The Things He Tried to Forget
1088 Words
Gabriel stopped sleeping properly.
It didn’t happen all at once. At first, it was just restlessness. He would fall asleep for an hour or two, then wake suddenly, heart racing, his mind already moving. Later, sleep became something he avoided. Every time he closed his eyes, memories slipped in—uninvited, sharp, and heavy.
He told himself it was stress.
Work pressure. Family tension. The hospital bills that still sat like a weight on his chest.
But deep down, he knew better.
Something had been stirred.
It started at the charity event.
He couldn’t get the woman out of his head—the one who spoke calmly, clearly, like she didn’t need approval from anyone in the room. She hadn’t said much, but when she did, people listened. Not because she was loud. Not because she tried to impress.
Because she was sure.
That certainty stayed with him.
Two days later, during a meeting, one of his partners suggested a risky expansion plan. The room buzzed with excitement, voices overlapping, numbers thrown around like promises.
Gabriel rubbed his temple.
“This isn’t solid,” he said finally. “You don’t build on hope. You build on structure.”
The room fell quiet.
Someone laughed awkwardly. “That’s a very Victoria way of saying it.”
The name landed hard.
Gabriel looked up sharply. “What?”
The man shrugged. “Your former wife—she used to say that, right? Back when she helped you draft those early proposals.”
Gabriel didn’t respond.
He couldn’t.
Because it was true.
That phrase—those exact words—had once been scribbled in blue ink at the bottom of a draft he’d wanted to rush. Victoria had crossed out a paragraph and written: Hope is not a plan. Structure is.
He had argued with her that day.
She had been right.
That night, Gabriel went into his study and pulled open a drawer he hadn’t touched in years. Inside were old folders. Early contracts. Notes from when his company was still fragile and uncertain.
He didn’t know what he was looking for.
He just knew he needed to see it.
The first document he pulled out had her handwriting all over it.
Margins filled with notes. Suggestions. Corrections.
He flipped through more pages.
There it was again.
Victoria’s hand.
Careful. Precise. Thoughtful.
She had been everywhere.
In the foundation. In the planning. In the parts of his success he liked to believe he had built alone.
His chest tightened.
“I did this myself,” he whispered, but the words felt weak.
That night, he dreamed of her.
Not sick. Not angry.
Just sitting at the small table they used to share, reading quietly, as if she had never left.
He woke with her name on his lips.
The days that followed made things worse.
Everywhere he went, he saw traces of her.
At a conference, a woman spoke about quiet strength. Gabriel barely heard the rest of the speech. He was stuck on a single line:
“You don’t need to scream to be heard. Let the truth do the shouting.”
His breath caught.
That was Victoria’s line.
She used to say it when he lost his temper. When he felt ignored. When he wanted to fight his way forward.
He remembered her voice now. Calm. Steady.
Why was he hearing her everywhere?
At home, Prisca noticed the change.
He was quieter. Distant. His eyes often unfocused, like he was somewhere else even while sitting beside her.
“Are you listening?” she snapped one evening.
“Yes,” he said automatically.
But he wasn’t.
Later that night, he stood in the bathroom, staring at his reflection. His face looked older. Tired. The confidence people praised now felt thin, like paint over cracks.
He hadn’t felt this way in years.
Because for years, he hadn’t let himself remember.
He started visiting places Victoria loved.
He told himself it was coincidence.
The small bookstore near the old bus stop. The café where she used to sit by the window, reading while waiting for him to finish meetings that ran late.
He sat where she used to sit.
Ordered what she used to order.
Nothing tasted right.
On the third night without proper sleep, Gabriel finally admitted the truth to himself.
His guilt wasn’t just guilt anymore.
It was recognition.
Recognition of how much he had taken.
How much he had dismissed.
How much of his life rested on work done quietly by a woman he later abandoned when she became inconvenient.
The thought made his stomach twist.
He began to fear something else too.
That the calm woman from the charity event wasn’t a coincidence.
That she wasn’t just reminding him of Victoria.
That she was connected to her.
The idea felt wild.
Impossible.
And yet, it wouldn’t leave him alone.
He checked old files again, this time more carefully. Dates. Notes. Medical documents Victoria had once kept organized for both of them.
He saw gaps.
Timelines that didn’t add up.
The donor situation. The hospital reports he was never shown fully.
“You were lucky another donor was secured in time.”
The doctor’s words echoed again in his mind.
Lucky.
For who?
His control began to slip.
He snapped at employees.
Missed deadlines.
Forgot meetings.
One afternoon, he found himself standing outside Aunt Mary’s gate without remembering how he got there.
He hadn’t planned to come.
His feet had simply brought him.
The house looked the same. Quiet. Closed.
He knocked.
No answer.
He knocked again.
Still nothing.
Just as he turned to leave, the gate opened slightly.
Mary stood there.
Calm as ever.
Watching him like she had been expecting this moment.
“Mary,” he said, his voice rough. “I need to ask you something.”
She didn’t invite him in.
She didn’t smile.
“What do you want, Gabriel?” she asked evenly.
He swallowed. “Is Victoria alive?”
The world seemed to hold its breath.
Mary looked at him for a long moment. Long enough for fear to crawl up his spine.
She didn’t shout.
She didn’t accuse.
She didn’t lie.
She simply said, “You should leave.”
Gabriel’s heart pounded.
“That’s not an answer,” he pressed.
Mary met his eyes.
And this time—
She didn’t deny it.
Silence fell between them.
Heavy.
Final.
And in that silence, Gabriel knew.
Everything he had buried was coming back.
And this time, there would be no running from it.
- Writer
