Chapter 3: Echoes of the Past
1655 Words
Nathaniel Walker had always hated phones.
They were too small, too impersonal, yet capable of carrying the weight of entire worlds through a thin slab of glass and metal. Orders. Expectations. Reminders of who he was supposed to be.
The device vibrated against the bedside table, pulling him out of a shallow doze. He’d been staring at the ceiling for nearly an hour, listening to the distant hum of the facility waking up, his body still wound tight from the night before. His sleep had been restless again—less violent than usual, but no less heavy.
He reached for the phone, jaw tightening when he saw the caller ID.
Father.
Nathan exhaled slowly through his nose before answering. “I’m here.”
There was a pause at the other end. Calculated. Measured.
“You didn’t even let me ask,” his father said, voice smooth and controlled in the way only men who’d never been told no could manage.
“You were going to,” Nathan replied flatly. “I checked in. I signed the paperwork. I’m at the rehabilitation centre. Same one the military approved.”
Another silence. Longer this time.
“And you intend to stay?” his father asked.
Nathan stared at the pale light spilling through the window, the neatly folded blanket at the foot of his bed. “That’s the idea.”
“This is not a holiday, Nathaniel,” his father continued. “Your name still carries weight. The board is watching. Investors are watching. You disappear into some facility...”
“I didn’t disappear,” Nathan snapped, sharper than he meant to. He closed his eyes briefly, reinforcing himself. “I’m following orders. Medical discharge. Rehab. Clearance.”
“And afterwards?”
Nathan’s fingers curled around the phone. Afterwards was a word he hadn’t figured out yet.
“Afterwards, I’ll be… functional,” he said instead.
His father sighed, a sound that carried disappointment far better than anger. “You were groomed for more than this.”
“So was I,” Nathan replied quietly, and ended the call before it could turn into something uglier.
The phone barely had time to cool in his hand before it vibrated again.
This time, the name on the screen made his spine straighten.
Major Collins.
“Captain Walker,” Collins said the moment he answered. “Just checking in.”
“Yes, sir.”
“No need for formalities. You’re technically off my roster now.” A pause. “How are you holding up?”
Nathan hesitated. There were truths you gave your commanding officer, and truths you kept buried.
“I’m where I need to be,” he said carefully.
“Good.” Collins’s voice softened, just slightly. “You’ve got everything you need?”
Nathan glanced around the room. Bare walls. Neutral colours. No personal effects. No anchor.
“Almost,” he said. “I was thinking of asking my… assistant to bring a few things.”
“Anything that helps you stay grounded,” Collins replied. “You’ve earned that much.”
Nathan swallowed. “Thank you, sir.”
After the call ended, Nathan sat in silence for a long moment before opening his contacts again.
Sawyer.
It rang once.
“Captain,” Sawyer greeted calmly, as if Nathan hadn’t just been dragged through hell and spat into a rehabilitation facility. “I was expecting your call.”
“I need a favour,” Nathan said.
“Of course.”
“There’s a guitar. In the apartment. The black acoustic.”
Sawyer didn’t interrupt.
“I want it brought here,” Nathan continued. “Nothing fancy. Just… strings intact.”
There was a pause. “Music therapy?”
Nathan thought of Ray’s voice that morning. Some things are easier to say without words.
“Something like that.”
“I’ll have it delivered by this afternoon,” Sawyer said. “Anything else?”
Nathan considered it, then shook his head. “No.”
When the call ended, he leaned back against the mattress, staring at his hands.
For the first time since arriving, the tightness in his chest eased—just a fraction.
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Violet’s flat was quiet when she got home.
Too quiet.
She kicked off her shoes by the door, hanging her jacket on the hook she always forgot to use properly. The familiar scent of jasmine and clean linen greeted her, grounding her after the long shift.
She was halfway to the kitchen when she noticed the envelope on the bench.
Cream paper. Elegant script.
Her stomach dropped.
She didn’t need to open it to know.
Still, she did.
Zayne Mercer & Clara Hughes
Request the pleasure of your company…
Violet sank into the chair, fingers trembling slightly as she unfolded the invitation. The date blurred for a moment as the past rushed in uninvited—two years, and yet the ache remained sharp.
