I Never Loved Him

Chapter 1 : The Silence After the Rain

I'm sitting in the quiet kitchen, a cold cup of tea in my hands. The rain taps softly against the windows. It feels like it’s trying to wash away the memories—or cleanse them, dissolve them into the grey sky. But some memories don’t fade. Especially not the ones burned into your heart like a brand.

A week ago, Marc left.

He slammed the door without a word, his suitcases full of clothes but empty of feeling. It had been a long time since our eyes had met, since our gestures had meant anything, since our words carried anything more than the dull echo of a routine stripped of tenderness. So his departure… wasn’t a shock. It was almost a relief.

“You’re not saying anything?” he had asked, standing in the doorway.

I looked at him, my eyes dry.

“No, Marc. I have nothing to say.”

And I didn’t. Because for the first time, I allowed myself to think that terrible but freeing truth:

I never loved him.

Chapter 2 : The Summer of What Could Have Been

I married Marc because it was what people expected. Because at 28, in my family, being single made you an anomaly. Because my parents liked him. Because he had a stable job, a car, a reassuring smile. Because he wooed me with roses and sweet words. Because he checked all the boxes.

But it wasn’t love.

Love—I had known it once. One summer. The kind of love that has no future but lasts forever. His name was Simon.

We were both 20, both students in Toulouse. He studied literature, I studied psychology. He wrote poetry, sang in the rain, made me laugh like no one else. He was wild. Uncontrollable. Untamed. And I loved that. He smelled like freedom. He was freedom.

But he left. Said the world was calling. He wanted to bike through South America, write travelogues, meet forgotten tribes. He didn’t believe in roots. I dreamed of stability. I was scared. So I let him go.

He never looked back.

And I locked that love in a box deep in my heart, and carried on. A logical life. Reasoned. Programmed. I met Marc two years later at a wedding. He looked at me like I was the most beautiful woman in the world. He was calm, composed, full of good intentions. And most of all, he truly loved me.

So I told myself that would be enough.

Chapter 3 : A Life Without Spark

We got married. Bought a house. Adopted a cat. People said we were the perfect couple. We rarely argued. We listened. We respected each other. But something was missing. A spark. A flame.

Marc touched me like one might touch a statue. Carefully. Without desire.

And I looked at him like a white wall. Present. Necessary. But empty.

I tried. I swear I tried. To love. To attach myself. To create that thing called passion. But passion doesn’t come when summoned. It comes on its own, like a wild wind that sweeps you away. With Marc, there was no wind. Only a lukewarm breeze that gently lulls you to sleep.

Chapter 4 : When the Past Knocks

Six months ago, I ran into Simon. By chance. A conference in Paris. There he was, right in front of me, grey streaks in his hair and those same wild eyes. He recognized me immediately.

“Hélène ? Is that you ?”

My heart stopped. I nearly cried. Instead, I smiled. That awkward, nervous smile we give when the past shows up uninvited.

We had coffee. He told me about his travels, his struggles, his books. I told him about my “normal” life. He nodded. Then whispered:

“You look dimmed.”

I didn’t answer.

He placed his hand on mine. My heart pounded like a war drum.

“You’ve never stopped being beautiful, you know ?”

I went home dizzy. As if my world had collapsed. Or rather, as if I was finally seeing the cracks I’d been ignoring.

Chapter 5 : The Revelation

That night, I watched Marc in silence as he sat watching the news, a beer in his hand. He didn’t see me. He hadn’t seen me for a long time. And I only saw a habit. A shadow.

When I told him I wanted us to separate, he didn’t shout. He just lowered his eyes.

“Is it because you love him?” he asked.

I knew who he meant.

“No. I don’t know. That’s not the question.”

“Then what is the question ?”

I looked at him for a long time.

“The real question is: when did we stop loving each other?”

He said nothing. Because he knew. He had known for a long time. But like me, he clung to the comfort of the familiar. To the fear of emptiness. To the illusion.

Chapter 6 : Rebirth

Marc left. Since then, I breathe more easily. Sometimes I cry. Not because I miss him. But because I’m finally realizing everything I repressed for years.

I’m rebuilding. Slowly. I’ve started writing again. Walking alone. Dreaming.

And Simon ? He went back to Chile. He sends me postcards. Messages. Nothing urgent. Nothing forced. Just a gentle presence in the background.

I don’t know what the future holds. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.

But what I do know is this: I deserve to love. Truly. Deeply. Madly.

And I will never again live in a gilded cage just because I’m afraid of the void.

Because the real void isn’t being alone.

The real void is living without love.

And I won’t do that again.