I don’t hate you
Nothings changed, really
Verity twisted the edge of her sleeve nervously, staring out of the taxi window. Beyond the glass, the familiar streets of her childhood flickered pastthose same roads where shed run with Russell, laughing and dreaming up futures together. Seven years. It had been seven whole years since shed returned home.
Were here, the drivers gentle voice interrupted her thoughts.
The taxi pulled up outside the old block of flats. Verity instinctively checked for her phone, took out some pounds from her purse, paid, and stepped out. The car door thudded shut, and she paused for a moment, breathing in the air of her hometown. It was different nownothing like the sprawling city she called home these days. Here, every scent and every layer of sound seemed to awaken something deep inside. She smelled freshly mown grass from the park nearby, warm bread from the little bakery at the corner, and something indescribable that she could only call home. Her heart suddenly twingedpainful and sweet all at once, as she both anticipated and dreaded what lay ahead.
She was here for just a few days. Officially, the visit was to see her mother and help sort through paperwork that had piled up. She also wanted to walk those old streets, almost as if she needed proof that they were still as she remembered. But somewhere deep down, another reason lurkedperhaps even the most important one. She desperately wanted to see Russell. Who knows, maybe her life could change again?
Verity knew he lived nearby. Not that she had ever gone out of her way to check on himnever once had she asked about him directly. Yet, friends would let slip the odd update in conversation or online: hed switched jobs, landed a good position, bought a flat, moved his mum in with him Every time she heard his name, she would picture himwhat he looked like now, what he was doing, if he ever thought of her. But she would shove those thoughts aside, scared to let them take root in her heart.
***
The next day, Verity wandered into the town centre. She didnt have a plan, just wanted to breathe in her hometowns air, see old haunts in the daylight, absorb the rhythm of the streets that used to be woven into her life. She strolled idly, peering into shop windows, and found herself smiling at small recognitions: the newsagents where she used to buy comics, the bench by the main road where she sat with her school friends, the café where she first tasted cappuccino and nearly spilled it on her new blouse.
And suddenly, there he was.
Russell, across the street. He didnt see herlost in thought, head bent forward ever so slightly as he walked. Verity froze. Something inside her flipped so abruptly that she forgot how to breathe. He hadnt changedstill tall, with that same easy, laid-back stride from their youth. The same outline, the same mannerisms, even the same hairstyle.
Without thinking, she hurried across the road. The light shifted to amber, someone tooted a horn, but she barely noticed. Her feet carried her forward and her heart beat so loudly she was sure everyone could hear.
Russell! she called as she caught up with him outside a shop.
Her voice trembledshe hadnt expected to be so shaken. He turned toward her and nothing. No flicker of happiness, no anger. Nothing at all.
Verity? he said, calmly, almost indifferently.
The toneso flat, so empty of emotionhit her harder than shed imagined. Everything shed kept bottled up for seven years burst out. Tears filled her eyes, her voice wobbled, and she couldnt stop herself.
Russell, IIm so sorry, she managed, her words tumbling out. I know Ive no right to come near you, but I A sob caught her words, tears streaming down her cheeks unchecked. I love you. I still do. Please. Forgive me. Please.
She spoke quickly, disjointedly, as if afraid that if she stopped, shed never be able to start again. The only words that escaped her lips were the ones that mattered mostthe ones held inside for years.
She wrapped her arms round him, pressing her face against his chest, as if clinging could bring back what was lost seven years ago. In that moment, the busy street, the passers-by, the mere ticking forward of timeall faded. There was just the warmth of his body and her desperate hope that he might hug her in return.
Russell didnt pull away at once. For a split second, she felt a falter in himhis shoulders dipped, his hands shifted, as if he would return her embrace. That flicker stoked a tiny flame of hope: maybe things could be mended, maybe hed held onto those memories as well… Maybe they still had a future.
