I Dont Hate You
Nothing has really changed, has it
Violet fidgeted with the cuff of her sleeve, staring out the window of the taxi. The familiar streets of Cambridge rolled by, ones she had run down as a little girl, hand in hand with Russell, laughing and weaving dreams for the future. Seven years. Seven years since shed last been home.
Were here, the drivers gentle voice cut through her thoughts.
The taxi slowed by the entrance to her mums old council flat. Violet automatically checked her phone, handed over the fare in pounds, collected her things, and stepped out. The door clicked shut behind her. For a moment, she just stood still, breathing in the air of her hometown. It was nothing like the bustling London borough where she lived now; every smell, every distant sound seemed to stir something deep inside. Freshly cut grass from the park nearby, the whiff of just-baked bread from the bakery on the corner, and something else indescribable but undeniably home. The feeling squeezed her heart, sharp and sweet at once, as if she was both glad and terrified about what awaited her.
Shed come for just a few days, officially to help her mum sort the council paperwork that had piled up. She also wanted to wander the old haunts, to see if they were the way she remembered them. But quietly, inside, she knew there was another reason. Maybe the real reason. She desperately wanted to see Russell again. And who knows? Maybe her life would change.
She knew he still lived nearby; not that shed asked or snooped, but news drifted to her through mutual friends, sometimes when they met, sometimes on social media. Shed get snippets: hed switched jobs, now had a decent managerial role, just bought a flat, brought his mother to live with him. Each time she heard his name, she allowed herself a split-second of imagining what he looked like now, what he did, what might be on his mind only to swiftly chase those thoughts away before they rooted themselves in her heart
******************
Next day, Violet decided to take a walk through the centre. No plans, just the urge to soak up the city in daylight, to reconnect with the rhythm of streets that had once felt like hers. Hands in pockets, she strolled past shop windows, letting half-forgotten memories surface: the newsagents kiosk where she bought comics; the bench where shed debrief after school with friends; the café where shed tried her first ever cappuccino, almost pouring it down her new blouse in excitement.
Suddenly, she saw him.
Russell was across the road, hands buried in the pockets of his jacket, gaze glued to the pavement as if lost in thought. Violet stopped dead. Her insides somersaulted, stealing her breath. He looked just the same to her tall, with that relaxed, effortless walk she remembered from their youth. The same profile, the same tousled brown hair, even the same way his shoulders shifted.
Before she knew it, she was crossing the road. The traffic lights flashed amber, she barely registered a horn blaring somewhere, feet carrying her forward on autopilot, heart pounding loud enough to be heard on the High Street.
Russell! she called, catching up with him by a corner shop.
Her voice quivered she hadnt realised how nervous she was until she spoke. He turned. And nothing. No delight in his eyes, no anger. Just nothing.
Violet? he said, and his tone was level, almost indifferent.
The cool evenness cut deeper than she expected, and all the feelings shed been bottling up for seven years threatened to spill. Her eyes filled with tears and her words tumbled awkwardly.
Russell, I Im so sorry, she managed, fighting for breath. I know Ive no right to come to you but I I never stopped loving you. Im sorry, Russell. Please forgive me!
The words rushed out, rambling, desperate the only ones that mattered, after all those years of silence.
Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around him, clinging tight, trying to summon back with touch what had been lost. For that instant, there was no bustling street, no sidelong glances from passersby, no time just his warmth, her wild hope. Maybe, just maybe, something could still change
He didnt move for a heartbeat; she was sure hed flinched, his shoulders slackening, his hands twitching as if he might hold her back. The tiniest spark of hope flared.
But then the moment lapsed. His hands gripped her shoulders, firm but not harsh, and he pulled away. His face was calm, expressionless, and his gaze was icy and resolute. Gone was the boy who laughed with her til they both cried. In his place stood a man, feelings locked up behind a wall.
Move along, he whispered into her ear, almost flat, almost as though she was a stranger.
Hate you, he added a second later, and this time there was real contempt in his eyes.
Russell turned and walked off, without a backward glance.
Violet stayed rooted to the spot, sound fading except for her own jagged breath, and the echo of his footsteps disappearing into the distance. Everything else the voices, the traffic, the city carrying on blurred into nothing. She barely noticed the stares from strangers.
Its over. For good,” her mind whispered.
She drifted home in a blur, feet dragging, eyes dry and empty when she finally shut the door of her mums flat behind her. She didnt even try to make an excuse she just slumped into a chair by the window. Her mum, seeing her pale face, said nothing, just sighed as if shed been expecting this day for years then put the kettle on. The familiar clatter, the smell of fresh tea, all seemed so ordinary against the storm inside Violet. And it was that very ordinariness that steadied her, just a little.
