Forget Me Not Melissa Morgan Mga Nobela at Kwento

Richard had been scaring everyone like that of late, he had been easily forgotten by everyone lately, just to pop back out. It wasn't that you didn't know he'd been there from the start, it was as if you just forget over time. Melissa hated it when he did it. She'd asked him the other day and he didn't reply to her. It was probably for a good reason though, he probably hadn't figured it out yet completely.

She stares at her feet, fighting the sting in her eyes as she waits for Demetria to leave. A cell phone chimes. “You forgot your purse—” “I figured, Sherlock.” Demetria paces back for the purse. “Hello!” she answers. “You better respond to my calls on time.” A broad voice speaks from the end of the line. “Babe, please relax, okay.” “Don’t call me that. We need to talk right now. You have a lot to explain” “Well, maybe some other time, I am leaving—” “Can you continue your conversation elsewhere?” Rose interrupts.

What the heck? "Where is she?" I asked. "She is in our house together with your aunt Maricel," she answered. "Who is aunt Maricel?" I am confused as hell. What is happening? My mother sighed. "They should really check your skull and brain, you have amnesia! You forgot your aunt Maricel, the only daughter of your grandma and grandpa, the only sibling of your Papa." Papa is their only child as far as I know before I was transported in 1950. Something really changed, I changed something in past!

“Because if you ever speak my name again, it won’t be just your nose bleeding.” With that, she grabbed her clutch from the table, straightened her gown, and walked away—spine straight, chin high, the entire ballroom watching her like she had just torn the roof off. Even I knew better than to say a word. Melissa didn’t look back once. Because that night, she didn’t just shut them up. She reminded them all exactly who the hell she was. Melissa Brown. And no one—no one—was going to forget it.

Her chin lifted high again, her voice smug and loud. "See? I told you all! The woman in the video was Aurora. Even Mr. Strickland himself can prove it—" But she didn't even get to finish before she got cut off.

Mellana questions the woman in the front door. “Mom? I thought she was your sister!” I exclaim. “Morgan?” Mom calls her. “Melissa!” Mellana’s mother answers with enthusiasm and runs towards my mother, and both women hug each other. “Oh, my Goddess! It’s been so long we’ve seen each other.” The woman named Morgan says. “It’s been way too long.” My mom agrees. “Are you the one responsible for setting this all up for us?” “Guilty.” Morgan laughs. “I moved some chopsticks to find out where you'd be staying since someone told me they were going to protect a girl named Pandora.” She says looking at her daughter with a smirk.

"I'm sorry Ma'am" "You should be and remember to clean the car" "How did the memorial go? I was almost in tears" "Shut your mouth" Margaret was stern. She wasn't about to talk about her late husband with her new crush. "I'm sorry Ma'am" "Do you know what your problem is?" "No" Morgan shook her head. "You don't know when to shut the hell up!" Margaret has heard enough of him, he may be cute and his packed muscles hiding under his shirt but sometimes Morgan just reminded him of Lisa.

Now, Sean was almost certain Melissa hadn't genuinely lost her memories, as Angeline had suggested. In the afternoon, when Melissa woke up from her nap, the first thing she did was call Kirby. His phone remained switched off.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here to help," Melissa suddenly recalled Jeremy's words from the previous night. The memories flooded her mind, replaying her own words and actions, each one accompanied by a sense of deep remorse. "Oh, my God. What have I done?" Melissa whispered, dread filling her heart. Her face turned pale, drained of all color, as she looked up at Corene, her eyes filled with a mix of fear and shame.

I had returned because something told me the answers were buried there—not just to my family’s name, but to the shadow still haunting these halls. I pulled out files, skimmed reports, and stacked boxes. My hands shook as I dug, but I didn’t stop. And then—something. A memo. Dated years ago. Signed not by Jessica Reed, not by Edward King, but by Morgan West. My heart stopped. The memo referenced an account offshore. Funds wired. Meetings held. Names I recognized from Edward King’s circle. I sat back, my breath breaking. Morgan. Liam’s brother. It didn’t make sense—or maybe it did, too much. The late-night drinking. The reckless debts. The way he always smiled too easily, as if he had nothing