Echoes Of The Past
1056 Words
Evelyn had been awake for barely a week when she realized she was living inside a life that felt borrowed.
The small seaside cottage where Dr. James Whitlock kept his patients was warm, tidy, and filled with the soft scent of herbs. Each morning, sunlight spilled through the windows in gentle ribbons, warming the wooden floors and brushing her cheeks with gold.
It was peaceful—the kind of peace that should have comforted her.
And yet it didn’t.
Because every time she closed her eyes, she saw something else.
A lake.
A willow tree.
A pair of hands holding hers with fierce tenderness.
A promise whispered against the wind.
Then—nothing. The memories slipped away before she could grasp them.
She touched her temple, trying to force the images to stay.
“You’re remembering something,” Dr. Whitlock said gently from the doorway.
Evelyn startled. She hadn’t noticed him enter. He moved lightly, almost soundlessly, his presence both calming and commanding.
“I… I think so,” she murmured. “But it is like trying to hold onto mist.”
He approached with quiet steps. “That is normal. Head injuries often blur memories before they return.”
“Will they return?” she whispered.
Dr. Whitlock paused, his eyes softening. “I believe so. The mind has a remarkable instinct for repairing itself.”
Then, after a moment: “And you are stronger than you think.”
Evelyn looked up at him. He truly meant it. She could see admiration in his eyes—admiration tinged with something warmer, something he tried to hide.
She looked away quickly, her heart tightening.
“Do you remember… your real name?” he asked gently.
She shook her head. “Only that it isn’t Clara, as the villagers call me.”
“Well,” he said with a small, kind smile, “you will not be Clara forever. When your memory returns, so will your name. And when that happens, you will have your life back.”
She pressed her lips together. “But what if I don’t want it back?”
Dr. Whitlock froze.
“I mean…” Evelyn hesitated, flushing. “What if the life I had before wasn’t worth remembering?”
“You must not think that,” he said softly. “Someone out there is missing you, searching for you. I am certain of it.”
His conviction made something tremble inside her chest.
Was someone searching for her? Was someone grieving for her? Had she left behind a life of importance?
Or worse—
someone who loved her?
---
Across the Sea
Adrian Blackwood had not slept.
Not since the night the messenger arrived.
Not since the words shipwreck shattered the life he had spent years building.
Not since he read her final letter so many times the ink threatened to smear beneath his tears.
He sat at his desk in the dim candlelight, the letter resting before him.
I shall return soon. Save a dance for me when we return—
our first as future husband and wife.
Adrian shut his eyes, tortured by the gentleness of her handwriting. “Evelyn,” he whispered into the empty room, the sound breaking against the darkness.
He had searched every post, every rescue list, every scrap of information. Most reports confirmed his greatest fear—
The survivors were few.
But then, after the wreck, a sailor arrived at the port with a rumor.
A woman had been found alive.
A red-haired Englishwoman.
Pulled from the sea near a small coastal village.
Adrian stood so fast his chair toppled.
“Where?” he demanded. “Where is this village?”
The sailor, startled, handed him a folded map. “Near Marseille, sir. I don’t know her name—no one does. She can’t remember anything.”
Adrian felt his heart stop.
Memory loss.
A red-haired Englishwoman.
Found alive after the storm.
It was enough. More than enough.
He grabbed his coat and barked for a carriage. “I leave at once.”
“But, my lord, it is nearly midnight—”
“Then light the lamps,” he snapped. “I will not waste a single hour.”
As the horses thundered into the night, Adrian stared at the map with white-knuckled hands.
If it was Evelyn—
If she was truly alive—
he would tear apart the world to reach her.
---
A Gentle Rivalry Begins
Evelyn sat in the cottage garden later that afternoon, watching gulls wheel across the pale blue sky. The sea breeze lifted her hair, carrying with it a strange sense of longing.
Dr. Whitlock joined her, settling beside her with quiet grace.
“You like watching the waves,” he observed.
“They feel familiar,” she whispered. “As though I once spent much time near the water.”
“Perhaps you lived by the coast,” he offered.
“Or perhaps…” She frowned. “Perhaps someone took me to the sea.”
Dr. Whitlock’s gaze softened. “Someone important to you.”
Evelyn nodded.
A shadow of sadness crossed the doctor’s eyes—not envy, not jealousy, but the ache of a man who feared he was falling for someone who might already belong to another.
He did not speak that fear aloud.
Instead, he said gently, “Whoever he is—if he exists—he must be desperate to find you.”
Evelyn hugged her arms around herself. “Do you truly think so?”
“I do.”
He paused.
“And if he comes… I hope he deserves you.”
Her breath caught.
But before she could reply, a knock sounded at the cottage door—sharp, urgent, breathless.
Dr. Whitlock rose instantly.
Evelyn’s heart fluttered wildly without knowing why.
Footsteps approached.
Voices murmured.
Then the doctor reappeared in the archway, his expression unreadable.
“Clara… we have a visitor.”
Evelyn stood slowly, her pulse thundering.
“A man,” Dr. Whitlock added quietly. “An Englishman.”
Her breath stopped.
And from behind him, stepping into the warm glow of the cottage light,
eyes fixed only on her—
was Adrian Blackwood.
The man who had crossed the sea for her.
The man who loved her more than breath.
The man she could no longer remember.
- Writer