He hasnt forgiven me, she murmured later, hands wrapped around a mug, the steamy warmth doing little to thaw her frozen heart.
Her mum just sat nearby, laid a hand gently on her shoulder, in that old way the same comfort as when a grazed knee or falling out with a friend left her in tears. For a moment, Violet felt fragile, as if years of grown-up choices dissolved away.
You knew it might be like this, her mum said, not accusing, just quietly.
I knew, Violet replied, finally looking up. Her voice was steady but exhausted, as though shed rehearsed this in her mind for years. But I hoped. Foolish, isnt it?
Not foolish. Her mum shook her head. But you chose your own path. You hurt Russell very badly. Hes never really been the same since. He built a wall around himself never let anyone else in.
Violet slumped back, memories of seven years ago unspooling in her mind.
Back then, everything seemed easy. She was twenty-two, plenty of dreams, no shortage of plans. Russell was solid, kind, always there. He was no poet, but his loyalty spoke for itself: hed help with anything, listen, support her in a hundred little ways.
But she wanted more. Not wealth, really. Just certainty. Security. A future she could sketch out a job, a mortgage, a roadmap. With Russell, life was all still One day, maybe, if things work out He was working on building sites, studying by distance learning, dreaming of his own construction company. Everything he wanted took time. Violet wanted results now.
So when her uncle in London offered her a job at his firm, she said yes, barely hesitated. She left Russell behind with barely a backwards glance.
There was another truth, one she rarely admitted to herself. Once settled in London, she met Graham: older, confident, successful. Their paths crossed at a corporate do he was all easy charm and subtle luxury, and she soon drifted into a relationship. At first, she told herself it was just for the experience, for the treats: flowers delivered to the office, glamorous restaurants, trips to the theatre, little gifts shed never have bought for herself.
Grahams world sparkled: stressless, expensive, certain. In time, Violet let herself sink into it, enjoying the feeling of being taken care of, of not worrying about bills or her future. She even found herself dismissing Russell as naive, stuck in his small town, dreaming small dreams.
Months later, when she returned to Cambridge, it wasnt to make peace it was to show Russell what hed lost. She chose a bustling café where she knew she might see him, dressed in a chic dress Graham had bought for her, designer bag draped over her arm, dazzling ring on her finger. She wanted him to see: shed made it; she was living proof shed been right to leave.
When Russell did walk in, she laughed a little too loudly at her companions jokes, made sure she looked radiant. Their eyes met. There was confusion, hurt, bewilderment in his gaze. But she didnt look away. She told herself shed won she had everything.
But once hed gone, she felt hollow. No amount of fine dining, gifts or success could fill the ache. Deep down she wondered: had any of it been worth it?
******************
The victory was bitter, but Violet only realised that gradually. At first, Graham stayed golden: dinners, compliments, the sort of attention that made her feel special. But over time, that faded. The flowers stopped, replaced by brisk texts: Get yourself something nice. Compliments morphed into criticism her laugh too brash, her outfits too plain, her friends too provincial.
And Grahams appearances grew sporadic, his absences longer, the grand gestures less frequent, until Violet often found herself alone in the lovely flat he rented for her. She tried to talk to him. He just shrugged.
You got what you wanted, didnt you? What else is there?
She told herself he was stressed by work. But deep down she knew: she was just another accessory. Once the intrigue wore thin, he lost interest.
Still, she stayed. Endured the coldness and the loneliness, because what else could she do? Admit she had made the worst mistake of her life? And that she had betrayed the one man who loved her, as she was?
Her beautiful dresses hung untouched in the wardrobe. Glistening jewellery dulled in its box. Those restaurants shed once dreamt of felt soulless now. Even the scent of expensive perfume was sickly sweet.
Often, she gazed out of the window, thinking: what if? But shed shut those thoughts down. To let them play out hurt too much.
On silent evenings in the flat, she found herself wrestling with the futility of the stability shed chased. Whats the good of security if you have no-one to share it with? In time, even her memories shifted: she longed for the feel of Russells work-rough hands, so gentle with hers; his quiet smile; his steady hope for the future so honest, so sure that, together, anything was possible.
************************
A few days later, Violet decided to visit the old city park, where she and Russell had wandered as teens. She found the bench under the tall maple tree. She remembered the way Russell had once watched the autumn leaves spiral down and said: You know, I want us to have a home someday. Big windows, loads of sunlight in the morning, and always lots of laughter. Then, shed just smiled, thinking it was only a dream. Now, the memory was painful.
