Chapter 40

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

The Dee family’s private plane descended gracefully, its wheels meeting the tarmac with a soft thud. To anyone else, the sound was mundane, an everyday occurrence. But to Alastair Michelle Dee, it felt like the crack of a whip—sharp, piercing, and unforgiving. Her heart seized, constricted by the weight of anticipation and dread. Two months. Sixty-three agonizing days since she had last seen Zaviya Anntonia Porsild. Sixty-three days since the love of her life had slipped away from her grasp, not into death, but into a void so deep it felt like an abyss. And now, she was on the brink of seeing her again, though Zaviya was no longer the woman she knew, no longer the woman who once filled her world with color and light.

The drive to the Porsild estate was a study in silence. The scenery blurred past the window, unnoticed by Alastair, who sat stiff and unyielding in the backseat. The family driver, an older man whose compassionate eyes betrayed his own pain, occasionally glanced at her in the rearview mirror. He didn’t speak, didn’t intrude, but his understanding lingered in the air like an unspoken prayer. He had seen Zaviya’s vacant stares, the way she seemed to look past everything and everyone, as if nothing in the world held meaning for her anymore. He had witnessed the devastation firsthand, and now, he bore silent witness to Alastair’s unraveling.

When the car finally slowed in front of the gated Porsild estate, Alastair’s breath hitched. The gates opened, and as they drove through, her memories came flooding back in an unrelenting wave. She saw the quiet streets they used to walk together, hand in hand, as they planned a future that now seemed like a cruel, unattainable dream. Every corner of the estate whispered of the life they had shared, the love that had once been unshakable, unbreakable. And yet here she was, a visitor in a world that used to feel like home.

The front door of the Porsild mansion opened, and Zaviya’s parents, Nee and Morten, stepped out. Their faces, once so full of warmth and humor, were pale, etched with lines of grief that spoke of sleepless nights and endless heartbreak. As Alastair approached, they enveloped her in an embrace that was as much for their comfort as it was for hers.

“Alastair, anak,” Nee murmured, her voice breaking under the weight of her sorrow. Tears streamed down her cheeks, glistening like tiny shards of glass in the golden afternoon sun.

Morten’s red-rimmed eyes met hers, his voice trembling as he said, “We’re all shattered, sweetheart. But we’re here. We’ll get through this... somehow.” His words, though meant to console, only deepened the ache in Alastair’s chest.

They led her to a smaller house adjacent to the mansion—a modest but welcoming space prepared for her stay. The moment the door closed behind them, Alastair’s composure shattered. Her knees gave out, and she crumpled to the floor, the weight of her grief dragging her down. Silent sobs wracked her body, each one tearing through her chest with a ferocity she hadn’t known existed. It was unbearable, the reality of it all. Zaviya, her Zaviya, was just a heartbeat away, and yet, she might as well have been on another planet.

Nee knelt beside her, her hand gentle on Alastair’s trembling shoulder. “Come, sit,” she said softly. “Let’s talk.”

Alastair forced herself to her feet, her legs weak and unsteady, and sank onto the couch. The room seemed to close in around her, the walls pressing down with an almost suffocating weight. Across from her, Morten sat, his hands clasped tightly together as if in prayer. His jaw was tight, his expression grim, as he prepared to deliver the words that would pierce her heart anew.

“We agreed to let you stay here so you can see her,” Morten began, his voice measured but heavy with emotion. “But there are rules, Alastair. Rules we have to follow for Zaviya’s safety.” He paused, the next words sticking in his throat. “The doctors said... any sudden emotional shock could make her relapse. She could lose consciousness, even—” He faltered, unable to finish the thought, but the implication hung in the air like a dark cloud. Even die.

Alastair’s vision blurred, her tears threatening to spill once more. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms in a desperate attempt to steady herself. “I understand, Dad,” she whispered, her voice strained and hoarse. “I won’t go near her. I swear. Just... please. Let me see her. I won’t say a word. I just need to see her.”

Nee nodded, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “We’ll let you watch from the window,” she said, her voice laden with apology. “It’s the best we can do right now.”

Alastair bit her lip, nodding as a single tear slipped down her cheek. It wasn’t enough—not nearly enough—but it was all she had. And for Zaviya, she would take whatever she could get. Even if it meant watching from a distance, yearning for a connection that felt as unreachable as the stars.

