THE LOVE WE NEVER LOST

The night Amelia Hart decided to return home was the same night she dreamed that Daniel Blackwood was dying. “Amelia, run!” His voice echoed through the darkness. She turned toward him, but she couldn't see his face. Rain poured from a blackened sky, cold and merciless, soaking through her clothes as she stood in the middle of an empty road. Lightning tore across the heavens, briefly illuminating the trees surrounding her. “Daniel!” She tried to run toward him. Her feet wouldn't move. Daniel was standing several yards away, dressed in the dark coat she remembered from years ago. Blood stained the left side of his shirt. “Don't come any closer!” His voice trembled. Amelia fought against whatever held her in place. “I won't leave you!” “You already did.” The words struck harder than the thunder. Daniel fell to his knees. “No!” Amelia screamed and finally broke free. She ran toward him, but before she could reach him, a blinding flash of lightning filled the road. Daniel disappeared. Amelia woke with a gasp. She sat upright in bed, her chest rising and falling rapidly. For several seconds, she couldn't remember where she was. Then the unfamiliar ceiling of her apartment came into focus. London. She pressed a trembling hand against her chest. It had only been a dream. Just a dream. She closed her eyes and tried to steady her breathing. But the sound of Daniel's voice remained in her head. You already did. Amelia pushed the blankets aside and climbed out of bed. The digital clock on her bedside table read 3:17 a.m. She walked to the window. Outside, London was quiet beneath the rain. Streetlights reflected against the wet roads, turning the city into a blur of gold and gray. She stood there for a long time. Seven years. Seven years since she had seen him. Seven years since she had walked away from Blackwood Estate with a broken heart and a promise never to return. And yet, somehow, Daniel still found his way into her dreams. She hated that. She hated that after all these years, one dream could make her feel like the twenty-two-year-old girl who had once believed she would spend the rest of her life beside him. Amelia turned away from the window. On the desk beside her bed sat an old wooden box. She hadn't opened it in years. She knew what was inside. Letters. Photographs. A silver bracelet Daniel had given her on her twenty-first birthday. And a dried rose whose petals had nearly turned to dust. She had kept everything. Not because she wanted to remember him. At least, that was what she told herself. Her phone vibrated on the bedside table. Amelia frowned. Nobody called her at this hour. She picked it up. One missed call. Her mother's name appeared on the screen. A second call came before she could decide whether to return the first. Amelia answered. “Mom?” There was silence on the other end. Then her mother's voice came softly. “Amelia, are you awake?” “Yes. What's wrong?” Another pause. “Your father collapsed tonight.” Amelia's heart stopped. “What?” “He's at St. Mary's. The doctors are running tests, but...” Her mother's voice cracked. “You need to come home.” Amelia gripped the phone tighter. “Is he conscious?” “Yes.” “Is he going to be okay?” “I don't know.” Those three words were enough. Amelia looked around her apartment. The decision she had spent seven years avoiding suddenly seemed unavoidable. “I'll come,” she whispered. Her mother exhaled shakily. “There's something else.” Amelia frowned. “What?” “Your father asked for you.” She closed her eyes. “Okay.” “He also asked about Daniel.” Every sound in the room seemed to disappear. Amelia slowly sat on the edge of the bed. “Why?” “I don't know.” “Did he say anything else?” “No. He just kept asking whether you had spoken to him.” Amelia's stomach tightened. “I haven't.” “I know.” “Mom...” “I think you should come home as soon as you can.” The call ended a few minutes later. Amelia remained seated in silence. Daniel. Even after seven years, his name still possessed the strange ability to disturb every carefully constructed wall around her heart. She reached for the wooden box. Her fingers hesitated over the lid. Then she opened it. The first thing she saw was a photograph. Two young people stood beneath an enormous oak tree, laughing at the camera. Daniel's arm was around her shoulders. Amelia remembered that day perfectly. She remembered the sunlight. The smell of freshly cut grass. The way Daniel had stolen her sunglasses and refused to give them back until she kissed him. She smiled despite herself. Then the smile disappeared. She turned the photograph over. Written across the back in Daniel's handwriting were six words: Forever starts with us, Amelia. Her fingers trembled. She put the photograph down. “No,” she whispered. Forever hadn't started with them. It had ended with them. At least, that was the story she had spent years telling herself. By sunrise, Amelia had packed a suitcase. She stood at the apartment door, staring at the life she had built in London. Her job. Her quiet routines. The independence she had fought so hard to create. Everything suddenly felt fragile. She picked up her suitcase and left. --- Three hours later, Amelia was driving through the countryside toward Blackwood. The landscape became increasingly familiar. The narrow roads. The old stone walls. The hills covered in mist. The memories she had buried began rising one after another. She remembered sneaking out at seventeen to meet Daniel. Their first argument. Their first kiss. The night he had promised that nothing would ever separate them. Then she remembered the night everything changed. The night she left. Amelia tightened her hands around the steering wheel. She hadn't returned because she was afraid. Afraid of her father. Afraid of the house. Afraid of the memories. But most of all, she was afraid of Daniel. Because somewhere deep inside her, she knew the truth. She had never stopped loving him. Blackwood Estate appeared beyond the trees. Amelia slowed the car. The enormous iron gates stood exactly as she remembered them. But something was different. A black luxury car was parked outside the main entrance. She didn't recognize it. She pulled into the driveway. Before she could reach the front door, it opened. Her mother stepped outside. “Amelia.” They embraced tightly. For a moment, Amelia allowed herself to be her mother's daughter again rather than the woman who had spent seven years pretending she needed nobody. “How is Dad?” “Stable,” her mother said. “But he's asking for you.” “Where is he?” “In his study.” Amelia nodded. Then her mother caught her wrist. “There is something you need to know before you go inside.” “What?” Her mother's eyes filled with uncertainty. “Daniel is here.” Amelia stopped breathing. “What did you say?” “He arrived last night.” The suitcase slipped from Amelia's hand. Her mother's voice became softer. “He came because your father called him.” Amelia stared at the open doorway. Seven years. Seven years of silence. Seven years of trying to forget the man who had once been her entire world. And now he was standing somewhere inside the house where their love had begun. She took one slow step forward. Then another. But before she could enter, a familiar voice came from behind her. “Amelia.” She froze. She knew that voice. She had dreamed about it. Missed it. Hated it. Loved it. Slowly, painfully, she turned around. Daniel Blackwood stood at the bottom of the steps. He looked older than the boy she remembered. Harder. More guarded. But his eyes were exactly the same. They locked onto hers. Neither of them spoke. Then Daniel looked at the suitcase lying between them. His jaw tightened. “You actually came back.” Amelia swallowed. “Why are you here, Daniel?” His expression changed. For a moment, something painfully familiar flickered across his face. Then he said quietly, “Because your father finally decided to tell you the truth about the night we separated.” Amelia's heart pounded. “What truth?” Daniel stared at her. “The truth about why I let you hate me for seven years.” And before Amelia could ask another question, the front door behind them slammed shut.