A Life Abandoned

Allison's POV

Lazily climbing out of a deep sleep after a long evening shift at the hospital, still feeling the rhythmic hum movement of the emergency ward and the faint smell of antiseptic still clung to me. It was never a thing to complain about, because it was a dream life that I had built for myself.

As the morning sunlight shines into the room, it occurred to me what day it was, my 7:00am alarm rang, Yeahhh.. “it is my birthday,” I muttered. A smile touched the two ends of my cheeks, little did I know the course of my life was about to take a crazy turn. 

And so my life took a major twist on that day which changed the trajection at which my life would go, still with the thought of celebrating my twenty-fifth age —At 8am, while sitting in my small apartment which had always felt like a sanctuary, a world away from the city I had fled, a life I never wanted for myself.

Suddenly, there was a knock on my door, it was so loud that it shattered the quiet peace of my sanctuary. 

As I stepped out, I noticed a courier had dropped a letter on my doorstep, a letter from my Father, Gerald Wenston —I recognized immediately where the letter had come from as I picked it, it was bearing the silver wolf seal —the sigil of my family. 

My heart began hammering against my ribs, each beat echoing a question, Is it time? Why has my father sent me a letter? After all this time of silence, had my father decided to send a letter?

The weight of the envelope in my hands was a physical manifestation of the sacred duty I thought I had outrun.

I tore the seal with a trembling hand, the paper inside was thick and old, imbued with a strong scent of old wood and dirty money. His words were not a request but a command written in a sweet tone. 

My Dearest Allison,

Today marks a beautiful moment in your life, the birthday of a princess, my own princess. 

You might be surprised at the fact that I have sent you a birthday letter knowing I haven't done that in many years —This moment brings a more defining state for your life. 

For generations, the blood that runs through our veins has been the very foundation of Fox City’s peace, a delicate and hard-won truce forged in marriage and sacrifice. Our duty, your duty Allison, is not an option; it is our legacy.

Your white hair, a birthmark of our family, a symbol not just of respect but of responsibility. Just like I have married your mother, Alice Shelby, now Wenston —by fulfilling my destiny and duties to keep the peace in the city. 

Now, you will carry that mantle and take your place beside the Shelby family —Michael Shelby, a handsome spirit-filled man, will be your destiny.

I trust you have enjoyed your time away. The world outside our walls is a luxury afforded to a few, but it is not our reality. Pack your belongings. You are expected home.

Your Father,

Gerald Wenston

Tears blurred the words on the letter, the command was clear and absolute. It wasn't a request for my presence; it was a call to duty. 

My steady hands, which had successfully completed surgical operations, now trembling, unable to hold the heavy weighted letter —the agonizing pain of the past it brought back was a burden too heavy to hold, as it fluttered to the floor like a leaf, a relic of a past I thought I had outrun.

I see fate has always had something planned for me, still, I couldn't come to the fact that I had to return to Fox City. 

The world I had so desperately tried to create, the career I had poured myself into, was gone with the finality of a prison door slamming shut forever, to then be married to a bloody gangster —A Michael Shelby, someone I barely remember.

My career —my medical books, my spotless lab coat, the life I had poured my soul into —was all a dream I am now forced to abandon, to be a pawn in a game I never chose to play, and the weight of that truth was like an arrow shot right through my chest. 

My white hair, a mark of my family's reputation I had once worn with quiet pride, now felt like a heavy, visible chain, dragging me back to Fox City.

It was a brand, a permanent reminder that I was never just a doctor or an independent woman. I was a Wenston, and that identity would forever define my fate. 

…Attached to the letter was a one-way ticket to fly down to Fox City the following day. I stared at my room and gathered all I could knowing I was never coming back here to practice medicine, a life short-lived indeed.

My hands were still shaking, and began to pack my stuff —each item placed inside the suitcase was like a stab to my heart, Oh! How my birthday turned into a bloody red-letter day. 

In the evening of the same day, friends and colleagues with their faces bright with joy, had arrived at my home to throw a surprise party for me.

I couldn't bring myself to tell them the truth about leaving. Taking away the happiness on their faces with the news of my departure was a hard thing to do, instead, for a single moment, I thought about forgetting all my present worries.

I submerged myself into relishing every single moment with them —cheering each other with a glass of wine, eating cake and taking memorable pictures —that would serve as a golden treasure in my heart, as though it were my very last days on earth. 

…Next morning

Waking up with a hollow ache in my chest and a sickening hangover, I could barely remember how I made it to the couch, but an uneasy feeling kept pricking my heart and then it struck me…the day of my return had arrived already. 

Then, I packed my last bag and headed to the airport. As the plane took off, my face, cold against the window glass as I looked down at the world below –a life of freedom and purpose that I was forgoing.

Tears rolling down my cheeks, a goodbye to the life that had once been mine, and a dreadful return to an abandoned life in Fox City.