Alastair stood shakily, her legs unsteady beneath the weight of her emotions, and followed Nee’s gaze to the large bay window that overlooked the Porsilds’ house. The sunlight filtered through the glass, painting the room in golden hues, but Alastair barely noticed. Her world had narrowed, her vision tunneling to a singular figure framed by the second-floor balcony across the yard.

There, bathed in the tender glow of the sun, was Zaviya.

She was lost in her crochet, her fingers moving in delicate, practiced motions. The soft thread of yarn slipped through her hands, as if it were the only thing anchoring her to the present, to reality. Alastair’s breath hitched, catching painfully in her throat. It was a sight so ordinary and yet so extraordinary, it pierced straight through her.

She stepped closer to the window, her heart thundering, her chest tightening with a grief she couldn’t name. Every detail of Zaviya—her wife, her once unshakable other half—was etched into her memory. The delicate curve of her neck, the way her dark hair caught the light like a halo, and the furrow in her brow whenever she concentrated. Alastair had memorized all of it, but now, standing there, it felt like she was seeing Zaviya for the first time.

Her trembling fingers gripped the window frame, the wood cold and unyielding beneath her touch. Tears blurred her vision, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. The sight of Zaviya, alive but so heartbreakingly distant, shattered something inside her. A sob, raw and broken, escaped her lips before she could stop it.

“Zaviya...” The name fell from her mouth, a whisper carried by desperation and longing. Her voice failed her completely, leaving the name to hover in the air between them, unheard. Tears rolled freely down her face, her anguish spilling out as the ache in her chest became unbearable. The woman she loved was so close, yet impossibly far away.

Beside her, Nee stepped closer, her presence grounding but bittersweet. “She’s healing, Alastair,” Nee said softly, her voice tinged with her own quiet sorrow. “It’s slow, but she’s finding her way. We have to believe she’ll come back to us... to you.”

Alastair didn’t look at Nee, her gaze locked on Zaviya. The sunlight illuminated her like she was something out of a dream, a fragile figure slowly stitching herself back together. Zaviya was oblivious to the anguish that bled through the walls separating them, lost in her world of crochet and threads.

Alastair swallowed hard, her throat tight, and nodded. Her voice, when it came, was hoarse but resolute, trembling with determination. “I’ll wait,” she whispered, her words a vow as sacred as the one she’d made on their wedding day. “No matter how long it takes, I’ll wait, Mom. Thank you for allowing me to have this... this moment. You don’t know how much it means to me.”

Her tears fell faster, her grip on the window frame tightening. “With just one look at her up close,” Alastair choked out, her voice breaking under the weight of her emotions, “it keeps my sanity intact. Even if she never notices, it’s enough for me. Just to see her like this. Just to know she’s still here.”

Nee placed a gentle hand on Alastair’s shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. Neither of them spoke again. They stood there in silence, watching Zaviya—one woman slowly healing, the other resolutely waiting. And in the quiet of that moment, Alastair made a promise, one that echoed in the hollow spaces of her heart.

She would wait. No matter how long, no matter how hard, she would wait for Zaviya to come back to her. Because even in the darkest corners of her soul, Alastair knew one thing with certainty: Zaviya was worth every second, every tear, every ache.

The sun dipped behind the skyline, painting the heavens with streaks of amber and violet before surrendering to the creeping darkness. Alastair stood by the window, her tall frame silhouetted against the dimming light. Her gaze was fixed on the Porsild's mansion, where the shadows stretched long and thin.

She's still watching Zaviya finishing her crochet. For a fleeting moment, Zaviya’s head turned, her eyes scanning the window where Alastair stood as if sensing the intensity of her gaze. Their eyes almost met—almost—but the connection shattered as Zaviya looked away, her expression distant, her world one where Alastair no longer existed.

Alastair’s fingers trembled against the windowsill, her knuckles white as she fought to hold herself together. The silence in the room was deafening, a void that threatened to consume her. Love, once vibrant and all-encompassing, now felt like a faint whisper in the wind, unable to bridge the chasm of memory and loss that separated them. And yet, Alastair stayed, rooted in place, unwilling to let go. Her heart clung to the hope that somewhere deep within Zaviya’s fragmented mind, their love remained—a ghost haunting the recesses of her thoughts.

The city outside pulsed with life, its rhythm indifferent to the pain confined within that small house. But for Alastair, time had ceased to move. The world beyond the window blurred, insignificant compared to the woman who had once been her everything. Day turned into night, and still, she stood there, a silent witness to the life she could no longer be part of, watching as Zaviya remained just out of reach—so close that she could see her, yet infinitely distant, untouchable.