But the moment dissolved. Russell gripped her shoulders firmly and detached her from him. His face stayed calm, almost expressionless, and his eyes were fixed and cold. Gone was the boy who’d made her laugh until she cried and helped her dream of tomorrow. Before her stood a man whod buried his feelings behind unyielding walls.
Just go, he whispered in her ear.
He said it quietly and with such indifferent finality that she felt as if she meant nothing to him, just a stranger in the street.
I hate you, he added a second later, and this time, unmistakable contempt flashed in his eyes.
He turned and walked away, never looking back. Verity stood, stunned. The world carried on: people hurrying past, cars blaring at the crossroads, childrens laughter echoing faintly in the distance Someone shot her a curious look, probably wondering why she was standing there so pale and frozen. But she noticed nothing.
Only the sound of his footsteps fading, and the jaggedness of her own breath. Every second stretched into eternity, and one thought spun in her head: Its over. Forever.
Verity trudged home, feet heavy as stones, each step a struggle, her gaze distant and blank. Her mind was emptyno thoughts, no feelings, just the echo of his words, drumming inside.
Once back at her mothers flat, she didnt even try to explain. She simply sank onto a chair by the window and stared out. Her mother, seeing her tear-stained face and vacant look, asked nothing. She only sighed gently, as if shed been expecting this, and went to put the kettle on. The whistle of the boiling water, the scent of strong English teaso ordinary, so at odds with Veritys inner turmoil. Yet that very ordinariness offered a small anchor to reality.
He didnt forgive me, Verity whispered, cradling her tea. The warm steam tickled her face, but she barely noticed. Her hands squeezed the mug as if to hold onto something slipping away, her eyes lost in the auburn teas reflection.
Her mother sat beside her, gently stroked her shoulder, the way she had when Verity was a child and came home with grazed knees or after a falling out at school. That simple comfort made her feel small and vulnerable, as if all the grown-up decisions of the last few years had simply melted away.
You knew it might be like this, her mother said softly, not reproachful, just quietly sad.
I did, Verity nodded, finally looking up for a moment. Her voice was steady, but laced with old exhaustion, as if shed practised this phrase countless times. But I hoped. Foolish, isnt it?
No, not foolish, her mother countered gently. Just you made your own path. You hurt Russell very deeplyhe was lost for a long time after your break-up He was like the boy with a frozen heart in a child’s tale. No one else ever seemed to reach him after that.
Verity took a deep breath, set down her mug, and leaned back. Seven years ago felt like another life.
Back then, things seemed so simple. She was twenty-twoan age when the world looks bright, and all obstacles seem conquerable. Russell was by her sidekind, dependable, a man who never made grand speeches but proved himself with actions: always there to help, always listening.
But there was a problemor at least, what Verity then saw as one. Russell worked as a builder, studying part-time, dreaming of opening his own business. His plans were bold and thought through, but would take timetime she didnt want to wait for.
She didnt crave riches, not really. She just longed for security, for the assurance that in a year, five years, shed have a job, a home, a predictable life. With Russell, everything seemed so uncertain: odd jobs, evening classes, half-dreamt plans for the future. When her uncle in London offered her a job in his company, she said yes immediately, barely thinking twice. It was a real chance, one she couldn’t turn down.
There was another truth she tried not to remember. Soon after she moved to London and started her new job, along came Ian. He was a successful businessman, twice her age, with charming manners and an air of confidence and accomplishment. Their meeting was accidentalat a company do, where Verity, in her new dress, felt out of place among the grown-up professionals. Ian took an interest at once: sat beside her, asked about her work, her plans, her life.
He wasnt shy about showing affection. First it was flowersneat bouquets delivered to the office with notes like, For the loveliest lady. Then came invitations to restaurants shed only ever admired from afar. He took her to exhibitions, theatre shows, bought her things she never dreamed shed own: silk scarves, delicate jewellery, high heels. Every gift was wrapped in wordsshe deserved better, she shouldnt limit herself, life was there to embrace.
