Where Memories Go to Die
1101 Words
Gabriel left for work just after dawn.
He kissed Victoria’s forehead, told her to rest, told her he loved her. His voice was steady. His lie, effortless. Victoria kept her eyes closed until she heard the door click shut. Only then did she exhale, slow and sharp, as if she’d been holding her breath all night.
She didn’t wait for permission.
By midmorning, Victoria signed the discharge papers herself. The nurse protested. The doctor frowned. She smiled faintly and insisted. She had too many things to do—far too many—to lie in a hospital bed pretending her life hadn’t already been dismantled.
The following afternoon, Aunt Mary’s car pulled up outside.
The moment Victoria slid into the passenger seat, the strength she’d been forcing cracked. Mary didn’t ask questions. She only reached over and squeezed Victoria’s hand, grounding her.
“Slowly,” Mary said. “We’ll do everything slowly.”
Victoria shook her head. “No. I can’t afford slow.”
They drove straight to her parents’ house.
Victoria hadn’t been there in years.
As the gate creaked open, memories ambushed her—her mother’s hurried footsteps, her father’s booming laugh, both of them standing at the door whenever she came home, eyes bright with excitement, as if she were the best thing that had ever happened to them.
Now, the door stood closed.
The house felt smaller than she remembered. The air inside was stale, untouched, and lifeless. Every step echoed too loudly, as though the walls themselves were listening.
Victoria stood in the living room for a long time, fingers trembling, before finally moving.
She went straight to her parents’ bedroom.
Their things were still there—her mother’s neatly folded scarves, her father’s old watch on the bedside table, frozen in time. Victoria opened a box and began packing silently, piece by piece. Each item felt heavier than the last.
Her vision blurred.
Tears dropped onto her hands, onto the memories she could no longer protect.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
“Mom… Dad… I’m too weak. I couldn’t even protect the last things you left me.”
She pressed her forehead against the wardrobe, shoulders shaking, grief pouring out unchecked. This house had once been her sanctuary. Gabriel had stepped into it with her blessing. And now—now he wanted to stain it with lies, with another woman, with a life built on betrayal.
She wouldn’t allow it.
Before coming here, Victoria had already met with a realtor.
She sold the house quickly. At a price far lower than its worth.
Money didn’t matter.
She refused to let Gabriel defile this place any further. If the memories had to be taken away, she would be the one to do it—on her own terms.
When she sealed the last box, Victoria wiped her face and straightened.
Grief still lived in her chest. Betrayal still burned.
But beneath it all, something else had taken root.
She knew exactly where to start.
After mailing the belongings, Victoria took one last look at the house where she had grown up.
It would be the final time.
She locked the door and stepped outside—only to come face to face with Gabriel.
He looked startled, then relieved. He must not have found her at the hospital and guessed she would come here.
“Sweetheart,” he said quickly, moving toward her. “Why didn’t you tell me you were discharged? Your phone is off. Do you know how worried I was?”
His eyes were red, filled with what looked like genuine concern.
“Don’t go out without telling me, okay?” he added, his voice breaking slightly. “I was so scared something happened to you.”
He pulled her into his arms.
His body trembled against her shoulder.
Victoria’s mind flashed to the image from the night before—Gabriel tangled with Prisca in the stairwell, breathless and shameless. Nausea surged up her throat.
She shoved him away.
Her eyes were cold. Disgust filled them.
“I’m fine, aren’t I?” she said flatly. “I didn’t want to bother you. You’re very busy.”
Gabriel froze.
For the first time, he saw something unfamiliar in her eyes—impatience.
Usually, she would apologize softly. Usually, she would comfort him.
Why was she acting like this?
He frowned and said she must be upset about her parents’ things. He reminded her that he had warned her not to come here, but she hadn’t listened. Trying to smooth things over, he suggested getting something tasty for her—ice cream, maybe.
She refused.
He reminded her about the upcoming transplant, about how she needed to stay strong.
Without waiting for her response, Gabriel took her hand.
“What do you want me to do for your birthday tomorrow?” he asked lightly. “That bag I promised you—I had someone get it. It’ll arrive tomorrow. You’ll be the first person in the world to have it.”
“Excited?”
His grip felt like needles piercing her skin.
The first in the world?
Hadn’t he already given that same bag to Prisca?
Did he really think she was blind?
Victoria pulled her hand free, her voice distant and flat. “I don’t want to eat out. I’m not hungry.”
More than unappetizing food, the man standing in front of her killed her appetite. Even his slightest touch felt filthy.
“Alright,” Gabriel said, momentarily stunned, then quickly pasting on a smile. “We’ll eat at home. I’ll cook for you.”
He was confident.
A little coaxing, and she would fall back into his arms.
She could never leave him.
Victoria turned and looked straight into his eyes.
Suddenly, she wanted to know.
“Gabriel,” she asked quietly, “if I don’t get the transplant and I die… would you be sad?”
The question struck him like a blow.
His chest tightened inexplicably.
“Why would you ask that?” he said quickly. “No, sweetheart, don’t think like that. You’ll recover. Don’t say such things.”
His voice thickened. His eyes glistened, as if he might cry.
Victoria gave him a faint smile.
She used to avoid questions like this. She didn’t want to worry him. She was afraid he would do desperate things—like secretly spending nights praying in temples for her survival.
Now she knew the truth.
It was all a lie.
Even if he offered her the kidney himself, she wouldn’t feel a shred of pity for him.
- Writer
