Nine: Guiltily In Love

When it was over, Eva lay against him, tears streaking silently down her cheeks.

“This is wrong,” she whispered.

Adrian pressed his lips to her hair. “Maybe,” he murmured. “But it feels real.”

She didn’t argue. She couldn’t. Because in that moment — wrapped in his arms, listening to the storm rage outside — it did feel real.

For the first time in months, she didn’t feel empty. She felt wanted. Alive.

But by morning, she told herself it had been a mistake and she won't let Adrian in again.

By evening, when Adrian sent another message — Are you eating tonight? — she didn’t hesitate before replying, No. Come over.

And that was how it began.

The slow surrender.

The quiet slide into something she swore she would never allow. Especially while she was still hoping on her husband's recovery.

He came over most evenings, claiming late hospital shifts and emergencies.

He’d bring her food, sometimes flowers, sometimes nothing at all — just himself, and the kind of intensity that made breathing feel optional.

Eva told herself it was temporary, that she was only trying to survive the grief.

But every time Adrian looked at her like she was the only real thing in the world, that lie slipped a little further from her grasp.

Adrian didn’t demand her time; he occupied it. He filled her fridge, restocked her shelves, left notes by her bedside, and touched her like she was something fragile and sacred.

He didn’t just enter her life — he rearranged it, and became part of it.

His toothbrush found a space in her bathroom.

His scent lingered on her pillows long after he left.

One morning, she found a note by her bed, written in his crisp handwriting:

"You make me forget how to be careful. Don’t make me regret it."

The words sent a chill down her spine — not of fear, but of the unsettling realization that things between them had gotten pretty serious.

And little by little, guilt turned to dependency.

Dependency turned to desire.

And desire became something deeper — something dangerous.

Because even as Daniel’s body lingered between life and death, Eva’s heart was betraying him — one heartbeat at a time, in the arms of another man.

And slowly, the hospital which used to be her second home — was now totally avoided by her.

Eva avoided it like a ghost avoided daylight.

She told herself it was because of the smell of disinfectant, the constant beeping of monitors, the hollow faces in waiting rooms.

But deep down, she knew it was because of him.

Adrian Cole.

The guilt she felt because she had fallen in love with Adrian, while her husband lay on the hospital bed fighting for his life.

But she really couldn't help herself. She was falling deeper in love daily with Adrian.

What began as quiet comfort evolved into something that consumed her life. He became the pulse in her silence, the reason she started to smile again, the gravity that kept pulling her back no matter how far she tried to drift.

Adrian never asked her to forget Daniel.

He simply made her want to.

“You haven't been at the hospital lately,” Adrian said one evening, his voice low, as he leaned against her kitchen counter.

“I can't anymore,” she whispered. “It hurts to see him like that.”

Adrian’s jaw tightened. “You mean it hurts to remember who you used to be with him.”

She turned away, but he caught her wrist, gently — too gently for the storm in his eyes.

“Eva,” he said, his voice rough. “When I’m with you, I feel… alive. You don't need to feel guilty for your feelings, what we have is real.”

She swallowed hard. “Adrian, my husband is still—”

“Barely alive,” he cut in, his tone sharper now. “You just don’t want to accept it and move on.”

Something flickered in his gaze — hunger, desperation, love, or something darker.

She couldn’t tell anymore.

He cupped her face, forcing her to meet his eyes. “How long, Eva? How long are you going to let your guilt come in the way of our feelings for each other?  When are you going to take the big decision you've being avoiding to make?”

His words should’ve frightened her.

Instead, they rooted themselves deep in her chest, feeding a need she didn’t even know existed.

"Are you suggesting...?"

"You would be doing him a favour," Adrian responded, "You've tried, but it has been months now and still no improvement."

"Wouldn't that make me a murderer?" she whispered.

Adrian shaked his head. "You'll just be giving him what he needs now, which is peace."

That night, when he left, Eva stood at the window watching his car disappear down the quiet street.

And for the first time, she realized she hadn’t thought of Daniel in a long while and just maybe Adrian was right. 

Maybe it was time to let Daniel go.

---

Eva was rinsing a mug in the sink when she heard the knock.

It startled her — sharp, insistent — the kind that didn’t belong to a neighbor or delivery man.

For a brief, irrational second, her heart leapt. Adrian.

But when she opened the door, it wasn’t him.

It was Lydia.

Her elder sister stood there, suitcase in hand, dark hair pulled back, her eyes already sharp with questions.

“Eva,” she breathed, stepping inside before being invited. “Oh my God. I tried calling. You didn’t pick up. What’s going on?”

Eva froze for a moment, searching for words. “Lydia… I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I can tell,” Lydia said, glancing around the living room. “You didn’t even bother to clean up.”

Her gaze swept over the half-empty wine glass on the coffee table, the pair of men’s shoes near the couch, the faint smell of male cologne in the air.

Eva felt her chest tighten. “I’ve been… tired. That’s all.”

Lydia dropped her suitcase and turned back to her, eyes softening. “I know, honey. I know you’ve been through hell. But when I went to the hospital this morning and they said you rarely come around anymore…”

She paused. “That’s not like you, Eva.”

Eva’s throat went dry. “I—It’s been too hard to see him like that. The doctors said there’s been no change. I just needed a break.”

“A break?” Lydia repeated, frowning. “Eva, he’s your husband.”

The words cut deeper than she expected. For a moment, Eva couldn’t breathe. She turned away, busying herself with the mug again. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Then make me understand,” Lydia said quietly. “Because right now, it sounds like you’ve given up.”

Eva didn’t answer. She could feel her sister’s eyes on her, probing, analyzing, searching for cracks in her words — and in truth, there were too many to count.

She walked to the dining table to collect the stack of unopened letters, hoping to distract herself. But Lydia followed. Her gaze landed on something at the edge of the table — a small, folded note.

The handwriting was unmistakably neat. Precise.

Lydia picked it up before Eva could stop her.

“Don’t skip breakfast. You need your strength. – Adrian.”

She read it aloud slowly, then turned to Eva, brow furrowed. “Who’s Adrian?”