Alastair’s shoulders sagged under the weight of her grief as she finally pulled away from the window. The house was quiet save for the occasional murmur of the older women who had become her second family. Zaviya’s parents had insisted she rest, seeing the exhaustion etched into every line of her face, the toll of sleepless nights and endless worries. They didn’t blame her—not for this. No one did. Fate had cruelly torn their daughters apart, and all anyone could do now was hope that they could find the strength to survive this storm.

“We didn’t want this for either of you,” Nee, Zaviya’s mother, had said earlier, her voice thick with unshed tears. “If only love alone could fix what’s been broken.”

Alastair hadn’t replied, for what could she say? Love hadn’t been enough to stop Zaviya’s memories from slipping away like sand through her fingers. It hadn’t been enough to tether them to the life they had built together. And now, all Alastair had was the shell of the woman she loved, a stranger with familiar eyes who didn’t recognize her anymore.

A few hours later after fixing her things, Alastair stood by the window. The faint glow of moonlight casting a silvery sheen over her weary face. It was almost midnight, the silence of the night broken only by the soft rustle of leaves outside and the faint ticking of the clock behind her. Her gaze locked on the house next door—the house that still held the scent of their laughter, the memories of stolen kisses and whispered promises.

Her eyes traced the darkened window of Zaviya’s room, a window that once opened to endless conversations and laughter that spilled into the night. Now, it was nothing but an unfeeling sheet of glass, a barrier between the past and an unbearable present. Tears welled up and fell, tracing paths down her cheeks like rivers of grief. Zaviya was so close—only a few steps away—yet she felt as unreachable as a star in the sky. The agony of seeing her every day without the warmth of her touch was a cruel punishment. Alastair clutched the edge of the windowsill, her knuckles turning white as she tried to steady the ache in her heart.

“Why did it have to end like this?” she whispered to the cold, unresponsive night. The answer, as always, was silence. She spent the rest of the night imagining things between her and Zaviya.

“I’ll stay,” she whispered into the darkness. “I’ll stay until you remember me, or until I forget how to love you.”

But even as she said it, Alastair knew the latter was impossible.

The first light of dawn bled into the world, painting the horizon with muted hues of lavender and gold. Alastair sat in her silent room, her gaze locked on the ceiling, her mind a chaotic mess of longing and regret. Sleep had eluded her once again, and the weight of unspoken words and shattered dreams pressed heavily against her chest. But she refused to crumble beneath it. With a deep breath, she pushed herself up and walked to the kitchen.

Her hands moved mechanically, muscle memory guiding her as she tied the apron around her waist. The scent of fried rice and adobo soon filled the air, the savory aroma curling like ghostly tendrils around her, wrapping her in the bittersweet nostalgia of mornings long gone. This was Zaviya’s favorite—the meal that used to brighten her mornings, that once brought laughter and warmth into their shared world. Alastair could still see the ghost of Zaviya’s smile as they danced barefoot in the kitchen, their fingers brushing as they set the table together. But those days were nothing more than memories now, and the silence in the room felt deafening.

By the time the clock struck five, Alastair’s brow was damp with sweat, her arms trembling as she carefully packed the food. Every grain of rice, every tender morsel of pork—each was a piece of the love she could no longer express. Her heart ached with every step as she made her way out the door, the cool morning air biting against her flushed skin. She stopped in front of the house next door, her chest tightening as she lifted a hand to knock.

The door creaked open, revealing Nee, Zaviya’s mother. Her eyes, weary with sleepless nights and brimming with unspoken sorrow, softened when they landed on Alastair.

“Come in, Alastair,” Nee whispered, her voice fragile, like a leaf teetering on the edge of breaking. She stepped aside, allowing Alastair into the dim kitchen. A small lamp cast a warm glow over the space, highlighting the fine lines of worry etched into Nee’s face.

“Thank you for this, anak,” Nee said, her voice cracking beneath the weight of gratitude and despair. Alastair tried to reply, but her throat closed, words catching against the knot that had taken residence in her chest. She could only nod, her gaze falling to the floor as her hands tightened around the container she held.

The quiet was suddenly broken by the soft patter of footsteps from the hallway. Alastair’s heart froze as she heard the familiar voice—the one that had haunted her dreams and awakened her deepest yearning.

