna, then slid the phone facedown onto the table as though it were a conquered foe.
Agnes could only stare, a mix of amusement and exasperation painting her features. This was Katia in full force—fierce, theatrical, and absolutely unafraid to wage war with anyone who dared question her.
Meanwhile, across town, Jimmy sat beside his friend Sam in his modest apartment, tension tightening his chest. The moment the call ended, Sam shook his head knowingly, a practiced weariness in his eyes.
"I already know what comes next," Sam said with a sigh. "Track her number, follow her direction. Every single time."
"You're late!" Jimmy shot back, fumbling for his keys.
As they navigated the evening streets, Sam attempted his usual dose of reluctant wisdom. "Bro… does Katia love you as much as you love her? Be honest."
Jimmy's grip on the wheel tightened. His eyes traced the glowing lines of streetlights, each one flickering like a silent question in the night. "Yes, she does. She just doesn't show it in ways that are easy to see. Some relationships aren't obvious. If you truly love someone, Sam… sometimes love hides in the quiet endurance, in staying even when everything seems against you."
Sam nodded slowly, understanding the logic though not the heartache. "I get it, bro. I really do. And I admire how fiercely you protect her. One day, she'll see it too."
Jimmy's voice dropped to a tender, almost reverent tone. "I'll protect her at any cost. She doesn't care about money. She stays because of me, the real me. That's enough."
Back at the bar, Agnes and Katia had finally settled into a corner booth, surrounded by warm golden light and the soft hum of conversation. For a moment, Agnes allowed herself to forget the world, to revel in laughter, friendship, and freedom, the magic of youth.
"K, Jimmy's calling again!" Agnes said, her eyes flicking to Katia's phone.
Katia, ever the drama queen, threw herself into an impromptu performance. Arms wide, voice soaring, she sang: "Don't buzz my phone! Ne me dérange pas! Just let me be!"
Agnes doubled over in laughter, tears brimming at the edges of her eyes. "God, you're something else." She reached for her own phone. "I should call Jackson. He'll be worried."
"Hello, Ba…." Agnes had just begun when Jackson's voice cut through, firm and impatient. "Come here in one hour," he interrupted, not waiting for her reply. The line went dead with a sharp click, leaving Agnes staring at the phone in silence.
Outside the bar, Jimmy and Sam watched from their car, hidden but unwilling to blink. Through the large windows, they saw Katia move like a flame, wild, radiant, untamed.
"She's beautiful… with a soul that shines," Sam murmured.
Jimmy's jaw tightened. "Yes. But she doesn't have to see me. She might kill me if she does. Let's go, Sam. Now."
On the other side of the city, in a modern apartment filled with the glow of multiple computer screens, Bella was finally arriving home from another long day at her IT job. Her fingers were still slightly cramped from hours of coding, and her eyes burned from staring at monitors. She possessed the kind of sharp intelligence that made complex systems seem simple, but tonight she felt drained.
The apartment she shared with her best friend Iris was quiet when she entered, filled only with the soft sounds of someone working out. Bella found Iris in their makeshift home gym, really nothing more than a cleared space in the living room, but one that Iris had transformed into her little sanctuary of discipline. Sweat clung to her temples, her breathing still uneven from what looked like an intense workout.
"Hey," Bella called, her voice light but edged with exhaustion as she let her bag fall carelessly onto a chair. She stretched her arms high above her head, vertebrae popping in a satisfying release.
Iris lifted her gaze from the yoga mat, her face flushed from exertion. Even in that raw, unpolished moment hair messy, cheeks bright she moved with a natural poise Bella had always secretly envied. "Yes, baby girl," Iris said warmly. "Are you all right?"
Bella let herself collapse onto the couch with theatrical exaggeration. "I'm alive, but my day was so damn long. I swear, it nearly swallowed me whole."
Iris chuckled, the sound soft and knowing. With the efficiency of habit, she began folding the mat and stacking her equipment neatly in the corner. "Mm. What happened this time?"
The rhythm of their evening routine unfolded almost instinctively. Soon, Iris migrated to the kitchen, where the clatter of pans and the aroma of sizzling garlic replaced the silence of the room. Bella sprawled across the couch, the television playing a romantic comedy that neither of them was really watching. The screen flickered, its laughter and dialogue serving more as background noise than entertainment.
"So," Bella teased after a while, her eyes following Iris as she moved between stove and counter. "What did you achieve today? And be quick about it, I already know it's going to be the same old story about goals crushed, bonuses earned, and coworkers bowing at your brilliance."
Iris glanced over her shoulder, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. "Actually, today isn't about me. It's about you."
Bella frowned slightly, thrown off. "About me? What do you mean?"
