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I had hesitated, my heart heavy with the weight of the past. “Later, Nathan,” I said softly, unable to meet his eyes. “Later, I don’t think I can receive any love in my heart anytime soon.”
He nodded, his expression understanding. “I get it, Amelia. I really do.”
For me, the thought of moving on felt impossible.
I had just clawed my way out of the emotional wreckage Liam had left behind. My focus was on raising Theodore and protecting myself from the risk of another heartbreak
Nathaniel had accepted my response with grace, and nothing about our friendship had changed.
Back in the present, Nathaniel handed me a steaming cup of coffee. I took a sip, the warmth soothing my frayed
nerves.
“I want to order a delivery food since I’m free,” Nathaniel said, breaking the silence. “Do you want it too?”
I nodded, grateful for the chance to share a simple meal and forget the chaos of the day, even for a moment.
“Sure, let’s eat while we have time.”
Nathaniel reached for his phone to order the food, but before he could confirm the delivery, my pager beeped sharply. An emergency call from the ER.
“I’ve got to go,” I said, setting my coffee down and running out of the staff room.
When I arrived at the ER, the atmosphere was tense. My colleague was performing CPR on a familiar patient–the elderly grandmother I had just chatted with earlier that day.
“She fainted suddenly,” my colleague explained, his voice tight with focus. “When I checked her, her heart had stopped. It looks like heart failure.”
I took over immediately, adrenaline pushing aside my exhaustion as I worked alongside my team.
We tried everything–compressions, medications, the defibrillator. But after 15 agonizing minutes, there was nothing more we could do.
I stepped back, my hands shaking slightly, as the grim reality settled in.
The grandmother’s husband, who had been recovering in the adjacent bed, broke down. His cries filled the room as he clutched his wife’s lifeless hand.
Forget Me Once Farewell Forever
“She was just fine… she was fine,” he murmured, his voice cracking under the weight of his grief.
The atmosphere in the ER turned unbearably heavy. Staff moved quietly, their faces somber as they cleared the equipment and gave the grieving man his space.
I stood there, watching the scene unfold, my chest tightening.
The depth of his pain was palpable. His tears for his wife were a testament to the bond they had shared.
And then, unbidden, a haunting thought crossed my mind. ‘Is this how a husband is supposed to feel when his wife dies? So, did Liam feel the same when I sent him that suicidal photo six months ago?”
I quickly recovered from my lingering thoughts, shaking them away as the demands of the ER called me back to reality. Another patient had just arrived, and I needed to focus.
*Please take care of them for me,” I said to the nurse, gesturing to the grieving husband as I moved toward the next patient.
Then, in what felt like the blink of an eye, a year had passed since I began working at the branch hospital
Theodore had celebrated his 3rd birthday with the hospital staff, who had grown much closer to me during our
time there.
Rumors had started circulating about the hospital receiving additional staff. The facility had gained a reputation as an initial referral center for emergencies, and the increasing patient load made it clear that more hands were
needed.
Life had begun to feel stable again, and I had found a rhythm in my new chapter.
But just as I had started to settle down, my past came rushing back in the most unexpected way.
It happened in the lounge, where some patients and their families were sitting and chatting, the television softly playing in the background.
A familiar voice caught my attention, and when I turned to look, I froze.
There, on the screen, was Liam.
The man I had worked so hard to forget stared back at me, looking composed and confident during a televised
interview.
The caption below described him as a famous prosecutor, praised for successfully imprisoning several high–profile criminals.
“That prosecutor is really famous for taking down big–time criminals,” one of the patients commented.
“Right? He’s really cool,” another added.
“It’s impressive how calm and collected he looks, even with such a complicated case,” someone else chimed in.
I stood frozen, unable to tear my gaze away from the screen. Liam looked exactly the same as I remembered. Not a single thing had changed about him.
My chest tightened, and I whispered under my breath, “Are you happy now, Liam?”
But the truth was, Liam was not happy.
At our house, Liam found himself in the storage room. The room was filled with unused items, old books, and
boxes from the past.
He had been working on a complicated case, one that required him to dig up notes from his college days to reference a discussion he had had with his professor.
But instead of finding the notes he was looking for, Liam stumbled upon something he had not expected.
It was a box filled with my scrapbook diaries.
Since I was a child, I had always loved journaling and crafting scrapbooks, using them to document memories
and moments that were precious to me.
Among the collection was a special scrapbook I had made after meeting Liam. It was a personal chronicle of our relationship–from the moment we met, to our wedding day, our anniversaries, and even the day Theodore was born.
Evelyn, it seemed, had not known about these scrapbooks, and they had been left untouched in the house. Like the doctor had once told him, every small detail from the past could trigger the return of his lost memories. So, as Liam opened the scrapbook and flipped through its pages, those memories began flooding back.
Each page was filled with intricate details–handwritten notes, photographs, ticket stubs from places we had visited together, and small mementos of our shared life. My words poured out from the pages, recounting our happiest moments and the love we had shared.
As Liam read, tears began to fall from his eyes, landing on the pages of the scrapbook. He could not stop them, could not hold back the wave of emotions that crashed over him.
“What have I done to you, Amelia?” he murmured to himself, his voice breaking.
