Chapter 41

Still a flashback from 3 years ago...........

It had been weeks since Alastair revealed her plan to her parents and in-laws, a plan born out of desperation and love-a fragile hope to rebuild the life they once shared. But the reality of Zaviya's amnesia was a crushing weight. Each passing day without her wife's memories of their love felt like a dagger twisting in Alastair's chest.

She stood before the mirror in her dimly lit room. Her hands trembled as she adjusted the collar of her crisp white shirt. Her reflection stared back, unfamiliar and haunting. She had cut her hair short, the sharp edges framing a face worn thin from sleepless nights and uneaten meals. Though she had done her best to look presentable, the dark hollows beneath her eyes betrayed her agony. "This isn't only for me" , she thought. "This is for her. For us."

The plan began one brisk morning at a coffee shop, where Alastair orchestrated an accidental bump into Zaviya. The coffee shop hummed with life, the scent of freshly brewed espresso mingling with the crisp Manhattan air. Alastair stepped inside, her heart pounding beneath the fabric of her tailored suit. She ran a hand through her freshly cut hair, shorter now, framing her sharper-than-usual cheekbones. She had made herself presentable, even if her reflection told a different story.

The bell above the door chimed as Zaviya walked in, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. Alastair's heart beats rapidly as she senses that she's approaching. Her breath hitching the moment her eyes landed on her wife.

Zaviya walks with her usual commanding presence, her confident stride catching the attention of more than a few patrons. But she stopped abruptly when her eyes landed on Alastair by the counter. Her shock was evident; it wasn't every day you ran into someone who had once been your fiercest rival since you were young.

Zaviya's lips curled into a familiar grimace, one Alastair had once found amusing but now stung with the weight of all that was lost.

"Alastair Michelle Marquez Dee," Zaviya scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I didn't think Manhattan was small enough for us to bump into each other."

Alastair turned, mustering a cocky smile despite the ache in her chest. "Well, well. Zaviya Anntonia Porsild. Still as charming as ever, I see."

The tension was electric, palpable even to the barista who hesitated before taking their orders. Moments later, they sat at a corner table, their coffee cups a silent witness to the sharp exchanges that followed.

"I'm surprised you're still in tech," Zaviya quipped, her tone laced with mockery. "I always thought you'd end up running some mediocre gym with your obsession with... fitness."

Alastair leaned back, smirking. "And I thought you'd have softened up by now, Mrs.-" She caught herself, her voice faltering. "Miss Porsild."

For a split second, Zaviya's brow furrowed, a flicker of confusion crossing her features. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by her usual composed demeanor.

For Alastair, it was both torture and salvation. Every encounter was a step closer to the woman she loved yet farther from the life they had shared. She clung to the hope that this familiar banter, this push and pull, would unlock the memories buried within Zaviya's mind.

For six painstaking months, Zaviya is back on her track. She occasionally joined her father in business matter in Manhattan. Alastair orchestrates meeting after meeting. She strategically placed herself at conferences, business dinners, and tech expos, ensuring their paths would cross. Each meeting was a calculated move, but her heart broke a little more each time Zaviya's gaze held no recognition beyond rivalry.

She tried everything for how long as Zaviya is staying in Manhattan. She meticulously recreated every scenario where they once collided-bantering, challenging, and frustrating Zaviya in the past. But like the every other encounters, despite the laughter and fleeting moments of connection, Zaviya's memories remained a locked vault.

One evening, after a heated bidding war, Zaviya stormed out of the conference hall, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. Alastair followed, her chest tightening with each step.

"Do you get some sick pleasure out of this?" Zaviya spun around, her eyes blazing. "Always being one step ahead, always in my face?"

"Maybe I just like being near you," Alastair replied softly, her voice betraying the vulnerability she tried so hard to hide.

For a moment, Zaviya froze, caught off guard by the tenderness in Alastair's tone. But then she shook her head, brushing past her without another word.

Months later, both women returned to the Philippines. The familiar sights and sounds of home added a bittersweet edge to Alastair's relentless pursuit.

In Manila, Alastair stood at a distance, watching Zaviya through the glass walls of her corporate office and business meetings in other companies. She had never stopped loving her-never stopped yearning for the woman who had once looked at her with so much warmth and devotion. But now, that gaze was cold, calculating, a stranger's eyes.