Her tone shifted then, shedding the playful banter. "I've been looking for him," Bella said, her voice steady and serious now. "And guess what? Don't worry, love, soon we're going to find him."
The effect on Iris was instant. Her careful composure cracked open, and tears spilled freely down her face. They weren't the bitter tears of sorrow but something more fragile tears born of sudden hope, of a door opening that she had almost stopped knocking on. Relief quivered through her body like a long withheld breath finally released.
"Oh, Bella…" Iris whispered, choking on her own voice. "You brilliant, impossible girl. I swear, I'll give you a cow for this."
Bella's laughter rang through the room, breaking the heavy air like sunlight cutting through clouds. "A cow? Please. We both know you're too stingy for that. You can't even commit to planning a simple girls' picnic without declaring it a financial burden."
"Picnic money is a waste," Iris protested, laughing through her tears as she wiped her cheeks. "Better to save it and one day invest in something real. But still, an IT girl who can vibe? That's rare. Most of them hide behind their screens like ghosts. But you, you're different. You're something else entirely."
Bella smirked, leaning back with mock pride. "Guess I'm the upgraded model, the new generation of IT people. So? Are you satisfied now?"
Iris's laughter softened into something tender. "More than satisfied," she said gently. "Always."
Yet beneath the laughter, the shadow of their truth remained. For months, Bella had been chasing traces of a man from Iris's past, a man whose existence had left wounds still healing, scars that flared up whenever his name lingered in the air.
"He's changed everything," Bella said, her voice slipping into the sharp, analytical cadence she used when untangling complex problems. "New name, new records, a whole different identity. Look."
She flipped open her laptop. The glow lit both their faces, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow. Iris leaned closer, her pulse quickening, but the image area remained blank.
"There's nothing there," she whispered.
"There won't be," Bella replied, her tone grave. "You can't see his pictures unless you gain access to his private details. He's someone powerful now. Crossing that line could cost you more than you're ready for. It could cost your freedom."
Iris sank back, the hope that had bloomed moments ago now tempered by reality. "I understand," she murmured. Her voice trembled with something heavier. "But Bella… I still need justice. And more than that, I miss my twin. I miss her like a phantom limb. Every day is incomplete without her."
The mention of her sister was like a key turning in an old lock. The ache that surfaced on Iris's face was deeper than grief; it was absence itself, a hollow carved where half her soul should have been.
Bella reached across the space between them, taking Iris's hand firmly in her own. The warmth of the touch grounded them both.
"First we handle this," Bella said quietly, her words more vow than comfort. "Then you'll see her. But not like this. You'll meet her when your heart isn't this broken, when you're whole again. That's the only way it should happen."
Iris closed her eyes, holding tightly to Bella's hand as if it were the only anchor keeping her from drifting away. "For real," she whispered. But in her voice lingered a fragile doubt, the uncertainty of someone who desperately wanted to believe in healing, even if she wasn't sure she could.
On the other side of the city, Jackson had been waiting outside Agnes's apartment building for precisely some minutes. The engine of his car hummed quietly, headlights dimmed, his figure half-shadowed beneath the orange glow of the streetlamps. He sat rigidly behind the wheel, his posture taut, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked carved from stone.
When Agnes finally appeared, hurrying down the steps, she noticed immediately that something in him had changed. His usual calm composure was absent, replaced by a coiled energy she couldn't quite name.
"Babe, where were you?" Jackson asked as she slipped into the passenger seat. His voice was level, but there was an undercurrent to it sharp, restrained, like a thread stretched too tight.
Agnes forced a small smile, trying to ease the tension. "Baby, I was out with Katia, my best friend. You know her. It was for good reasons."
Jackson's hands tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles whitening. His eyes, usually warm, held a storm. "Why did you have to hide from me? Do you always hide things from me?"
The questions came quickly, like blows, accusations disguised as curiosity. Agnes felt her stomach knot. Anger, sharp and defensive, flared in her chest.
"Stop, babe! You don't talk to me like that!" she snapped, her own voice rising without meaning to.
Jackson turned toward her, his expression hard, almost foreign. "Oh? And how should I talk then? I'm a man, Agnes. My job is to protect you from whatever's out there, from whoever. You understand? Next time, tell me before you go anywhere. I need to know, all right?"
For a moment, Agnes just stared at him, stunned. The words felt surreal, like hearing them from a stranger. This wasn't Jackson; she knew the patient man who listened without judgment, who had always treated her like an equal, not like someone under watch.
Her chest tightened with confusion, but she swallowed her anger. "Okay, babe. Sure," she said softly, partly because she didn't want to escalate things further, partly because she saw something almost desperate in his eyes, a vulnerability buried beneath the anger.
At her compliance, Jackson's shoulders loosened, his expression softening as if a pressure valve had been released. His tone was gentle. "I'm heading back home now. Take care of yourself. And hey, remember to eat, my queen. Love you."
