After Us

Present Day—Buried But Niot Gone

Layla freezes as her eyes drop to the contents of the envelope, her breath catching in her throat.

The picture slides into her lap, and it feels like the floor has dropped out from beneath her. It’s an old photograph, faded around the edges but still very much familiar—a headshot from Evan’s Polaroid camera from seven years ago at Evan’s friend’s birthday party—the night that had changed her life.

There she is, laughing with carefree ease she can’t even recognise anymore, standing far too close to Evan, his arm wrapped securely around her waist.

And then her eyes catch the handwritten note tucked behind the photograph. Blocky, all-too-familiar letters taunt her:

“REMEMBER THIS NIGHT?”

Her stomach twists violently. For a moment, the world narrows to the crackle of the photograph and the accusatory scrawl on the note.

“What does it say?” Daniel’s voice cuts through her spiralling thoughts like a blade. She snaps her head up, her gaze meeting his, and her heart thuds loudly in her chest.

“Nothing,” she lies, the word tumbling out before she can stop it.

Daniel’s brows furrow, scepticism flashing in his eyes as he leans closer. “It doesn’t look like anything.”

Layla shakes her head, slipping the note and photograph back into the envelope with trembling fingers. “It’s—just some stupid thing. Really, it’s not worth the drama.” She forces a dismissive laugh, praying he doesn’t notice the crack in her voice.

“Layla,” he says slowly, the edge returning to his tone. “You’re acting like you just saw a ghost.”

Because I did.

Her mind spins back to that night—seven years ago, when life was simpler, and she’d let her guard down in a way she hadn’t since. She remembers Evan’s crooked smile, the warmth of his touch, and the scent of whisky and late-summer air.

She remembers the kiss.

Not just any kiss—the kiss. The kind that rearranges your very existence, leaves a mark so deep you’re never truly the same again.

Layla feels the heat creeping up her neck and prays Daniel doesn’t see it. There’s no way she’s sharing any of this. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

“I’m serious, Daniel,” she says, her tone firmer now. “It’s just… someone trying to stir up old memories. Nothing that matters now.”

His jaw clenches as he studies her, searching for something beneath her practiced nonchalance. “Is it from him?”

She doesn’t miss the way his voice tightens around the word, doesn’t miss the accusation hidden in the question.

“Maybe,” she admits with a shrug, keeping her gaze steady. “But it’s irrelevant. He doesn’t have any power over me or us. I promise.”

Daniel leans back slightly, his expression skeptical but giving her space. “Then why did you look like you just saw a murder scene?”

“It caught me off guard, that’s all.” Layla huffs and lets the note slip from her hands onto the coffee table. Then, in a calculated move, she grabs it and strides toward the trash can in the corner of the room.

“Layla—”

“Done. Over,” she says briskly, letting the envelope and its contents drop into the trash with a small hiss of satisfaction. “See? Trash. Gone.”

Daniel stands, crossing his arms. “You really expect me to believe that was nothing?”

She arches her brow. “You think I can’t handle an old photograph and a cryptic note? Come on, Daniel. Give me some credit.”

He steps closer, towering over her as his voice drops an octave. “This isn’t a game, Layla. If someone’s trying to dig up your past, don’t you think I deserve to know what they’re after?”

For a moment, she falters. The sincerity in his tone, the concern lining his face—it almost breaks her resolve. But then she remembers Evan’s smirk, the way he always knew how to get under her skin. The way he made her doubt herself.

“Not this time,” she says quietly. “I’m not giving him the satisfaction.”

Daniel stares at her for a long beat before exhaling sharply. “Fine,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “But don’t shut me out when it does matter. Promise me that much.”

Her chest tightens, but she forces a small smile and nods. “I promise.”

But even as she says it, she knows she’s lying again.

Daniel lingers at the door, his eyes holding hers for a moment longer. “Get some rest, Layla,” he says softly.

“I will. Drive safe,” she replies with a faint smile.

He nods, hesitating briefly before heading out. The sound of his car starting fades into the night, leaving Layla standing in the quiet entryway, her thoughts heavy.

She exhales deeply and walks down the dim hallway, stopping first by her mother’s room. Megan is asleep in her recliner, with a Bible open on her lap. Layla carefully adjusts the blanket draped over her, tucking it securely around her shoulders.

“Goodnight, Mom,” she whispers, her voice almost inaudible.

Next, she steps into Sophia’s room. Her little girl is fast asleep, spread out across the bed with her arm hugging a worn-out stuffed bear. Layla leans in, pressing a kiss to her forehead and tucking the blanket more snugly around her small frame.

Satisfied they’re both settled, she finally retreats to her room. She sits on the edge of her bed, running a hand through her hair, the weight of the evening still pressing on her chest.

Feeling restless, she stands and heads to the bathroom. Turning on the shower, the sound of rushing water fills the small space. She takes off her dress and steps under the cold stream, letting it cascade down her body, goosebumps rising on her skin.

Her eyes close as she tilts her head back, the icy drops offering a sharp contrast to the chaos swirling in her thoughts.

But even the cold water can’t wash away the tension. The image of the photograph and the haunting words—“Remember this night?”—linger in her mind, tugging at memories she desperately wishes she could forget.

Her mind keeps drifting back to Evan, to that night, to the bittersweet pain of memories and regret.

And then she wonders, what the hell does he want now?