Fate Doesn’t Let Go So Easily
Hope stepped into her courtyard and instinctively glanced up at the third-floor windows. Her heart twisted—that was where he once lived. She paused for a moment, lost in thought, then turned sharply and walked toward the bus stop. She found Damien’s building quickly but hesitated outside the entrance.
“What am I even doing here?” she thought bitterly. “Megan was right—he never loved me… and never would. All these years, he’s been fine. Not a call, not a word…”
She was about to leave when she froze, spotting a figure ahead.
Only hours had passed since their encounter, but Claire’s words still echoed in Hope’s mind.
She had just left the shop when a red car pulled up in front of her. A woman in a flowing dress stepped out, the wind playing with her hair and lifting the hem of her skirt theatrically. Hope could hardly believe her eyes.
“Claire? Is that you?”
The woman turned and studied Hope’s face for a long moment.
“You don’t recognise me? It’s me—Hope Fairchild.”
“Hope… Oh, right. Age hasn’t changed you much. Didn’t recognise you,” Claire replied flatly.
They went to a café and sat by the window. Claire ordered swiftly without glancing at the menu, then turned her gaze to Hope.
“So, how’ve you been?”
“Was married, briefly. No kids. Looks like life’s treated you well.”
“No complaints,” Claire smirked, flashing a ring. “Wealthy husband, life’s good. And Damien… still pining over him?”
The words cut deep.
“You had family, love. Me? Just looks. So I took him. Back then, he thought he loved me. But we were too different. I wanted to live, to enjoy life—he wanted marriage, kids…”
Claire leaned back in her chair.
“We split. He bought a tiny flat, lives alone now. The path’s clear for you, I suppose. Though why you’d want him is beyond me.”
Hope didn’t answer. She simply stood.
“Sorry, I’ve got to go.”
“Don’t worry, my treat,” Claire waved her off, as if dismissing a servant.
But at the door, Hope stopped.
“Write down his address.”
Claire hesitated, then scribbled it on a napkin.
“Here. Good luck,” she said with a smirk.
Hope stepped outside and pressed the napkin to her chest. That evening at the office, she unfolded it and stared at the address. Claire’s voice echoed in her mind: “Why would you want him?” But her heart already knew.
Later, under the dim glow of a streetlamp, she walked through Damien’s familiar estate. Fallen leaves crunched underfoot as she hesitated outside his building.
“Never called, never looked for you. That means he never cared. Let it go, Hope. Walk away.”
She turned—and froze. Damien stood before her.
“Hope?… Is that you?” His voice held surprise—and something like joy.
She fumbled for an excuse.
“I… was visiting a colleague. They weren’t in.”
He looked pale, unshaven, eyes tired and red.
“Caught a nasty bug,” he mumbled, lifting a bag of milk. “Just popped out for this.”
“You should be resting. Come on.”
Inside his modest bachelor flat, she checked the fridge—empty. She found potatoes under the sink, fried them up, warmed the milk, and sent him to bed.
When she peeked into his room later, he was already asleep. She studied his face—the same Damien she’d loved all these years. Silently, she slipped out.
“Where were you?” her mum asked, eyes glued to the telly.
“Ran into Claire,” Hope replied tersely.
“Odd. Thought you two didn’t speak.”
“Just grabbed a coffee.”
“How is she?”
“Rich, glamorous, same as ever.”
“And you? When’s the wedding?”
“Mum, not this again…”
Later, as she got ready for bed, her mum handed her the phone.
“Damien’s calling. He found your number.”
“Thank you for today. Sorry I dozed off. Will you come tomorrow?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Of course. Name the place—I’ll meet you.”
“I’ll come,” Hope whispered, tears pricking her eyes.
The next morning, she took extra care getting ready—dress, light makeup. But catching her mum’s teasing look, she washed it off, changed, and rushed out without a word.
She floated through her workday, knowing they’d meet again that evening. And maybe, just maybe, a new life would begin.
Three months later, they married. It was a love hard-won, unshaken by years or distance. Fate had held onto them—against all odds.
