The heart broken doctor

Amara Clarke stepped out of the bustling airport, the warm evening air brushing against her skin as she adjusted her grip on her suitcase. She scanned the crowd eagerly, her heart racing with excitement, expecting to see Bryan’s familiar face waiting for her. But as moments passed, her smile began to falter. There was no sign of Bryan—no sign of anyone from the Johnson family. Confusion crept in as she stood there, her eyes darting around the crowd, searching for any sign of the man she loved. The hum of car engines and distant chatter buzzed around her, but everything felt strangely distant, as if she were standing in a bubble of disbelief. Her chest tightened, a strange sense of unease beginning to settle in. Just as she was about to reach for her phone, a man in a crisp black suit approached her, cutting through the throng of travelers with purposeful strides. Amara eyed him warily—he was unfamiliar, not one of the Johnson family’s usual staff. The man stopped in front of her and offered a polite, almost too polite, smile. “Miss Clarkes,” he said, his voice smooth, with a practiced charm. “Mrs. Johnson sent me to pick you up from the airport. Welcome home.” Amara blinked, her mind struggling to catch up with his words. The formal tone, the unfamiliar face—it all felt wrong. Her fingers tightened around the handle of her suitcase as she took a small step back, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Where is Bryan?” she asked, her voice tinged with the edge of growing alarm. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, terribly off. The driver, Daniel, hesitated for a brief second, just long enough for Amara to notice. He quickly masked it with another smooth smile, but the damage was done. “I suppose he’s busy,” he replied with a shrug, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Amara’s heart dropped, her body going cold as his words echoed in her ears. Busy? Bryan, too busy to meet her after all this time apart? The idea was absurd, unthinkable. Yet here she was, standing alone at the airport, with a stranger sent to fetch her like an afterthought. She stood frozen, the bustling activity of the airport fading into the background. The cheerful announcements over the PA system, the laughter of reunited families, the rolling of suitcases across the floor—it all became a distant hum, drowned out by the roaring in her ears. Amara forced herself to take a deep breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. She straightened her posture, refusing to let her shock and hurt show any further. “Let’s go,” she said finally, her voice tight as she brushed past Daniel. As they walked towards the waiting car, Amara couldn’t shake the ominous feeling settling over her. Something was wrong—terribly wrong—and she was about to walk straight into it. The city lights blurred outside the car window as they drove away, but Amara’s thoughts were fixed on one thing: why wasn’t Bryan there? The car glided up the long, winding driveway of Johnson Mansion, the imposing structure looming larger with every passing second. Amara leaned forward, her eyes tracing the familiar contours of the grand estate where she had spent so much of her life. The mansion, with its ivy-clad walls and towering windows, had always felt like a second home—a place where she was cherished and loved, especially after the tragic loss of her parents. As the car slowed to a stop, Amara’s heart swelled with emotion. She smiled to herself, the vision of her future playing out in her mind. Soon, she would be more than just a guest in this house—she would be Amara Johnson, Bryan’s wife. The thought sent a warm glow through her chest, filling her with a sense of fulfillment and joy. Their childhood love, nurtured over the years, was about to culminate in the life they had always dreamed of together. But as she stepped out of the car, her smile faltered. The front of the mansion was eerily quiet, the grand entrance devoid of the usual flurry of activity. The driver, Daniel, silently pulled her suitcase from the trunk and set it beside her, but the absence of any welcoming faces sent a chill down Amara’s spine. She glanced around, her brow furrowing in confusion. The massive double doors remained closed, no one rushing out to greet her. The house, which had always been full of warmth and life, now seemed cold and distant. Not even a single member of the household staff was in sight. “What is going on?” Amara murmured to herself, her earlier excitement now tinged with unease. She clutched the strap of her handbag, her knuckles turning white as a thousand questions swirled in her mind. Why hadn’t anyone come to greet her? Where was Bryan? Daniel, sensing her unease, offered a small, apologetic smile, but it did little to soothe the growing knot of anxiety in her stomach. “Shall I take your luggage inside, Miss Clarkes?” he asked, breaking the silence. Amara nodded absentmindedly, her eyes still fixed on the mansion as if willing it to give her answers. “Yes, thank you,” she replied, her voice distant. As she took a hesitant step forward, the weight of the situation pressed down on her. This was not the homecoming she had imagined. The joy and anticipation she had felt moments ago were slipping through her fingers, replaced by a gnawing fear that something was terribly wrong. She squared her shoulders, determined not to let her nerves get the best of her. But as she approached the heavy wooden doors, the mansion she once saw as a sanctuary now felt like a fortress, holding secrets she was both eager and afraid to uncover.