“Mom? Are you here?” Zaviya’s voice was hesitant, laced with the vulnerability of someone caught between waking and the clutches of a fading dream.

Nee’s eyes widened, panic flashing across her face. She motioned urgently for Alastair to leave, her movements sharp and hurried. Without thinking, Alastair turned, bolting for the back door. Her apron snagged on the handle as she stumbled out into the predawn light. The cold air stung her skin, but it was nothing compared to the ache that throbbed within her chest. Her breaths came fast and shallow, the sting of unshed tears blurring her vision as she reached the safety of her own home.

But even there, Alastair found no refuge. Her trembling hands gripped the edge of the windowsill as her eyes locked onto the figure in the neighboring kitchen. Zaviya emerged slowly, her movements hesitant, as if she feared shattering the fragile peace of the morning. Her gaze fell on the table, on the carefully prepared meal that awaited her. For a moment, her brows knit together, confusion flickering across her face. Then, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, a soft, wistful smile curved her lips.

Alastair’s breath hitched, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle the sob that threatened to escape. That smile—it was the same smile she had fallen in love with, the one she had chased for years, the one that now belonged to a world that no longer included her. She clung to the sight, tears streaming down her face as she whispered a silent prayer of gratitude. Even if Zaviya didn’t know, even if she couldn’t remember, Alastair was content to be a shadow in her life—a silent guardian, offering her love in the only way she could.

Because for Alastair, seeing Zaviya smile, even from a distance, was worth every broken piece of her heart.

Every morning, before the sun had even begun to paint the sky with its soft hues, Alastair rose with a purpose that both sustained and shattered her. For the next month, she dedicated her mornings to a quiet ritual—one that spoke of a love so profound it defied reason, a love that neither time nor tragedy could erase. Each meal she prepared for Zaviya was not just food; it was an offering, a testament to a bond that had once been unbreakable.

With trembling hands, Alastair would slice, stir, and season, her movements precise yet burdened by the weight of memories that Zaviya could no longer recall. On some mornings, she would tuck a single sunflower beside the plate, its vibrant yellow petals a silent declaration of devotion. Sunflowers had always been Zaviya’s favorite, and though she might not remember why, Alastair hoped they would stir something—anything—within her.

From the safety of her window, Alastair watched. She watched as Zaviya approached the carefully placed meal, her delicate fingers brushing against the flower. She watched as Zaviya’s lips curled into a faint smile, a flicker of light in an otherwise dim world. It was a smile that both healed and broke Alastair in equal measure, a reminder of what once was and what could never be again.

Zaviya didn’t remember her. She didn’t remember the nights they spent tangled in laughter and whispered dreams, nor the vows they exchanged beneath a canopy of stars. The woman Alastair loved was still there—alive, breathing—but the love they shared was locked away, unreachable. Yet, Alastair clung to these moments, these fleeting glimpses of joy. For now, they had to be enough.

When Zaviya fell ill one evening, her soft coughs echoing through the silent halls, Alastair’s heart clenched with an unbearable ache. She snuck into Zaviya’s room under the cover of night, placing herbal teas and medications on her bedside table. Each item was accompanied by a note, written in a hand that shook with restrained longing: Stay warm. Stay safe.

As the nights grew colder, Alastair knitted a scarf in the restless hours when sleep refused to come. She left it neatly folded by Zaviya’s door, her fingers brushing against the fabric as though it could somehow carry the warmth of her touch. And when loneliness gnawed at her soul, she recorded songs—Zaviya’s favorite songs—onto a classic vinyl, her voice carrying the weight of emotions she could no longer voice aloud. Each note, each lyric, was a fragment of their story, one that Zaviya might never piece together again.

Zaviya didn’t know where the songs came from. She didn’t know that the voice singing them belonged to Alastair, the woman who once held her heart. But Alastair didn’t care. Her love was unyielding, even as it tore her apart with every unacknowledged gesture.

One quiet morning, as Alastair placed another steaming container on the kitchen counter, she hesitated. Her fingers lingered on the lid, her heart heavy with the words she had never spoken aloud. In a voice barely above a whisper, she murmured, “I’ll keep waiting, no matter how long it takes.” Her voice cracked, the weight of her devotion pressing against her chest like a vice.

And then, as always, she disappeared into the shadows, leaving behind only the warmth of her love. Hidden from sight, Alastair watched as Zaviya’s life carried on, her presence a ghost tethered by an unbroken thread of love. Her heart bled for the life they once shared and the woman she could never stop loving—even if Zaviya no longer remembered her.