There's one night when rain fell relentlessly, drumming against the pavement in a steady, unyielding rhythm. Alastair stood by the gate of the Porsild's mansion, drenched from head to toe, her soaked hoodie clinging to her shoulders. In her trembling hands, an envelope bore the marks of the storm, its edges curled and damp. Yet the ink inside remained untouched-a testament to her careful planning, even amidst the chaos of her emotions.

Her breaths came out in ragged intervals, her chest rising and falling as she fought to suppress the storm within. She raised her eyes to the window above, where soft, golden light spilled out, a beacon of warmth and comfort that teased her with a glimpse of Zaviya's world-a world that felt painfully out of reach.

Hours earlier, Alastair had sat at her desk, the quiet hum of the night surrounding her as she poured her heart onto the page. Her hand moved steadily, the pen's ink flowing like an extension of her soul. Each word was deliberate, a carefully chosen fragment of the truth she could no longer hide.

Her pen had stilled after the final word, and Alastair had stared at the letter, as if committing each line to memory.

The rain lashed against Alastair as she gripped the letter tighter, her knuckles stark white against the dark stormy backdrop. The gate buzzed faintly, the rainwater slipping into its mechanisms, and she stepped forward, pressing the envelope to the cold metal bars.

Her voice cracked, a fragile whisper breaking through the storm."I'm sorry, Zaviya. I don't know if you'll ever remember me as someone who mattered... someone who loved you more than life itself. But I'll keep trying. I'll keep showing up. Even if it kills me."

Tears mingled with the rain as they streamed down her face, her shoulders trembling under the weight of her love and regret. For a moment, she leaned her forehead against the gate, letting the cold metal anchor her to the moment.

But then, a thought struck her.

"If I give her this now... if she reads it now... everything will end here," she murmured, her voice nearly drowned out by the rain.

Her fingers hovered, trembling with indecision. The urge to leave the letter, to finally take the leap, clashed violently with the fear of what might follow.

"Not like this," she said aloud, her voice steadier this time.

Slowly, Alastair stuffed the envelope back into her jacket, each movement deliberate and heavy. Her heart felt as though it splintered with every step she took, retreating into the storm and away from the gate.

Inside the mansion, Zaviya stood by the window of her room, a wine glass cradled in her hand as she gazed out at the blurred world beyond. The rain streaked the glass, distorting the view, but a shadowy figure moving in the distance caught her attention. There was something achingly familiar about the way they moved, something that tugged at a memory she'd buried long ago.

Her brow furrowed, and she pressed a hand against the cold glass."Alastair?"

She shook her head, the name barely more than a whisper. "No, it couldn't be," she muttered, attempting to dismiss the flicker of recognition. But the feeling lingered, settling uneasily in her chest.

Back in her own penthouse, Alastair collapsed onto her bed, the rainwater still clinging to her clothes and skin. The envelope lay on the nightstand, crumpled and damp, a silent reminder of what she couldn't bring herself to do.

She stared at it, her eyes red and swollen from the tears that had yet to dry. Her voice was soft, broken, as she spoke into the emptiness of her room.

"I'll tell you one day, Zaviya. Just... not tonight."

The rain outside continued to fall, its steady rhythm matching the dull ache in her heart.

It had been a year since the accident-a year since Zaviya had lost every memory of their life together. Alastair's world had crumbled that day, and she hadn't been able to piece it back together since. Every fleeting smile, every accidental brush of their hands felt like a cruel reminder of what they had lost. Zaviya's gaze, once filled with warmth and familiarity, now only carried polite indifference.

*********************The same scenarios went on and on for months. Still Alastair is projecting a perfect, annoying rival to Zaviya. She still keeps her acts hoping against hope that one day Zaviya would wake up remembering everything about their life together. Everyday is like a battle of hope for Alastair. The only thing that keeps her going, is the love she has for her wife.

One night, the café was dimly lit, a refuge for sleepless souls seeking solace in warm coffee and whispered confessions. Alastair sat between her two closest friends, Gaios and Klaud, her hands trembling as she clutched her mug.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself," Gaios said, her voice a blend of frustration and pity. "She doesn't remember. She doesn't even know who you are anymore."

Alastair's laugh was bitter, raw. "And what do I do? Forget her? Move on? She's not just someone I can forget. She's my wife-my everything." Her voice cracked, tears streaming down her cheeks, unbidden and unrelenting.