Zayne’s smile. His promises. The slow realisation that the woman he’d told her not to worry about had already been stitched into the seams of his life.
She folded the invitation carefully, as if rough handling might make it worse, and placed it back into the envelope.
Her phone buzzed almost immediately.
Kayla.
“Please tell me you’re home,” Kayla said without preamble.
“I am,” Violet replied softly.
“You sound like you opened the mail.”
Violet let out a humourless breath. “He’s getting married.”
There was a beat of silence. Then, “I swear, if I ever see that man again—”
“It’s fine,” Violet interrupted. “It’s been two years.”
“And yet?”
“And yet,” Violet admitted, pressing her thumb into the edge of the envelope, “it still hurts.”
Kayla softened. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Vi.”
“I know,” Violet leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “I just… I don’t want to be that person anymore. The one who waits for something to break her.”
“You’re not,” Kayla said firmly. “You’re just careful.”
Careful. Guarded. Closed.
Violet thought of the man at the rehabilitation centre; the rigid posture, the haunted eyes, the way he flinched at noises no one else noticed.
Funny how broken people could recognise each other without trying.
“You ever think you might be missing something by keeping everyone at arm’s length?” Kayla asked gently.
Violet hesitated. “Sometimes.”
“Then maybe it’s time to stop deciding the ending before the story even starts.”
After they hung up, Violet stood and walked to the window, watching the city lights flicker on one by one.
She pressed the invitation into a drawer and closed it.
Some echoes didn’t fade. They just waited.
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That afternoon, a knock came at Nathan’s door.
The guitar case was heavier than he remembered. Familiar. Solid.
He set it down gently, fingers lingering on the worn leather before opening it. The scent of polished wood and metal strings filled the room, and something in his chest loosened.
He lifted it carefully, settling it against his body.
The first chord was rough. Uneven.
The second steadied.
By the third, his shoulders dropped.
Music didn’t ask questions. It didn’t demand explanations. It just existed; raw, honest, unforgiving.
For the first time since the war, Nathan let himself feel without armour.
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And somewhere else, miles away, Violet lay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet hum of her own thoughts. Sleep refused to come, as it often did when memories crept in uninvited.
She hadn’t always been this guarded.
She remembered when she first met Zayne, bright-eyed, confident, effortlessly charming. They had crossed paths during her medical placement, back when she was still a nursing student, her scrubs always faintly smelling of antiseptic and cheap coffee. Zayne had been studying to become a doctor then, ambitious and attentive, the kind of man who made you feel seen in crowded corridors. He’d asked her out between shifts, coffee dates squeezed into stolen hours, laughter echoing in hospital stairwells.
It had felt easy. Natural.
They grew together, or so she’d believed. He proposed not long after graduation, slipping the ring onto her finger with a smile full of certainty. They moved in together, building a shared routine of early mornings and late nights, takeaway dinners eaten on the couch, whispered plans about the future.
Then came the late shifts.
At first, she hadn’t questioned it. Medicine demanded long hours; she understood that better than most. But six months in, the excuses grew thinner, the absences longer. Zayne came home exhausted, distant, always checking his phone. Violet told herself she was imagining things, that love meant trust.
Until that day she decided to surprise him.
She remembered walking into his hospital, heart light, carrying his favourite takeaway. The receptionist had smiled politely when Violet asked for him—then frowned.
“He signed out hours ago,” Sue had said casually, glancing at the computer. “They usually leave together.”
They.
It hadn’t taken long after that. Conversations overheard. Looks exchanged. And finally, the truth laid bare in fragments sharp enough to cut. The hospital staff hadn’t even known Zayne was engaged. To them, Clara wasn’t a colleague, she was his girlfriend.
Violet had left without the food, without confrontation, without tears. Those came later, in the privacy of an empty flat that no longer felt like home.
Two years had passed since then, yet the ache lingered, a dull reminder of trust misplaced and promises broken. She learned how easily love could fracture, how quietly it could slip away while you were busy believing in it.
Now, lying awake in the dark, Violet pressed a hand to her chest, steadying her breathing. She told herself she was stronger for it, wiser. That being careful was better than being hurt again.
- Writer