********************Three months had passed since Alastair had left for New York, driven by a fierce and silent resolve to be near her wife, Zaviya. She was close, so close she could hear the soft cadence of her voice echoing from the halls of their old life, yet an eternity away. The rules were clear: she could not let Zaviya see her. Not yet. Not until the shattering fragments of their shared memories found their way back to Zaviya’s mind. And so, Alastair remained in the shadows, a silent sentinel watching over the love of her life with a grief that carved deeper than any wound.

Each day, Alastair counted the seconds, hours, and days—three months now, three agonizing months where she watched Zaviya slowly piece herself back together. The accident had stolen so much: her joy, her laughter, the tender moments they had spent building a life. Zaviya’s parents guarded her like porcelain, afraid that a forced memory might break her. Alastair understood, but understanding did nothing to stem the agony that gnawed at her heart. Every day, she would sneak into their kitchen before dawn, leaving dishes that Zaviya once loved—tangy adobo, warm sinigang, sweet leche flan. It was the only way she knew to remind her, to silently say, “I’m here. I never left.”

Derek and Melanie, Alastair’s parents, would call her every week, their voices thick with concern masked behind false cheer. Gaios and Klaud would update her on the company she had all but abandoned to be here, asking gently, hesitantly, if Zaviya had remembered anything. And each time, Alastair would tell the truth, her voice breaking over the same answer: “No. We’re still the same.”

But nothing was the same.

One morning, just as the sun broke over the jagged skyline, Alastair spotted Zaviya lacing up her running shoes. Dressed in sleek black leggings and a sports bra, her toned form glistened with determination. Alastair pulled on her own disguise—black sweatpants, jacket, cap, mask—and kept her distance as she followed, every breath a prayer for strength.

Zaviya ran with the confidence of someone who had faced death and won, oblivious to the eyes of strangers that lingered hungrily as she passed. The sight of those stares ignited a possessive, helpless fury in Alastair. She clenched her fists so hard that her nails left crescents in her palms, a silent battle cry. She wanted to scream at them, “She is mine! She is my everything!” But the weight of reality, of the fragile threads binding Zaviya’s life, kept her silent. She could only watch as the woman she loved shone in the world, unaware of the shadow that protected her.

As the months passed, Zaviya found herself again—reclaimed the pieces that had once made her whole. She roamed Manhattan’s bustling streets, exploring cafes where laughter and conversation tangled in the air, museums where silence spoke louder than words, libraries where stories of love and loss mirrored her own. Alastair followed, never too far, never too close, a ghost tethered to the living.

And then there were the men. Men who smiled too warmly, who leaned in too close. Men who saw Zaviya’s beauty and believed it was theirs to claim. Each time, Alastair’s jaw would tighten, her heart raging with a storm only she could feel. She bribed, threatened, and, when neither worked, she watched from afar, eyes burning with unshed tears. The anguish of watching someone you love fall back into life without you, unaware of the one who’d give everything just to hear them say their name, was its own kind of torment.

One night, Gaios flew to New York and she and Alastair are out meeting investors in the busy street of New York. On their way home, they saw Zaviya laughed under the fairy lights of a hidden café. They approached the cafe to look if Zaviya is fine and safe there. Again, Alastair remained a good amount of distance. She saw how the man Zaviya is having coffee with holds her hand. Alastair can't do anything about it so she pressed her forehead to the cool brick wall outside, the sound of that laugh tearing through her like shattered glass.

“Come back to me,” she whispered, voice breaking into the silence that would never answer.

“Please… remember me.”

“You’re tearing yourself apart, Alastair,” Gaios whispered over the rim of her coffee cup, eyes heavy with concern.

“This plan of yours—it’s reckless.  How long would you follow her like a lost puppy? If Zaviya sees you only as her rival, what then? What happens if she never remembers?” Gaios added.

Alastair’s gaze fell to the steam curling from her untouched cup. “I’ll take that risk,” she said, voice steady but laced with pain. “If it means she’s safe, if it means she doesn’t feel alone... I’d rather be her enemy than watch her fade into the arms of another.”

Gaios nods, she knows how hard it is for Alastair. What else could she possibly do but to support her friend.

