Once Forgotten, Now Unforgettable Novels & Stories

It was about standing in front of the world and refusing for the last time to be edited out of it. Not erased. Not reshaped. Not rewritten. Remembered.

“It’s over! You’re never going to see him again. He lives in the U.S and you’re now in London. For heavens sake you don’t even know his freaking name.” I could write a poem about why i needed to delete that one night event out of mind and recite it over and over in a desperate attempt to forget it all. But I barely had time for that so instead, I muttered the same old words over and over, reminding myself to forget it all. “It’s over. You’re never going to see him again. It was just a one night stand.” “It’s over. You’re never going to see him again. It was just a one night stand.”

In my third year as a blind massage therapist, Henry Young took his employees on a company retreat. By sheer coincidence, he ended up booking me. When he saw me, he remained perfectly composed, so much so that even his breathing did not falter. I served him the same way I treated every other client. Then his phone rang. My hands paused for a moment as my own voice, young and girlish, came through his phone speaker. His employees immediately started teasing him. Henry simply explained in a gentle voice, “My wife recorded that when she was young and didn’t know any better.” Just as he was leaving, Henry suddenly turned around. “Anya Walt, I’ve never forgotten you. “Are you really goi

"To have you back, to reclaim what was lost." In that moment, the weight of my forgotten past and the uncertainty of the future seemed to fade into insignificance. The bond we shared, the connection that transcended memory, was a beacon of hope, guiding us forward on a journey of rediscovery and love.

She seemed to have the ability to see through their imperfections and admire their innate goodness. Their life over the past seven years seemed to flicker past his eyes, every second precious and memorable. From moments that might seem mundane like a morning greeting to the exciting times like their marriage and the birth of their children, every second was precious, he treasured them all, even the times when their love for each other was tested; he wouldn’t trade these memories for anything in the world.

Then he was gone, and the silence rushed back in, now feeling less like safety and more like a vacuum. I swept every splinter of glass, wiping the sticky residue of polish until the marble was pristine. My heart refused to slow down. I was angry at my own body for betraying me, for shaking, for reacting to his warmth. I am a survivor. I am a ghost. I chanted the mantra silently, but the memory of the expensive wool of his suit jacket pressing against my cheek still lingered, real and intrusive. My head was down, scraping the brush against the dustpan, when I saw it.

The guy who once loved me couldn't even stand being near me. I tried everything to jog his memory. Climbed some endless stone steps to an old cathedral, begging for a miracle. Walked away with busted knees, a scraped forehead, and no answers. And him? He brought Vivian back. "I don't know why I married you," he said, stone cold. "But I'll take responsibility. I'm not divorcing you. I only remember promising to love Vivian forever." Just like that, he wiped out everything we had. Our whole story—gone.

We sat in silence, finishing our drinks as I closed the laptop. Leaning my head back, I closed my eyes. Stacy was right about one thing. After looking at these, even if I never got my memories back, this fundamentally changed me. The path going forward for my life was now altered. I could never go back. Not after seeing these. Knowing what I had and what I lost, I never wanted to love again. Everything would pale. Even Adrian was struggling with the concept of it.

"Hannie, don't forget to feed Evie's dog today." Trevor Hayes' voice came through the phone—the voice I would never forget. I stood frozen, unable to believe what I was seeing. Outside the window, "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" played faintly, as if the holidays refused to end. I rushed to the mirror. My skin was smooth again, and the scar was completely gone. Then, it hit me. I, Hannah Shaw, had come back to life.

I replied, "I've spent years longing for this moment. I won't let you slip away again. We'll face whatever comes our way, together." In the quiet embrace of the city, with its secrets and stories woven into the fabric of our shared history, a promise echoed—a promise to traverse the uncharted territories of a love reborn, resilient in the face of the past and steadfast in the pursuit of a future defined by unity, understanding, and the unwavering commitment to never let go again.