Sweet Hatred
Chapter 161: Burial/A ghost from the past

Chapter 161: Burial/A ghost from the past

I was supposed to sleep with him, not love him. I was supposed to use his body, not crave his comfort. I was supposed to leave, not need to stay.

But I had crossed that line. Quietly. Unknowingly. And by the time I noticed, it was too late.

I was already in love with him. No matter how much I admitted it to myself, it still didn’t feel enough.

And that was the most dangerous part of all.

So I shut down the softness. I smiled when I didn’t mean it. I told him I was fine when I wasn’t. I forced myself to ignore the little things, like how he made sure there was always tea for me, or how he barely touched his phone unless it was to take a call in another room so I wouldn’t be disturbed.

But every time I acted like I didn’t care, it cut him.

I could see it.

In the twitch of his jaw. In the way he swallowed before speaking. In how his hand would hover near mine like he wanted to hold it but didn’t know if he was allowed anymore.

He made it so fucking hard.

Because the way he looked at me... like I was something fragile he didn’t know how to fix, like I was the only thing that mattered—that look made me want to fall all over again.

It made me want to shatter in his arms and beg him to tell me the one thing I needed to hear.

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t afford to hope.

If I hoped, I’d get hurt. If I hoped, I’d believe there was more between us. If I hoped, I’d wait for him to say it. And what if he never did?

So I kept the walls up.

I smiled when I needed to. I slept in his bed but curled away from him. I thanked him for the meals but never looked him in the eye for too long.

But when he looked at me, really looked at me, it felt like he already knew everything I was trying so hard to hide.

And I hated him for that. I loved him for that.

And I didn’t know how much longer I could keep pretending I wasn’t breaking inside.

On the day of the funeral,

I felt nothing.

Or maybe I felt too much and my body just couldn’t keep up anymore. I sat there, stiff in the front pew, the black of my dress clinging to my skin like it knew how much I hated it. Olivia sat beside me, her hand wrapped tightly around mine like a lifeline. I barely returned the grip.

The church was cold. Or maybe that was just me. I didn’t know.

Candles lined the altar, flickering against the gold crosses and old saints staring down from stained-glass windows. Father Emeka spoke softly into the mic, his voice low and reverent, leading the rosary as the incense curled into the air like a ghost.

"In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti..."

The smell burned in my nose. I stared at the casket like it didn’t belong to her. Like maybe this was some other woman being buried, some other mother whose heart stopped in the middle of the night. Mine couldn’t have left me. She was always so full of life. Full of scolding. Full of warmth. And she didn’t even get half of the happiness she deserved. She was too much of a victim in her own story.

I didn’t remember standing. I didn’t remember sitting back down. I just followed, moved when everyone else moved, said "Amen" when it was time.

A distant relative read a passage from the Bible. Sarah sang something beautiful that made Olivia quietly weep beside me. Kaleb held her other hand, wide-eyed and confused, too young to understand that the woman who always brought him sweets and cookies wouldn’t be showing up anymore.

And Kael, he stood by the wall, near enough to reach me if I fell, far enough to give me space. His face was unreadable, but his eyes... they never left mine. Not once.

When it was time for the final blessing, I rose like my legs weren’t mine. The priest made the sign of the cross over the coffin. "Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord. And let perpetual light shine upon her."

I didn’t cry. I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to.

The others did. Olivia broke again, her shoulders shaking against me. I held her, mechanical and slow, and whispered, "It’s okay, Liv," though it wasn’t.

Nothing was okay.

They began rolling the coffin down the aisle. That was when my knees buckled, not from grief but from something else.

The church door opened with a creak too loud for a place like this.

I didn’t turn at first. I didn’t want to.

But something in my gut shifted. Twisted. Tightened. Then I saw him. A ghost from the past. Someone who was supposed to stay dead.

He stood at the back of the church like he belonged there. Like this moment, this sacred, aching moment was something he had a right to witness.

My father. My fucking father. The one who’s name I not only carried but his goddamn rage too.

His eyes landed on me like a weight I couldn’t shake off. And then he smiled.

That smile. God, that smile.

It was slow. Crooked. Wrong. The kind of smile that was so familiar it made me nauseous. Like I was a kid again, hiding behind a door, clutching Olivia to my chest while he screamed our mother’s name through gritted teeth. Everything came rushing back. The part of my story I didn’t want to tell.

My chest went hollow. My throat, dry. But my fists curled, and my heart thundered like war drums inside my ribs.

Because in that moment, all the grief inside me turned to fire.

I hated him.

Not the kind of hate people toss around in casual conversations. Not the type I threw at Kael for his amusement. No.

The kind that curdled in my soul. That built bone-deep. That sat inside me like a blade I never managed to pull out.

Everyone always thought the person I hated most in the world was Michael. Because he was nothing more than a dead weight Olivia insisted on carrying.

But they didn’t know. No one knew.

Remember when I said the first person I almost killed was Michael?

I lied.

It was him. My father.

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