A week had passed, and the rain continued its mournful rhythm over the towering cityscape of Manhattan. The streets shimmered under the streetlights, the cold glow reflecting off the wet pavement like broken glass. Inside a small, dimly lit café, the air was heavy with the scent of coffee and unspoken words. Alastair sat in a corner, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup in slow, deliberate circles. Her eyes were distant, hollow, as if every ounce of warmth had been drained from them. Across from her sat Gaios and Klaud, their faces tense with the weight of what they were about to say.

The café buzzed softly with the hum of quiet conversations and the occasional clink of a spoon against porcelain. But for the three women at that table, the world outside had faded into insignificance.

Klaud finally broke the silence, her voice hesitant, as if the words might shatter Alastair completely."Alastair, dude..." she began softly, her hands clasped together. "I’m not sure how to say this." She paused, her throat tightening. "Zaviya—she saw me yesterday."

The words hit Alastair like a knife to the chest. Her hands trembled slightly, and she gripped the cup tighter to steady herself, her jaw tightening in an effort to conceal the storm brewing inside her. Her heart pounded, but her voice, when it came, was low and steady, though laced with an edge of fear."What did she say?"

Klaud looked down, gathering her thoughts. "She... bumped into me on the street. At first, she didn’t even recognize me. But then..." Klaud’s voice faltered, and her eyes met Alastair’s. "When she realized who I was, she hugged me. It was like she hadn’t seen me in years."

Alastair’s breath hitched, her mind replaying the image of Zaviya in Klaud’s arms. That warmth, that connection—it was something she used to know, something she used to have.

Klaud continued, her voice quieter now, as if she feared the weight of her own words. "She asked about the girls. About her friends... the ones from the Philippines. She still remembers them. And me." Klaud hesitated, guilt flashing across her face. "But not you, Alastair."

The silence that followed was deafening. Alastair’s grip on the coffee cup tightened, her knuckles turning white. The ache in her chest was unbearable, a pain she couldn’t name but knew all too well. Months had passed since Zaviya walked out of her life, but the memories lingered, haunting her every waking moment.

Her voice, thick with emotion, broke the stillness. "I’ve thought about this for so long... Maybe if I showed up as the person she remembers—the rival, the one who never let her forget—maybe it would spark something. Maybe she’ll remember me. Maybe she’ll remember... us."

Klaud leaned forward, her face etched with worry. "Alastair," she said, her voice trembling with urgency. "That’s too dangerous. You’re not the same person anymore. You’re not just her rival—you’re her wife. If you try to be someone you’re not, it’ll destroy both of you."

Alastair’s gaze fell to her cup, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She inhaled sharply, her chest tightening as if the weight of the world pressed down on her shoulders. "I can’t just sit here and watch her slip away," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Every day, someone else gets closer—her ex, Irfan, and all those... men who think they have a chance. I can’t let them take her from me. I’ll do anything—anything—if it means she’ll remember. She’s mine. She always has been. And she always will be."

Klaud looked away, her own heart breaking at the sight of her friend’s anguish. Gaios, who had been silent until now, finally spoke, her tone calm but firm. "Alastair, you’re putting everything at risk. We know how much you love her, but this... this could destroy you. You need to think about what this will do to you if it doesn’t work."

Alastair looked up, her eyes blazing with determination. "Then let it destroy me," she said, her voice trembling but resolute. "Let me suffer if it means even the slightest chance of bringing her back to me. You don’t understand, Gaios. She wasn’t just someone I loved—she was my everything. And now, I’m nothing to her. Nothing but a shadow. I can’t live like this."

The café grew quieter, as if the world itself was holding its breath. Gaios and Klaud exchanged a glance, their worry deepening. They knew there was no stopping Alastair, no convincing her otherwise. Her mind was made up, her heart set on a path that could either save her or destroy her entirely.

And as the rain continued to fall outside, Alastair stared into the depths of her coffee cup, the pain in her chest threatening to consume her. But amidst the anguish, there was a flicker of hope—a hope that, no matter how small, kept her clinging to the possibility of reclaiming what she had lost.

Even if it meant losing herself in the process.

A day after that coffee talk with Gaios and Klaud, Alastair found herself walking into the quiet, dimly lit restaurant. The air was heavy with a sense of foreboding. A grand dinner table was set in the middle of the room, and seated across from one another were both Alastair’s and Zaviya’s parents. Their faces mirrored the same expression: concern, fear, and an overwhelming sadness. Alastair could feel their eyes on her, each gaze weighing down on her already burdened heart.

