Chapter 8
The engagement party had long since ended, night settling outside, when Leonard told me to stay inside while he saw some friends off.
I sat on the floor, restless and bored, when a figure suddenly appeared in front of me.
Looking up, I saw him again–the man called Simon.
He raised his hands, his face a portrait of fear and nerves.
“Please, don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you,” he stammered. “I just wanted you to know–my name
is Simon.”
He thrust a handful of photos, a worn journal, and a cell phone into my arms.
I stared at the wrinkled photographs. În every one, there Simon was–standing beside me.
“These are of you and me?”
Were we really husband and wife? If so, why did I feel nothing at all when I looked at him?
I flipped open the yellowed journal. Page after page chronicled our romance from ten years ago–my handwriting full of love for Simon, his notes brimming with tenderness and care. The sweetness between young lovers seemed to leap off the paper.
He pointed at the phone. “The notes on here–they’re all about us, about our life together.”
Skeptical, I scrolled through the memos. Each one was about Simon and me.
Suddenly, a dull ache pulsed in my chest. My hand trembled as I tapped into the drafts folder.
There, in a deleted note, was a list of ten women’s names–ten names, each with a list of preferences beside it.
I stared, stunned, pointing at the screen. “What’s this…?”
Simon looked guilty, and quickly deleted the note.
“Simon, you said we’ve been together for over a decade. But why do my memories only go back
ars? Did we not spend these recent years together?”
esitated, eyes darting, unable to answer.
With a sigh, I turned to the very last blank page of the journal–and found, in my own handwriting, a final letter. It chronicled all the pain Simon had caused me over the past decade. The things he’d done to me were almost unspeakable.
Tears spilled down my cheeks as I read my own cramped writing. It felt as if all those moments of hurt were replaying in front of my eyes.
“Simon, are these true too?” I held up the journal with trembling hands. Simon turned pale.
He tried to explain, but the words never came.
12
15:02
Chapter 8
“Maybe I did love you once. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have endured so much, year after year, refusing to leave,” I whispered. “But now, I don’t love you anymore.”
“Goodbye, Simon.”
I wiped my tears, stood up–only for Simon to grab me, pulling me into his arms.
“Vivi, don’t leave me. Please!” he pleaded desperately. “These past ten years, I know I was wrong!”
He ignored my struggles, pinning me down, tearing at my clothes.
I screamed and fought, panic surging as my dress ripped. At the height of my despair, another figure appeared.
Leonard stormed in, yanking Simon away and raining punches down on him, wild and relentless, until security dragged them apart.
Face flushed with rage, Leonard spat a warning at Simon: “Simon, just wait. The entire Sterling family will answer for this!”
I clung to Leonard, trying to calm him. He held me tight, his voice gentle and soothing.
After that night, I never saw Simon again. Rumor had it the Sterling family vanished overnight, and Simon’s trail disappeared with them.
People whispered about the Harrison Group heir, saying he’d destroyed a family for the sake of a woman. No one ever learned her name–only that she resembled Simon’s ex–wife.
After that, Vivian ceased to exist. There was only Viola.
This new Viola carried no memories of pain, no lingering heartache–only the love Leonard
lavished on her.
Years later, Leonard and I had a child together. At our baby’s christening, a package arrived: a pink dress, neatly folded, with a card signed, “Ten Years.”
I stared at the little dress, eyes stinging.
“Come on! Family photo time!”
Leonard called to me. I tossed the dress and card into the trash.
A new life shouldn’t be shackled to the past.
The brave keep moving forward–never looking back.
212
15:02