Klaud leaned forward, her hand resting gently on her shoulder. "Sometimes, love means letting go. Have you thought about what this is doing to you?"

"Let go?" Alastair's voice turned sharp, almost feral. "You think I haven't tried? I'd rather die than live in a world where she doesn't remember me. You don't get it-I'm still here, fighting for something that's already slipping through my fingers."

And then, in her desperation, an idea came to her-a dangerous, desperate idea.

"What if we got married again?" she murmured, barely audible.

The silence at the table was deafening. Gaios and Klaud exchanged a look that was equal parts shock and horror.

"No," Klaud said firmly. "That's insane. If she ever remembers, she'll hate you for manipulating her."

"It's reckless," Gaios added. "You're setting yourself up for more pain, Alastair. This won't fix anything."

Alastair's tear-filled eyes turned to them, blazing with a determination they hadn't seen before. "I don't care if she hates me. I'd rather have her hate me than lose her forever."

The next evening, Alastair knelt in the grand dining room of the Porsild mansion, her voice raw and trembling as she pleaded before their parents.

"Please," she begged, her head bowed low. "I need this. I need her. It's been a year, and I've been patient. I've given her space, but every day, it feels like I'm dying inside. If not now, when? What if she found someone else? I can't... I won't survive that."

Melanie, her mother, approached hesitantly, her own eyes glistening with tears. "This will break you, Alastair. Are you sure you can bear it?"

Alastair looked up, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've been broken since the day she forgot me. There's nothing left to break."

Zaviya's father, Morten, sighed deeply, his face lined with concern. "You've loved my daughter more selflessly than anyone I've ever known. If this is truly your last resort, I'll support you. But promise me one thing-don't lose yourself in this fight."

"I won't," Alastair lied, knowing full well she was already lost.

The engagement was announced a month later, and as expected, Zaviya erupted in fury. She slammed the dining table as she confronted her parents.

"You can't force me to marry her!" she shouted, her voice ringing through the Porsild mansion.

"You'll do it, or you'll lose everything," her father replied coldly.

Left with no choice, Zaviya reluctantly agreed. She and Alastair devised a plan: marry, play the dutiful couple for two years, and then quietly divorce. But Alastair had other plans. She still clung to the hope that within those two years, she could make Zaviya fall in love with her again-or, at the very least, remember the life they once shared.

The wedding was a spectacle of opulence, just as Zaviya had once dreamed. Glittering chandeliers, hundreds of guests, and a gown that made her look like a queen. But as she walked down the aisle, her steps faltered. Her heart felt heavy, as though something was missing.

At the altar, Alastair waited, her heart pounding. Her vows were shaky but heartfelt, each word laced with a desperation she couldn't hide.

"Today, I vow to you that I will always stand by your side, supporting you in all your dreams and aspirations. I promise to love you fiercely, to laugh with you in times of joy, and to comfort you in times of sorrow. I will cherish every moment we have together, and I will never take for granted the gift of your love. I vow to be your partner in laughter and tears, in success and failure, knowing that together, we are stronger than we could ever be alone. I promise to stand by your side, to listen with an open heart, and to celebrate your triumphs as my own.

Zaviya, you are my challenge and my reward, my equal in every way. With you, I've learned that love isn't always easy, but it's always worth it. So today, in front of our families and friends, I pledge my love to you, for now and for always."

Zaviya's responses were mechanical, her gaze distant. But for a fleeting moment during the ceremony, as Alastair slipped the ring onto her finger, Zaviya's eyes softened, a flicker of something familiar breaking through the haze of amnesia.

That night, Zaviya fell into a deep sleep, exhaustion from the day's events claiming her. Alastair, however, sat alone on the balcony of their honeymoon suite, staring at the stars. Her phone buzzed-it was a message from Klaud.

"Was it worth it?"

Her fingers trembled as she typed back a single word: "Always."

The stars blurred as tears filled her eyes. Her thoughts drifted to Zaviya's question at the reception.

"Why do you look at me like you know every part of me?" Zaviya had asked, her voice tinged with unease.

Alastair's breath hitched at the memory. In that moment, she had seen it-a crack in the wall of amnesia. She had leaned in, her voice breaking, and whispered, "Because I do."

