Before she forgot

EPISODE FIVE

The Next Day — The Hospital

Emilia arrived at half past four, slightly later than promised.

She pushed the door open gently and stepped inside. Mr. Williams was already sitting up in bed, adjusted against the pillows as though he had been waiting.

"Good evening," he said, a faint smile crossing his face. "You came."

"Of course." Emilia walked closer. "Has the doctor discharged you yet?"

"Yes." He glanced toward the door. "I was waiting for you."

"Then let's go."

Outside, a sleek black SUV sat parked at the hospital entrance. Emilia had noticed it when she arrived — it was the kind of vehicle that drew the eye without trying — but she hadn't given it much thought. Now, watching Mr. Williams move toward it without hesitation, she understood. She fell into step beside him and climbed in quietly.

Inside, the leather was cool and the silence comfortable. They had barely turned onto the main road when Emilia's phone rang.

"Hello?" she answered.

"Good afternoon. Am I speaking with Emilia?" a woman's voice said on the other end.

"Yes. Is something wrong?"

"I'm calling to remind you that your rent will be due this weekend."

Emilia's shoulders dropped slightly. She lowered her voice. "Please — can you give me until the end of the month? I just started a new job and things are still very tight."

The call ended a minute later. Emilia stared at the window, her thoughts turning. The coffee shop wages had barely been enough to scrape by, and even with the new salary at Livingston, it would take time before she found her footing. Rent, bills, groceries — everything pressing at once.

Beside her, Mr. Williams had caught enough of the conversation. He turned to look at her, his expression calm and unhurried.

"You know," he said, "you're welcome to stay at my place. It's the least I can do — you saved my life."

Emilia shook her head politely but firmly. "I can't accept that, sir. You've already been through enough. I'll manage."

He didn't push. He only looked at her for a moment longer, then turned back to face the road.

When the car passed through the gates, Emilia's eyes widened.

The mansion rose ahead of them — white stone walls, enormous glass windows that caught the fading evening light, and a fountain at the center of the entrance courtyard. The grounds were immaculate, the kind of place that felt less like a home and more like something out of a film. She kept her expression as neutral as she could manage and said nothing.

Inside, the atmosphere shifted the moment they entered.

Anaya and Liam were already in the sitting room. Both of them froze the instant they saw the bandage wrapped around their father's head.

Anaya stepped forward first. "Dad — what happened? Why didn't you call us?" Worry sharpened her voice, her eyes moving quickly over him.

Liam reached out instinctively toward his father's shoulder. Mr. Williams moved past him without acknowledgment — not unkindly, but with the practiced ease of a man who had long ago decided not to be fussed over. He handed Anaya his coat without a word, as though the bandage on his head required no explanation.

The siblings exchanged a glance. Their father disappeared for days sometimes after arguments — that part wasn't new. But the injury was different. The worry settled in heavier than usual.

Then they noticed the girl standing behind him.

Emilia hovered near the entrance, her steps hesitant, clearly uncertain whether she should stay or go. The siblings looked at her, then at their father, then back at her. Confusion, curiosity, and a dozen unspoken questions passed between them in the span of a second.

Liam caught Anaya's eye and tilted his head toward the corner. She followed, pulled out her phone, and dialed.

"Hello, big brother. Please come home — now."

"Why? Is something wrong?" Johnson's voice came through, flat and measured.

"Dad had an accident. He seems okay, but..." She glanced across the room. "Just come."

"I'll be there." The line went dead.

Back in the sitting room, Mr. Williams looked at his children's faces — the unspoken questions written plainly across both of them — and sighed.

"Thank her," he said simply, nodding toward Emilia. His voice carried its usual cool authority, but there was something beneath it. "She saved me."

All eyes turned to Emilia.

She stood very still, her bag clutched at her side, looking like she would have preferred to be invisible. Mr. Williams gave a brief account of what had happened — the accident, the hospital, the girl who had stayed.

When he finished, Liam and Anaya turned to face her.

"Thank you," they said, almost in unison.

"Really — thank you so much," Anaya added, stepping closer. Her gratitude was immediate and genuine, the kind that didn't need dressing up.

Emilia smiled softly. "It was nothing."

They brought her a drink, and for a few minutes the room settled into something warmer — easy conversation, quiet relief, the tension of earlier dissolving slowly.

Then Emilia checked her phone and rose quickly. "I have to go."

"I'll drive you," Anaya offered.

"No, honestly — it's fine—"

"I insist." Anaya was already reaching for her keys.

Emilia gave in.

The drive was easy. Anaya asked casual questions, and every few minutes added another quiet, "Thank you again," as if she kept remembering all over again why she was grateful. Emilia smiled each time and said nothing much in return.

When they reached her street, Anaya leaned forward before she could open the door.

"Can I have your number?"

Emilia paused, caught off guard.

Anaya laughed lightly. "I just want to take you to dinner tomorrow. Properly say thank you."

"Oh." Emilia relaxed. "Okay."

They exchanged contacts. Emilia stepped out, waved, and watched the car pull away before turning toward her building.

She had made it halfway down the street when she remembered.

Tampons.

She sighed, adjusted her bag, and turned toward the small store at the corner. She was rifling through her purse for change when she walked directly into someone.

The impact sent her wallet and a few loose items scattering to the ground.

"I'm so sorry!" she blurted, crouching quickly to gather her things.

"Watch where you're going." The voice above her was low, calm, and entirely unbothered.

Emilia kept her head down, heat rising in her cheeks. She collected everything as fast as she could and hurried into the store without looking back.

She didn't notice the work ID that had slipped silently from her bag.

The man bent and picked it up. He turned it over in his hand, his sharp eyes moving over the details — name, department, the small photograph of a woman smiling with an ease she clearly didn't feel around him.

Emilia Smith. Programming Department. Livingston Company.

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

Johnson turned the card over once more, then slipped it into his pocket. He stood there a moment longer, looking at the store she had disappeared into.

She worked in his company.