She was pulled from her thoughts by a familiar voice.
Violet?
She turned to see Arthur, an old friend of both hers and Russells. He looked surprised, then quickly pleased.
I didnt expect to see you here, he said. How are you?
Violet hesitated, trying for calm. Im fine. Just visiting mum.
Arthur gave her a searching look but didnt pry. He gestured to the bench. Care for a sit? I was just walking, nowhere special in mind.
She agreed, and they sat together, Arthur chatting about what was new in Cambridge. His warm, everyday tone helped her relax at least a little. For a moment, she allowed herself to feel a part of her old life.
After a while, he was quiet, then asked gently, Have you seen Russell?
Violet looked away, eyes tracing the gold leaves at her feet, the pain of yesterdays encounter still sharp. Finally, she answered.
Yes. Yesterday.
How did it go? Arthurs face was full of gentle concern.
He wants nothing to do with me, she whispered, words scraped raw. He hates me.
Arthur sighed, sitting forward, elbows on knees, looking off down the leaf-carpeted avenue.
He took it hard, you know. You just disappeared. No call, no letter. For him, it was like being stabbed in the back.
I know, Violet said, her voice shaky. Im sorry.
Arthur continued, gently, He tried to move on. Saw other people, but it never worked. He said he couldnt love anyone the way he loved you. You broke him, Violet. And when you came back all grand, you sent him spiralling. Last night, he called me, drunk as Ive ever heard him. Just leave him be, Violet. Hes had enough hurt.
Violet bit her lip. Arthur was right. Her sudden return, her selfish hope shed only torn open old wounds.
I dont want forgiveness, she said, tears thick in her eyes. I just want him to know Im sorry. Truly, Im sorry. I think about it all the time the mess I made.
Arthur squeezed her hand. He doesnt need to hear it from you anymore. Let him heal.
They sat in silence, childrens laughter drifting from the playground, a breeze scattering more leaves, the world moving quietly on.
*************************
That evening, Violet sat motionless by the window, watching as the citys lights blinked to life. The view of Cambridges rooftops, the tangled glow of streetlamps and headlights, all blurred into shimmering thread. She thought of how things could have been, if only shed stayed: dodgy flats, nights in with cheap takeaways, laughter in the dark, Russells hope steadying them both. Shed missed so much words unspoken, touches unlived. But what was done, was done.
Next day, Violet packed and left in silence, her mother seeing her off with a lingering hug and a quiet Take care, wont you? At the station, she bought her ticket back to London she needed time to think, a couple of hours rolling through the countryside, watching the world slip by.
As the train pulled out, she watched Cambridge shrink away, past the rows of brick terraces, the little playground where shed played as a child, the bakery with its cheery sign. Everything seemed ordinary and impossibly far away.
Out there, among those familiar roofs and crossings, was the man she loved more than life. And shed let him go without a word, without a chance to say goodbye. Now, he was lost to her and she finally understood that, no matter how much she clung to hope
*************************
Half a year passed. Violet returned to her London routine: commutes, meetings, coffee catch-ups with friends. Outwardly, life looked much the same. Inside, everything had shifted. She stopped running from her past, stopped hiding behind distractions. She lived with her mistakes now, faced them each day, owned her guilt, and accepted as best she could the damage shed done.
She learnt to start her mornings afresh, telling herself: It was wrong. I cant undo it. But I choose what I do next. There was peace in that, a strange, quiet peace not happiness, but something that made it easier to breathe.
One evening, as Violet was cooking pasta, her phone buzzed with a new message from a number she didnt know. Only one sentence:
I dont hate you. But I cant forgive you, either.
Violet froze, phone clutched to her chest as the meaning washed over her. She slid onto the kitchen floor, holding the phone close, hoping to feel his heart, even from far away.
She didnt know what it meant. An ending, or something left open. All she knew was: the faintest thread still connected them. Delicate, and likely to snap at the slightest tension but a thread, still. Russell remembered her. He reached out, despite his pain.
Through tears, Violet allowed herself a small, unsteady smile. Perhaps, one day, they would talk again calmly, honestly, without judgement or blame. Maybe, together or apart, they would find the right words, and move on with clearer hearts.
For now, it was enough. Just knowing she wasnt forgotten, that in the tapestry of anothers life, she was still a thread in the pattern.
And in that, I learned perhaps the most important thing of all: that regret is its own kind of punishment, but acceptance even of pain allows you to keep moving forward. And sometimes, that is all you can do.