As the night deepened, Alastair returned to the bed, lying down beside Zaviya. She stared at her wife's peaceful face, her heart aching with both hope and despair.

"If you never remember," she whispered into the silence, "I'll love you anyway. And if you do... I'll be here, waiting, like I always have."

The stars above bore silent witness to her vow-a love so stubborn it defied even the loss of memory. Alastair closed her eyes, her hand brushing against Zaviya's. For now, this was enough.

But in her heart, she prayed. Prayed for a miracle, for a chance, for Zaviya to remember that once, they had built a world together-a world worth fighting for.

--------------------------Everything was falling into place, and Alastair could feel the weight of each moment pressing down on her chest. It was all happening just as she planned, yet the ache in her heart never wavered. The desperation that led her to beg their parents to repeat the stunt from months ago-asking for their arranged marriage to be made real once more-had been selfish. She knew that. But it was the only way she knew how to keep Zaviya.

How could she let her go? How could she let Zaviya slip through her fingers again?

Months had passed since that desperate plea, and now here they were, standing together on their wedding day, with everything different. Unlike the rushed, barely witnessed ceremony before, this wedding was everything Zaviya had ever dreamed of. Alastair had made sure of that. Every detail. Every moment. All of it was for Zaviya-for the woman who deserved the best in the world, for the woman Alastair was convinced she couldn't live without.

As Alastair looked at Zaviya, so beautiful and poised, her chest tightened with a feeling that could only be described as both pride and anguish. The vows Alastair had written the night before-those raw, heartfelt promises-were everything she had to give. It was the only way she could express the depth of her love, the depth of everything she had kept hidden in her heart for so long.

But when Zaviya didn't have a vow to say, when Zaviya stood there silently, Alastair couldn't breathe. It was like her heart had cracked open. Was this truly nothing to Zaviya? Was this marriage only a performance to her, a mere transaction between families? The pain was unbearable. It was as if Zaviya had already forgotten everything-every touch, every whisper, every promise they'd made to each other.

Still, despite the sharp ache in her chest, Alastair composed herself. She had to. For Zaviya. For their marriage. She would make sure that this moment, this day, this marriage would be unforgettable. She would make sure that no matter what, Zaviya would have the happiest memories.

But Alastair couldn't deny the weight of the truth that settled in her heart. She was alone in this marriage. It was only her love for Zaviya that kept her going, and Zaviya-Zaviya wasn't even here, not really.

After their wedding at the Porsild's ranch, the honeymoon began. A trip to Switzerland, Italy, Peru, and Turkey-a show for their parents, a display of affection, a fake honeymoon that would last as long as the business arrangements demanded it.

Alastair knew, deep down, that these trips meant nothing to Zaviya. Every time they shared a moment, a glance, every place they visited together, Zaviya reminded her, again and again, that this was just for show. It was for their families. It was for business. It was all fake.

The words cut through Alastair like knives, every reminder that Zaviya's heart didn't belong to her, every realization that this was all a lie. Every single time Zaviya's voice rang out with the cold truth, Alastair's heart broke a little more. But she endured. She always endured.

She was willing to carry this burden, this pain, for as long as it took. She told herself she could pretend, act like everything was fine, for the rest of her life. But deep down, her heart whispered one thing, again and again: Until my last breath.

Every night, while Zaviya slept peacefully beside her, Alastair stayed awake. She watched her. Her heart swelled with a kind of love that was painful and consuming. She wasn't a religious person, but now, now she prayed every night, begging God, asking for Zaviya's memories to come back, for her to remember the love they had shared.

Alastair would trade anything, everything, for that. For Zaviya to remember. For Zaviya to return to her, to remember them.

But most of all, Alastair begged for Zaviya's happiness. She had promised her so much. She had promised to make her the happiest woman alive. But somehow, she had ended up breaking her.

How long could Alastair endure this? How long could she wear the mask of happiness, of being okay, when inside, everything was crumbling? How long could she go on pretending? She didn't know. All she knew was that if she had to, she would endure until the very end, until her heart could carry no more. Until the day Zaviya remembered everything.

Until then, Alastair would keep watching her, praying, and loving her silently, because she knew one thing: Zaviya deserved the world. And Alastair would give it to her-even if it meant she had to destroy herself in the process.