"Me more, honey," Agnes replied automatically, though the words came out hollow, carrying none of their usual warmth.
She stepped out of the car and watched as he drove away into the night, the taillights disappearing at the end of the street. For a long moment she stood there on the sidewalk, arms wrapped around herself, the night air chilling her skin.
The encounter replayed in her mind like a scene from a dream she couldn't shake. It was as if another man cold, suspicious, controlling, had slipped into Jackson's skin. The man she loved, the man she trusted, had been replaced by someone else, and Agnes was left wondering which version was real.
Meanwhile, across town, Marina wandered through the bustling local market, the vibrant chaos of colors, sounds, and smells pressing in around her, yet her mind remained far away. She held a basket in one hand, selecting vegetables for the evening meal with a mechanical precision that had become second nature. Normally, this ritual, the careful squeezing of tomatoes to judge ripeness, comparing the prices of fruits, exchanging light hearted pleasantries with familiar vendors offered a soothing rhythm to her day. It was meditative, grounding, almost therapeutic. Today, however, the comforting routine did nothing to calm her; her thoughts were consumed by the turbulent currents in her marriage, by questions she could not articulate, by a gnawing sense of unease she had learned to ignore but could no longer escape.
"Oh, you!" a cheerful voice called out from behind her.
Marina turned, startled, and her lips curved into the faintest smile. Jane, her dearest friend from university, was approaching with that effortless warmth that had always drawn people to her. They had been inseparable during those formative years, two ambitious, spirited young women determined to excel, to conquer their studies, to leave a mark on the world. Time and distance had led them down different paths, but their bond had survived, resilient as ever.
"Oh yes, me," Jane said, laughter threading through her tone. "How are you, Marina?" Her smile faltered slightly as her eyes took in the fatigue etched into her friend's face.
Marina exhaled heavily, a sigh that carried more than words could. "Uhm… I am… just okay. I thank God."
"Yes," Jane replied, the familiar conviction in her voice touching something fragile in Marina. "Still, what God cannot do does not exist."
Marina's heart lifted just slightly at the familiar encouragement. "What brings you here?" she asked, grateful for the intrusion, grateful for anything to pull her from the dark spirals of her own thoughts.
Jane wasted no time. She slipped her arm gently through Marina's and steered her toward a small, cozy cafeteria tucked between two market stalls. "Never mind that now," she said softly. "Tell me, are you really okay?"
Under the warmth of Jane's steady presence, Marina felt her carefully constructed composure begin to crack. "Jane… even I don't know anymore. I don't know what I miss, or what I don't miss."
Jane reached out, her voice gentle but insistent. "I understand. How is your husband now? I'm sorry, dear I've always wanted to come, to sit and talk, to really know how things are with you. But life… it never seems to wait, does it?"
Marina tried to force a smile, but it faltered. "Worry not, Jane. I am mature. I know you have a lot on your plate. I wouldn't want to burden you." Yet despite her words, the loneliness behind them was unmistakable, palpable even to her closest friend.
Jane leaned closer, her voice lowering to a coaxing whisper. "Marina… tell me everything. Don't hold back. I'm here."
Marina tried to deflect, seeking safety in vagueness. "But… where were you going?"
"Forget that for now," Jane said firmly, with the kind of tone that brooked no argument. "Right now, it's your turn. I need to listen to you." And with that, Marina realized that her defenses, her careful pretenses, had already been seen through.
Settled in the quiet corner of the café, over steaming cups of coffee that had gone cold from her distraction, Marina finally let herself speak, the words tumbling out in a way they never had before. "So now I am working from home, because whenever I tried to handle other people's work, my mind would wander too far, and it always looked like I wasn't paying attention. I turned to counseling, hoping it might help, since even back in our school days, I learned best by explaining things to others. But it wasn't enough. My husband has gone, and we no longer live together
Jane's expression shifted to one of genuine shock. "Still the same reasons? Or something new? I… I don't believe it…"
Marina's lips pressed together, her eyes darkening with memory. "No. Still the same. He could not bear that I was better than him, in career, in recognition, in everything. People at work praised me, sent me to lead projects, meetings, conferences. I was… indispensable. And for him, that was unbearable."
Jane's hand flew instinctively to her mouth. "Jesus Christ… I thought he would be proud! To say, 'Look at my wife, she's brilliant!' But… this? This is unimaginable."
Marina's voice grew heavier with the weight of years of confusion and sorrow. "Jane… I don't know if I regret it. And I can't. He gave me two beautiful daughters, even though I lost one. But… sometimes I feel like accepting his proposal was the worst decision I ever made."