At first, Verity resistedfelt awkward, turned things down, tried to make clear she wasnt interested in all that. But Ian was persistent, reassuring her that it was just kindness, that he meant every compliment. Gradually, she started to let herself be courted. The new world he offered was intoxicating: evenings in romantic restaurants, business-class taxis, the freedom to buy what she liked without a seconds hesitation. It was like living in a dream she didnt want to wake from.
Somewhere in those glittering days, she began seeing Ian. Not because she was madly in love, but because his world was easy and secure. With him, there were no worries about bills or job interviewshe took care of everything, shrouding her in comfort.
And she loved that life, so much that Russell faded completely from her mind. Or worse, she started to look down on him, declaring that hed never amount to anything.
One day, Verity returned to her hometownnot to see Russell, not to make amends, not even to say hello, but to show him her new life, to prove what she truly deserved. Deep down, she wanted him to see that she hadnt made a mistake, that her choice had been the right one, that shed escaped the uncertainty of their past.
She planned her visit carefully. She picked a café on the high streetthe sort Russell occasionally dropped into after work. She wore an expensive dress, a birthday gift from Ian, elegant with its cinched belt. On her finger sparkled a ring with a glittering gemstone, another present. She carried a designer bag from the latest collection.
Russell entered the café, and Verity spotted him immediately. She laughed loudly at something her companion said, then turned just so Russell would notice her. Their eyes met. She saw confusion, hurt, bewilderment in his. But instead of looking away awkwardly, she simply held his gaze.
It felt like victory at the time. She had proved to them both that shed made the right choice. Her life wasnt endless speculation about the future anymore, but real opportunities, plenty, and certainty. She convinced herself that she was satisfied, that shed got what she deserved.
But when Russell left the café, and her laughter faded, she looked at the ring, her bag, her companion, and suddenly felt hollow. The expensive things, the beautiful gestures, the attentionall of it seemed far away, faintly ridiculous. Outwardly she kept up the bright conversation, but inside she heard a whisper: Was it worth it?
***
Victory turned bitternot overnight, but day by day as the realisation grew sharper. At first, Ian maintained the image of the generous, attentive man: dinners out, flowers, flattery. Then his interest began to fade, like a candle burning low.
Small things changed first. Warm words were replaced by terse remarks. Impromptu gifts became rare: Pop by the shop yourself, get something nice. Soon came the criticisms. Maybe you ought to take better care of yourself? Why do you laugh so loudly? Its not very classy. Are you really still seeing those country friends? Dont you think you should make more interesting connections?
He grew less and less present, sometimes disappearing for days or even weeks, leaving her in the airy flat hed chosen for her. Verity spent evenings alone, listening to the clock tick, flipping through her wardrobe with no interest. When she attempted to talk about it, to say she missed him, he brushed her off.
You got what you wanted. What more could you possibly need?
Verity tried to make excuses for him. Hes got a tough business, lots of stress. Or, Hes just tired, hell come round. She persuaded herself that this was only a rough patch, that things would be fine, that she was being demanding. But deep down, she knew it wasnt about tiredness or workshe was just another beautiful plaything to him. Once the novelty wore off, his interest was gone.
She put up with ithis sharp words, his cold silences, his absencesbecause she was terrified of admitting her mistake. To admit that, shed have to accept that the dazzling life was empty, and that shed betrayed the only man who truly loved her: Russell, with his rough hands and humble plans, valued her for herself and not for looks or some image of the perfect partner.
Eventually, even the outward trappings lost their shine. Expensive dresses hung lifeless in the closet. Jewellery, once thrilling, looked out of place. The fancy restaurants, with their subdued lighting and exquisite food, made her feel alien. Perfume, once a symbol of her new world, now made her feel sick.
She caught herself watching people through the windowsWhat if shed start to think, then stop abruptly, scared to follow that thread, because beyond it waited the question she couldnt answer: What next?
