Let Her Go When Love Dies

My wife, Hannah Mackinnon, was the most celebrated genius artist of our time. She also had a profound emotional disorder.
Once, when I accidentally fell down the stairs, I called out to her for help.
She simply asked, Why are you always bothering me?
Then, she elegantly stepped over my body in her high heels and walked away.
In that moment, I understood. A heart made of ice can't be thawed. So I stopped trying.
The ninety-ninth time she asked for a divorce, I said, "I agree."
Hannah froze.
"What did you say?"
I slid the signed divorce agreement across the table to her.
She stared at the papers, then looked up at me, her lips parted as if to say something she couldn't quite form.
"You're giving up our daughter, too?"
I nodded.
Yes. I was giving it all up.
In the divorce agreement, I relinquished full custody of our daughter. My only condition was that my mother could continue receiving treatment at the hospital owned by the Mackinnon family.
They had the world's leading medical team for bone cancer. It was my mother's only chance at survival.
After we left the registrar's office, Hannahs expression was as cool and distant as ever.
"What will you do now?"
I knew it was just polite formality. She had never truly cared about me.
"Travel," I said, a vague, noncommittal answer.
She didn't ask any more questions.
Leo, her assistant, put his arm around her shoulder and smiled at me. "Thank you for doing the right thing, for letting Hannah go."
I instinctively glanced at Hannah. With Leo so close, she looked relaxed, natural. None of the tense discomfort she always showed around me.
Suddenly, Hannah spoke. "Traveling costs a lot of money. I can transfer you some."
Her tone was flat, indifferent, as if we were strangers making a transaction.
I was leaving this marriage with practically nothing. We had a prenup: all income earned during the marriage remained separate property. We split all our household expenses down the middle. There were no financial disputes.
But our daughter had health problems and was a high-needs child. I had quit my job years ago to be her full-time caregiver. If it weren't for the freelance writing gigs I took on the side, I would have starved.
Leo cut in with a teasing tone. "Hannah, I'm sure Kieran has his own savings. Besides, he's a grown man. He wouldn't feel right taking your money, would he?" He patted her shoulder affectionately. "And your exhibition is coming up. You need the capital for that."
Hannah nodded thoughtfully, her eyes full of approval for Leo. "You're right."
Pleased, Leo grinned at me. "Kieran, don't go hiking anywhere too remote by yourself. A lot of solo travelers have gotten into trouble these past few years."
Hannah frowned, her reply clipped. "What kind of trouble could he possibly get into?"
I took a deep breath.
See? That's how little she cared.
Hannahs emotional disorder was severe. To put it bluntly, she was incapable of love. When her grandfather died, she stood at his funeral without a single tear, like a detached observer. Everyone called her a monster.
I was afraid the words would hurt her, so I covered her ears and whispered, "Don't listen to them. You haven't done anything wrong. I know you're sad, you just don't show it like they do."
But she looked at me with serious eyes and said, "Why should I be sad? Everyone dies, don't they?"
I was stunned. At eight years old, I couldn't understand her.
As she grew older, her condition worsened. She began self-harming, expressing a deep-seated weariness with the world. Hannah Mackinnon loved no one, not even herself.
But for some reason, I was the exception. My presence seemed to calm her.
To save her, the Mackinnon family made me a deal: marry Hannah, and they would pay for my mother's cancer treatment.
Hannah herself looked at me with pleading eyes, like a wounded animal. "Don't go, Kieran Wallace. You have to stay with me."
I had no choice.
We did have a brief period of happiness. In those fleeting days, we had our daughter, Nina. Nina was born with a congenital heart defect and needed constant care. Hannah could barely take care of herself; I couldn't expect her to care for a sick child.
My life became entirely focused on our daughter. Slowly, Hannah and I drifted apart.
She became a world-famous artist with a massive online following. When her fans found out her husband was a stay-at-home dad, they were merciless.
[Hannah Mackinnon's husband is just a useless pretty boy. He has a degree from a top university? What a waste.]
[How can a genius artist be married to some nobody who doesn't even work?]
[I heard their families are old friends, an arranged marriage. So tragic.]
I asked Hannah for help, begged her to explain the situation to her fans. My voice was worthless, but they would listen to her.
She just stared at me with a strange, baffled expression. "You're being weird. Why do you care what strangers think? Besides, they're not wrong. You are a stay-at-home dad."
I don't remember what I said back. I just remember the feeling of being completely lost, of the world crumbling around me.
How could I blame her? Everyone told me the same thing: Hannah is sick. She can't love. As her husband, you have to be patient.
I repeated that mantra to myself countless times.
Our daughter was fragile. A slight breeze could give her a fever. I'd stay up all night by her bedside. And Hannah, her mother, would be locked away in her studio, lost in her work, never once appearing.
When I confronted her, asking why she didn't care about our child, she looked up from her canvas and said, "What's the point of me going? I'm not a doctor."
Days of exhaustion and emotional torment finally took their toll. My vision went black, and I fell down the stairs.
Blood pooled behind my head. Before I lost consciousness, I called out her name.
She stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at me with utter indifference. "Why are you always bothering me?"