The mention of her lost daughter made Jane's eyes mist over. Everyone knew the story of how Iris had vanished on what was supposed to be an ordinary school research trip. A disappearance that had left a hole in Marina's heart, one that no passage of time had healed.
"Why not let Agnes come with you more often?" Jane asked softly. "You need her by your side, don't you?"
Marina's shoulders lifted in protest. "She's too young for this. She has her lessons… her life. I can't involve her in my struggles." Yet even as she spoke, her longing for her daughter's presence shimmered faintly beneath the words.
Jane's voice softened to an almost motherly tone. "Everything will be fine, Marina. It has to be. But where is he now?"
Marina leaned back slightly as she began recounting the events to Jane, her voice soft but steady. She could still see that evening clearly, as though it were happening all over again. "I remember calling out, 'Men, dinner is ready!'" she said, a faint smile touching her lips. Peter had laughed, beckoning his friends to the table. "Come on, let's eat together!" he had said, his usual warmth tinged with something she hadn't noticed at the time, an undercurrent of pride that could easily shift into jealousy.
That night, the house was alive with chatter and laughter. Papa Agnes and a few other friends had joined for dinner. Marina had moved quietly among them, serving plates of food, trying her best to keep the conversation flowing.
James broke the comfortable murmur of voices first. "Hey… you cook too? I didn't know!" he said, genuinely surprised.
Peter cleared his throat, his voice a little sharp. "Yeah, she's good at it."
Marina chuckled lightly, trying to ease the tension. "Stop it, it's really nothing special. I just… try," she said, placing a dish in front of James. "But thank you, anyway."
Eddie leaned back in his chair, a grin spreading across his face. "I'm impressed! I always thought you were all about your career, Marina. Intellectual, ambitious… but cooking? You're full of surprises."
James shook his head in amazement. "And Peter, man, where did you find this woman? Beautiful, hardworking, intelligent, and still wifely? You're lucky, bro, really lucky."
Marina's cheeks warmed slightly at the praise, but she noticed Peter's jaw tighten. She had seen this before a subtle shift, an invisible line that marked the moment admiration became a threat in his eyes.
Eddie leaned forward, lowering his voice as though sharing a secret. "I read on a website that you've been chosen to attend an international cinema training, representing women. Congratulations, Marina!"
Marina smiled politely, nodding. "Thank you, Eddie. I appreciate it.
Peter cleared his throat again. "So… hope you're enjoying the dinner. Eddie, have you managed to speak with the clients yet?"
Eddie shook his head, frustration flickering across his face. "It's still tricky. I'm waiting for the day he's available so we can negotiate. But… I haven't been given a real chance. That man is complicated."
Peter shrugged. "It's okay."
James leaned closer, eyes glinting with humor. "Unless we hire this woman to negotiate! I've seen her in action, everything will be settled in a minute!"
Peter laughed, but it sounded forced. "No way. We all know what a man can do, a woman cannot."
Eddie rolled his eyes, chuckling. "No, Peter, you've got it wrong. What a man can do, a woman can do better. Trust me. Women are a natural superpower. I've seen it firsthand."
Peter shook his head, a stubborn frown forming. "You must be joking… so women are supposed to provide and handle everything at home too?"
James waved a hand dismissively. "Not everything, Peter. But they're capable. Most people just don't give them the space. That's all."
Marina paused, glancing at Jane. "They kept praising me without realizing it was a red flag for Peter. Every compliment, every word of admiration, seemed to unsettle him in ways I couldn't understand then."
Jane's eyes widened. "Oh my God… what happened next?"
Marina sighed, her gaze distant. "At first, I tried to be careful. I wanted to support him, to be the kind of wife who could keep the household running no matter what. I would come home early, cook his favorite meals, make sacrifices, manage everything, like any devoted wife would. But nothing was ever enough. Every act of care, every success I achieved outside the house, became a source of tension."
Her voice trembled slightly as she continued. "He began to resent me. His business struggled, our savings dwindled, and yet I could still provide for the household. I thought, that's what any mature woman does; keeps the home afloat when the man stumbles. But for Peter, it wasn't how things should go. He couldn't handle it."
Jane nodded slowly, understanding. "Some men get jealous when their wives succeed. They feel threatened by their own partner's growth, even if it's natural."
Marina's lips pressed into a thin line. "I tried to be submissive. I tried to hold everything together. But it only seemed to make him angrier. He started gambling, drinking, smoking… wasting everything we had. Every day, I felt him slipping further away. And no matter what I did, how early I came home, how carefully I cooked, how much I sacrificed, it never mattered. Eventually… we stopped living together."
A long silence followed. Marina's hands rested on her lap as she let the words hang in the air. Jane reached out, touching her arm gently.
"Jane, I tried… I truly tried. But there are some hearts that can't bear what they see in you, no matter how much love you give.