On those lonely evenings, when dusk settled and the flat was unbearably silent, Verity found her dreams of stability hollow and brittle. Security was worthless if you had no one to share it with.
Her thoughts always circled back to Russell. She remembered his hands, strong and rough from building, but so warm when he held hers. His smilemodest and genuine, only appearing when he was truly happy. How he talked about the future, no grand promises, just honest plans, and he really believed in them. That faith had felt so real, so comforting. With him, shed felt safe from everything
***
On her third day at home, Verity went for a walk in the park theyd frequented together. There was their old bench under the spreading sycamore, where theyd chattered about nothing and everything, laughing at silly things. She recalled Russell watching the autumn leaves and saying, One day, I want us to have a house, with big windows, sunlight streaming in, where its always bright and happy. Back then, shed only chuckledjust dreams, shed thought. Now, those words felt like something vital, lost forever.
She paused, inhaling chilly air, trying to gather herself. Then, a familiar voice:
Verity?
She turned. Archie stood thereRussells and her old friend. He looked surprised, but quickly grinned, sincerely glad to see her.
Didnt expect to spot you here, he said, eyebrows raised. How are you?
Verity hesitated, searching for the right words. She wanted to sound casual, but her voice wavered despite her efforts.
All right. I just came home to see Mum.
Archie nodded, eyeing her kindly, but not prying. Instead, he gestured to a nearby bench.
Fancy a sit down? I was just on a wander, myself.
Verity agreed, and they walked slowly together. Archie chatted about his life, local news, what had changed in town. His voice was friendly and easy, and Verity found herself slowly relaxing. She listened, adding comments occasionally, thinking how peculiar life was: shed come back to the town where every corner reminded her of the past, and was now sat with someone from that previous life.
Archie paused, choosing his words, then asked quietly but directly:
Have you seen Russell?
Veritys gaze dropped, drifting over the dry leaves scattered below. Memories from the day beforeRussells icy stare, his harsh wordsflickered sharply in her mind.
Yes. Yesterday.
How did it go? Archie asked quietly.
He he wants nothing to do with me, Verity admitted, each word weighing heavy. Her tone was even, but so subdued it hurt to speak. He hates me.
Archie sighed, sat down beside her, elbows on his knees, watching the avenue melt into the golden haze of autumn. After a while, he began softly:
You vanished on him, Verity. No call, no letter, nothing. He said it was like being stabbed in the back.
Verity clenched her hands, feeling everything inside harden. She knew this was true, but hearing it aloud was harder than shed expected.
I know, she whispered. Its all my fault.
Archie didnt argue or scold her. He just sat beside her, allowing her words to settle. After a minute, he continued, still calm:
He tried to move on. Saw a few people, never worked out. Says he cant love anyone the way he loved you. He was in a bad place, you know? And after that performance of yours at the café I thought hed never come round, to be honest.
Verity nodded silently. She pictured Russell, forcing himself to forget her, flinching at familiar voices and memories. The thought hurt even morenot that he suffered, but that she was the reason for his pain.
I didnt mean for it to be like this, she said softly, as much to herself as to Archie. I thought I was making the right choice. I wanted stability.
Archie didnt contradict her. He just sat quietly, giving her space. The wind rustled in the trees, golden leaves whirled. Somewhere in the distance, children laughed by the fountain. Life pressed on relentlessly.
Verity dug her fingernails into her palms, trying not to cry, but her eyes filled anyway, blurring her vision. She could not fix things, could not go back, could not undo what she had done.
Im not asking for forgiveness, she said in a trembling voice. I just wanted him to know Im sorry. I think about it every day. I regret everything I did. The memories keep me awake at night. I recall how we were and how I ruined it all.
Archie observed her with a kind, nonjudgmental look. He took his time, weighing his reply.
