Let Go of Love and Hate

“Who gave you permission to ruin the moment between Andrew and me?”

“You murderer — you make my stomach turn. Get out!”

That car accident didn’t just erase her memories of our life together; it stamped me as the one who’d killed her mother. Andrew wasn’t wrong to say I was afraid. But it wasn’t fear of our elders or of families colliding. I was terrified of seeing Veronica Grey collapse again, of watching her hurt herself when she broke.

That night I dreamed again. Just before they wheeled Veronica into surgery she gripped my hand and, choking on her words, swore:

“Mike, I love you so much. I will never forget you. We’ll grow old together in Haven House — we’ll be each other’s lifelong, happy rivals.”

“If I ever do forget you, you can hit me, scold me — just don’t leave me. And if I fall for another man, you must tear us apart with everything you have.”

We made a pact: if she ever harmed me for another man a hundred times, I would let go. With tonight included, the count was at ninety-eight.

Maybe because of that dream, I woke with an urge so raw I had to go back to Haven House. It was the villa Veronica had given me — a private place that, in the years no one noticed, held three years of our happiest memories. When sorrow came, I would sit there and breathe through it.

I hadn’t even left when the house manager called. “Mr. Linwood — Mr. Grey ordered the villa bulldozed. He’s having Andrew build his marital home there.”

“And the child’s grave was dug up too.”

By the time I arrived, the place that had held all our hopes and good dreams was a flattened ruin, as if it had never existed.

Andrew held Veronica, his voice threaded with disgust. “I don’t know who’s this messed up, burying ashes here. I hate that stuff.”

“Vera, you should stop clutching that urn. Feed it to the dog. I heard if you do, the dirty thing will never be reborn.”

Veronica stroked his face with a tenderness that made my chest ache. “Fine. Scare Andrew once more, and even as a ghost I’ll make sure it gets no peace.”

She whistled; a huge golden retriever — half the height of a man — loped over, drooling, waiting to be fed. Blood boiled in my veins. I couldn’t stand it. I charged forward and drove a knife into the dog’s belly.

Andrew screamed. I slapped him hard, twice. “How dare your animal touch my child? How dare you trespass on what’s mine? Get out!”

“Michael Linwood, what the hell is wrong with you?!” someone shouted.

Veronica wrapped herself around Andrew and glared at me. “Mr. Linwood, that villa was under Vera’s name. You took it because she was too busy to manage it — who raised you to be so shameless?”

Andrew spat, venom in every word. “I was wondering why there were ashes here. Turns out you knocked someone up, got rid of the scandal, and secretly buried it. Isn’t that disgusting? You’re sickening, and we’re the ones cursed by the bad luck!”

Those words hit a nerve Veronica hadn’t known she had. Color drained from her face; a cold laugh escaped. “I knew it. That night’s private photos — you swapped that woman’s face with mine.”

“Michael, you spent years trying to sabotage me and Andrew’s relationship, while secretly cavorting with others — you even fathered a bastard. How dare you bury that filthy thing in my home?!”

Even she didn’t know why she was that furious. Her accusation sliced through me and left a chill I couldn’t thaw.

Yes — Veronica and I once had a child. But she’d been gone the day we were supposed to register our marriage; Veronica had been in the accident that knocked her unconscious. Doctors issued grave notices and told us to prepare.