When they arrived home from their twelve-day fake honeymoon trip, the atmosphere was deceptively quiet. Alastair kept her calm facade intact as they pulled up to the grand gates of the Porsild mansion, though her mind was an endless storm of emotions. Beside her, Zaviya sat in rigid silence, her beauty as striking as ever, but her cold demeanor a knife twisting in Alastair's chest. Zaviya's memory loss was a cruel twist of fate-a wound that refused to heal no matter how many years passed.

Inside the mansion, Morten greeted them with his usual grandeur, a fatherly pride evident in his gaze. As he handed them the key to their "new" home, Alastair's hands trembled ever so slightly. It wasn't just any house; it was their house, the place where they had built a life together once before. It was the house where laughter once echoed, where dreams were spun late into the night, and where their hearts were shattered beyond repair.

But Zaviya... she didn't know. She had no idea. To her, this was just another chapter in the strange, unfamiliar life she had to live up to. Her brows furrowed as she studied the key in her hand, her confusion quickly morphing into anger.

"Are you serious?" Zaviya snapped, her voice sharp and filled with disbelief. "You expect me to live with her under the same roof?" She gestured to Alastair, her tone dripping with venom.

Morten sighed but remained firm. "This is your home now. It's already decided. All your things are carefully arranged there."

Zaviya's fury burned bright, but deep down, even she knew there was no escaping this. With gritted teeth and a heart full of resentment, she finally muttered, "Fine."

The first day under the same roof were unbearable. On the second day, Zaviya stormed into the garden, a piece of paper clutched tightly in her hand. She slapped it onto the coffee table in front of Alastair, who was quietly sipping her morning coffee.

"We need some ground rules," Zaviya declared coldly. "Ten of them. Ahmm I think of something like we're keeping separate bedrooms. No touching. No unnecessary conversations. And absolutely no pretending that this is anything more than what it is-a farce."

Alastair was hurt but she kept her playful side to make Zaviya comfortable somehow. She stared at the list, her expression unreadable. Inside, her heart cracked a little more, but she nodded. "Fine."

And so, they became actors in their own lives. Outside, they were the perfect, powerful couple, drawing admiration and envy from everyone who saw them. Alastair would hold Zaviya's hand at events, her touch gentle yet longing, while Zaviya would play the role of the devoted wife, her smiles masking the storm inside her. But behind closed doors, they were strangers. Strangers with a past only one of them remembered.

Alastair told herself that the civility was enough, at least there's progress. It was better than the cold war they'd lived through on the very first day they met since they were kids. But deep inside, the emptiness gnawed at her. Every night, she would lie awake in her separate bedroom, staring at the ceiling, haunted by memories she couldn't share. Memories of a love so intense, so consuming, that it felt impossible to recreate it in this fractured reality.

Then there was the nursery, a room she only had the key and forbids anyone to enter except Alastair.

Every time Alastair's memories and longing became too much to bear, she would find herself drawn to that room. The small, untouched space was a shrine to a dream that had died far too soon. The soft pastel walls, the tiny crib, the shelves filled with toys that would never be played with-they were all reminders of Zariah, the child they never got to hold.

Zaviya didn't remember the accident. She didn't remember the joy on her face when she first found out she was pregnant. She didn't remember how they had planned every detail of Zariah's life together, from her name to the stories they would read her at bedtime. All Zaviya knew was the emptiness of now, and Alastair bore the weight of the past alone.

On nights when the pain became unbearable, Alastair would sit in the nursery, her strong facade crumbling as she wept like a child. The guilt consumed her-guilt for not protecting Zaviya that night, for not saving Zariah, for still loving Zaviya so deeply despite everything.

Her cries would echo in the stillness, raw and unrestrained. She would clutch the tiny stuffed rabbit they had bought together, her tears soaking its soft fabric. "I'm sorry," she would whisper into the silence, her voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."

Every sob was a release of the pent-up hurt, the anger, the sadness that she kept bottled up during the day. But the pain never truly left. It lingered, a constant ache in her chest, a reminder of everything she had lost and everything she was still fighting for-even if Zaviya didn't remember, even if she never would.

Because Alastair knew that love was not just about holding on to the good times. It was about enduring the pain, carrying the burden of memories, and finding the strength to hope for a future that might never come.

--------------------------------------Updateeeee. 💙

#ABF 41