Maybe he doesnt need to know, he said at last, firm but gentle. Let him go, Verity. Dont come back again. Youre making it worse. It took him years to recover. Your sudden return has only churned it all up again. He called me last night, honestly he was a mess. Dont break him all over again.
Verity bit her lip and said nothing. She knew Archie was right. Coming back suddenly, trying to meet Russellit had only reopened wounds hed spent years healing. She wanted redemption, but perhaps all shed done was cause new pain
***
That evening, Verity sat by the window at her mothers. Outside, the lights of town flickered ongolden, orange, whitemelding into a mosaic, shimmering and sparkling, like a festival. But she found little comfort in the citys evening beauty. Her mind whirled with memories, one after another, as if she were watching a film she couldnt turn off.
She imagined how things might have been if shed stayed. If theyd rented that first flat together, if Russell had built his business, if theyd shared small victories and laughed off lifes minor stumbles. She wondered how many happy moments shed missed, how many gentle words hadnt been spoken, how many embraces lost. But the past could not be changedshe knew that now, more clearly than ever.
The next day, Verity left. She packed slowly, stretching out her goodbye. Her mother stood in the doorway, watching her with quiet sadnessno blame, just the heaviness of a daughter leaving again.
Take care of yourself, her mum said, as Verity stood in the hallway with her suitcase.
Verity nodded, kissed her mothers cheek, breathed in the familiar scent of home for a final second, and then stepped outside.
At the station, she bought a ticket to Londonhoping some time away would help her decide what came next.
As the train pulled out, softly rocking on the rails, Verity watched the town slide past: the blocks of flats with potted plants on the balconies, the playground she used to visit with friends, the little bakery with its bold letters above the door. Passers-by busied aboutone with a bag of groceries, another opening an umbrella for no reason, someone hurrying for a bus. All of it was so ordinary, so familiar, but now felt a world away.
Somewhere among those streets lived the man she loved more than anyone. The man whose eyes shone when he spoke of the future, whose hands could heft a brick and gently hold her own. The one shed never said goodbye to, never explained why she left. Now, he was truly lost to hershe realised that, no matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise.
***
Half a year passed. Back in London, Verity went to work, met friends for coffee, responded to questions about her health and plans. Outwardly, life looked the same: the same hours, the same local haunts, the same chats. But inwardly, something had shifted irreversibly. She no longer ran from the past, hid behind new acquaintances, expensive clothes, or a full diary. She faced it honestly: accepted her mistake, admitted the pain shed caused, and her deep remorse.
Shed learned to wake up knowing life went on. Learned to say: I did what I did. It was wrong, but I cant change it now. And in that acceptance, there was a peculiar calmnot joy, no, but at least peace enough to breathe and look ahead.
One evening, as she made dinner, her phone beeped. She wiped her hands on a tea towel, picked it up, and saw a text from an unknown number. Just one line: I dont hate you. But I cant forgive you either.
Verity stilled, clutching the phone, her heart skipping and thudding in her chest. She slid to the floor, holding the phone to her breast as if she could feel anothers heartbeat through itthe one whod written those words.
She didnt know what it meant exactly. Couldnt say if it was a step towards reconciling, or a final goodbye. But for the first time in a long while, she felt there was still a threada slender, fragile connection, easily broken but still there. Someone, somewhere else, was thinking of her. Someone decided to write, despite the hurt. Someone hadnt completely shut the door.
Verity managed a trembling, real smile through her tears. Maybe this wasnt the end. Maybe one day they could talk againquietly, without blame, with no need for self-justification. Maybe theyd find the words to help both of them move forwardtogether or apart, but finally at peace.
For now For now, it was enough to know that she wasn’t entirely gone from his story. That somewhere else in England, there was still someone who remembered her not just as a mistake, but as part of his past.
Sometimes, the only way to heal is to accept the consequences of our choices, forgive ourselves, and let those weve hurt seek their own peace. Life rarely gives us tidy endings, but it always offers room for growth and the hope that, with time, understanding might replace old pain.