Then, with cold composure, she stepped over the spreading pool of my blood and walked away.
In that moment, for the first time, I truly understood what people meant when they called her a monster. She didn't care if I lived or died.
But she was different with her assistant, Leo.
With him, Hannah seemed normal. Like a wooden puppet that had suddenly grown flesh and blood, that had warmth.
At a press conference, she once said, "Leo makes my barren soul sprout flesh and blood. Because of him, I can feel the warmth of the sun and the sweetness of a flower's scent."
That night, I confronted her like a madman. "Hannah, do you have any idea what you're doing? This is cheating!"
"You shouldn't use a word like 'cheating' to define my relationship with Leo," she replied, not even looking up from her painting.
Her studio was filled with sketches of him. Leo laughing, Leo thinking, Leo frowning every stroke was filled with an intensity and devotion she had never shown me.
As I turned to leave, heartbroken, she called out, "Kieran, you were only ever a visitor in my life. Leo is my soul, my muse."
The fight went out of me, replaced by an all-consuming exhaustion.
I finally understood. It wasn't that Hannah was incapable of loving everyone. It was just that I wasn't the one she was willing to try for.
I thought my life couldn't get any more hopeless.
Then my own daughter started calling Leo "Daddy."
Just like her mother, Nina fawned over him.
"Daddy Leo, you're so handsome."
"I wish you were my real daddy."
"I don't want a loser for a dad. All the kids at school make fun of me."
Even my mother-in-law tried to reason with me. "My Hannah is the greatest artist alive. You should be honored to be her husband. So what if she doesn't love you? Love doesn't put food on the table."
The memories faded. I turned to leave the registrar's office. "Goodbye, you two." If I was lucky, I'd never see Hannah Mackinnon again.
But a hand clamped around my wrist.
Hannah stared at me, her eyes filled with a helpless confusion. "But why?"
"Let go," I said, my voice cold.
Leo shot me a look, then gently tried to soothe Hannah. "Hannah, let him go, okay?"
She didn't seem to hear him, her brow furrowed. When she spoke again, her words were as artless and clumsy as ever. "Is it because of the time you fell? But you were fine, weren't you?"
A bitter laugh escaped me. The only reason I was standing here was pure luck.
I wrenched my hand away. "Get lost," I snarled.
She had never been treated this way by me. She looked lost, uncertain.
Leo stepped in, taking her hand. "Kieran, calm down. Hannah doesn't mean any harm. She just doesn't know how to express herself. Stop pressuring her. She isn't your property."
Hannah nodded, agreeing with him completely.
I laughed out loud. It was all so pointless.
"Goodbye, Hannah." I waved and walked away without looking back.
I felt her stiffen behind me, her fingers tremblinga telltale sign of her anxiety. Leo, oblivious, just squeezed her hand. "Come on, my great artist."
Hannah turned her head, looking at him blankly. She tried to soothe the strange unease in her chest, but the hollow feeling of loss remained. If she were to describe it in the language she knew best, it felt as if a masterpiece she had poured her soul into had been suddenly and irrevocably destroyed. Her heart had skipped a beat.
When news of our divorce got out, people came out of the woodwork. My perpetually arrogant ex-mother-in-law, Mrs. Mackinnon, showed up at my apartment with my daughter.
I was packing my last suitcase.
Mrs. Mackinnon stopped me, a condescending smile on her face. "Oh, dear, you don't have to move out. You haven't worked in years. How will you survive out there? Besides, you've done our family a service. If you starve to death, people will say the Mackinnon family is ungrateful."
Nina glared at me. "You're just jealous that we like Daddy Leo more than you," she muttered.
Mrs. Mackinnon pretended to scold her, then turned back to me. "I know you've been wronged, son. But you know Hannah. She just doesn't understand social graces. But she truly likes you best."
Her tone was so familiar, so intimate, as if the years of contempt had never happened.
I gave a cold laugh. "Mrs. Mackinnon, weren't you the one who wanted us to get divorced?"
Her smile faltered. After a dry cough, she said, "Now, why would you say that? Your mother and I are such good friends. Of course I was happy to have you as a son-in-law."
She sounded so sincere. All I felt was disgust. I'd never forget her voice outside the ICU after my fall, cold and sharp. "It would be better if he died. The Mackinnon family has no use for a failure like him."
She often told people in private, "Kieran Wallace is completely unworthy of my daughter. He's a waste of space."
I knew she was here for a reason, and it wasn't a good one.
"Hannah is at a critical point in her career," she said, her tone hardening. "News of a divorce right now would look bad. So, for the time being, you cannot make this public. Can you do that?"
Before I could answer, Nina pushed me. "Just agree already! Daddy Leo was right, you're selfish! You only ever think about yourself."
Her words were like a thousand needles piercing my heart. I stared at her. My daughter. She used to cling to my leg, telling me over and over, "Daddy is the best. I love Daddy the most."
But she had Hannah's blood in her veins. And just like Hannah, the moment Leo appeared, she cast me aside without a second thought.
"Nina!" I said, my voice sharp.
She jutted out her chin, defiant.
Just then, the door opened. Hannah and Leo walked in together.

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