Whispers Of a Forgotten Love

The Lancaster family’s annual check-up was held at St. Alden Medical Center, the most expensive hospital on the East Coast. The floors were polished so well that the chandeliers above shimmered in their reflection. It was the kind of place most people would only see on TV—quiet, private, and filled with the scent of fresh lilies. Everyone was here—except my husband, Adrian Lancaster. He was the heir to the Lancaster Group, the current CEO, and apparently too busy to be with his family. Or maybe just too busy for me. I sat quietly in the waiting lounge, my purse resting on my lap. I kept my back straight and my face calm. I had learned over time that in this family, showing emotion was like showing weakness. Then I heard her voice. “Well, well… a gold-diggers in designer heels,” my sister-in-law, Brianna Lancaster, said as she walked in with a smirk. “If you hadn’t climbed into my brother’s bed, do you think you’d ever set foot in a place like this?” I met her gaze, refusi

I had long grown used to Adrian’s indifference. At first, it had cut me like a knife every single time—his silence, his cold stare, the way he dismissed me as if I were no more than a shadow in his busy world. But over the years, I had built a wall around my heart. Now, when he ignored me, it no longer shocked me. It still hurt, yes—it always hurt—but it was a pain I had learned to carry quietly. So when I stood in his office, asking once again for a divorce, I already knew what his answer would be. Or rather, what his non-answer would be. He didn’t even look at me. His eyes were fixed on his computer screen, his fingers moving quickly across the keyboard as if my words were nothing but background noise. “I don’t care,” I finally said, forcing a smile that felt brittle on my lips. I pretended to sound cheerful, though my chest felt tight. “I’ve said it to your face, and you’ve heard it with your own ears. You didn’t refuse, so I’ll take that as your agreement.” The words lef

The phone call ended, but the sound of the HR manager’s voice still echoed in my head. “Miss Elena, I’ve looked through your record and performance history, and I’m impressed. Our club would be honored to have you. As the final part of your interview, we’d like to invite you to France. There’s a tennis match in Paris tomorrow. If you perform well, the position is yours.” For a moment, I just sat there in silence, holding the phone tightly. France. Paris. It felt like a dream. Opportunities like this didn’t come often, and for me, they almost never came at all. I quickly shook myself out of the daze, pulled out my laptop, and booked the first available flight to Paris that same day. My heart raced the entire time, fear and excitement twisting together in my chest. I’d never gone on a trip this big by myself. I’d never imagined my career might actually stretch beyond this city, beyond the cage I’d been forced into. After booking, I rushed back home to grab my passport. My suitca

I sat down at a far distance with all my attention on Elena, I was so lost looking at her that I failed to realize the team was losing. I drifted back from my thoughts and saw Elena looking lost among the team mates, is she probably not experienced. Before I could process what was happening, she had already scored a point, in the blink of an eye she landed another shot, making a total of two. I was surprised, “was this not the one that was looking lost a while ago?” I looked at her and I saw a girl of about age 10 holding a racket, playing tennis happily, smiling gorgeously with her hair wrapped in a ponytail, I saw a man approaching her and hugging her. I snapped out of my thoughts, wondering “what kind of illusion is this?” My mind was no longer in the match. I'm having a feeling that I'd a strong connection with Elena in the past but can't remember or maybe it's just some meaningless illusion. The loud cheering from the audience jotted me back to reality. I looked at the sc

I checked my phone and realized it was already late, so I walked out and headed back to my apartment in Paris.I got home, lost in thought. After a quick shower, I changed into something comfortable.I laid on the bed staring at my phone again and again. A sharp pain shot through my chest, as if a knife had been driving straight into my heart, I stood up to grab a water and gulp it down my throat I collapsed back onto the bed, drenched in sweat. Suddenly, I saw a boy, around fifteen, standing beside a little girl who held a tennis racket, her face lit up with a cheerful smile. The boy gently held her hand, speaking softly, though I couldn’t make out the words. Then, with a shared look, they made a pinky promise—sealing a vow only they understood.I was smiling, even laughing softly, but as I slowly opened my eyes, the warmth faded—I realized it had all been a dream.I lay back on my bed and slowly drifted into another round of sleep.__The Next Morning__Rays of light flickered throu