Derek, her father, was the first to speak. His voice cracked as though the words themselves were tearing him apart.“You’re going to do what? Pretend to be her rival, like the old times?” He shook his head, his hands trembling on the edge of the table. “You’ll hurt yourself, Alastair. We can’t just sit here and let you go down that path.”

Nee, Zaviya’s mother, leaned forward, her voice trembling with emotion. Her eyes, once sharp and calculating, were now pools of unshed tears.“This is madness. You’re already broken... this will destroy what’s left of you. How could you even think of doing something like this?” Her voice cracked as she spoke, a faint quiver that betrayed her anguish. “And what if Zaviya suddenly remembers while you’re acting like her rival? She will feel like a fool and betrayed. Alastair, this will cause more chaos to both of you.”

The words hit Alastair like a dagger to the chest, but she forced herself to hold her ground. She couldn’t falter—not now, not when her decision had already been made. Her gaze hardened, masking the storm raging inside her. She took a deep breath, her voice steady yet laced with a pain so profound it was almost unbearable.“I’m truly sorry, Moms and Dads,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper, yet it thundered in the silence of the room. “But I will do this. I have to do this—for Zaviya. For us.”

Her hands trembled as she spoke, but her resolve remained unshaken. She looked at them, her heart breaking with each word that left her lips.“She’s not gone yet. She’s still in there, somewhere. And I’ll fight until my last breath to make her remember me.” Her voice faltered, and for a brief moment, the raw vulnerability she tried so hard to hide surfaced. “I can’t just let go. Not when she’s the only thing that’s ever mattered to me. I won’t.”

Melanie, Alastair’s mother, who had been silent up to this point, couldn’t hold back her tears any longer. Her voice was choked with emotion as she pleaded,“Anak, you’ve suffered enough, and you’ve given enough. Please, take a rest first. You’re consuming yourself too much.”

But Alastair shook her head, the tears she had fought so desperately to hold back now spilling freely.“And I’d give more, Mom,” she interrupted, her voice trembling as the floodgates finally broke. She wiped at her face furiously, though the tears wouldn’t stop. “I know it’s madness. I know it might break me beyond repair. But she’s my wife. And if there’s even a chance—a chance that she will remember how we loved, how we once laughed without pain—then isn’t that worth everything?”

Her voice grew stronger, though her hands trembled with the weight of her conviction.“There are men who want to be close to her. Irfan is already intruding in the picture. I can’t let them be close to Zaviya—not on my watch. This is my last chance to fix everything, to make Zaviya remember me, us, our love story. I can’t afford to lose her.”

She paused, her voice breaking as she choked back a sob.“And if this plan fails, there’s no one here to blame but me. I’ll take all the responsibility. Just… please. Let me do this. Let me try my luck. Let me claim my wife and my life back. I’m begging you all, please.”

Her parents stared at her, their eyes brimming with tears. They could see the desperation in her eyes, the fierce determination that refused to be extinguished. They knew they couldn’t stop her, no matter how much they wanted to. All they could do was hope—hope that somehow, this plan wouldn’t destroy her completely.

Morten, Zaviya’s father, broke the silence. His voice was barely audible, each word weighed down with sorrow.“We’re with you, Alastair,” he said softly. “But please… don’t let this destroy you.”

Derek reached out, his hand resting on Alastair’s shoulder. His touch was warm, steady, a silent reminder that she wasn’t alone.“We’re all here for you, anak,” he said gently, his voice filled with a father’s unconditional love. “Soon… everything will be okay. Be strong.”

Alastair nodded, her tears still falling, her heart still breaking. But her resolve remained unshaken. She would fight for Zaviya—for their love, for the life they had built together. Even if it meant breaking herself in the process.

Late at night in her room, Alastair stands alone by the window, looking out at the window of Zaviya's room. Her heart is heavy, the weight of the plan pressing down on her like an anchor. She knows the cost, knows the pain it will bring, but still, she moves forward. She’s willing to lose herself, just for a chance to bring Zaviya back into her arms.

Alastair whispering to herself, a single tear slipping down her cheek. "I’ll do anything. Anything... to make you remember me, Zaviya. I can’t live without you."

The rain falls steadily outside, a reminder of how fragile love can be. And Alastair’s heart beats painfully for the woman she can’t seem to reach...

------------------------Updateeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

Hate me now, but this is how the story goes 🤧🩹

Read and appreciate your comments. Thank you everyone 😍😘

#ABF 40