Whisphers Of Lost Love

Scarlett

Edward closed the diary gently, placing it back in the box alongside her treasured belongings, including his favorite pen that she’d playfully claimed as her own. He couldn’t bear to read more; the memories were too heavy. Scar, you were always the best friend anyone could ask for, he thought, though the words felt hollow in his solitude. He had no idea how long he’d sat there, lost in thought, his gaze unfocused on the peach-colored ceiling above him. The sudden ringing of his phone jolted him back to reality—it was his assistant.

“Mr. Hamilton, where are you? It’s been four hours since I last saw you,” Jack’s voice sounded concerned, like that of a family member more than an assistant.

“I’m in the mansion’s main bedroom, Mr. Finley, and you don’t need to keep track of me,” Edward replied curtly, taking a slow sip from his drink.

“With all respect, sir, I am your secretary, and you do pay me for this. Plus, you haven’t eaten anything since last night, so I’ll bring lunch over.”

Edward’s grip on the phone tightened. Once, such gestures had been his mother’s, then his wife’s concern. But both were long gone.

“Listen, Mr. Finley,” he replied, a biting edge to his tone. “You are my secretary, not my mother or my wife. Stick to what’s assigned, and stay in your lane.”

“But—” Jack’s voice was cut off as Edward ended the call abruptly.

He carefully packed Scarlett’s keepsakes into his suitcase, planning to carry her memory close, even in its painful weight. He was about to lie down when he noticed her photograph on the nightstand—their nightstand, in the bed they’d once shared. He had always slept on the right, keeping her picture nearby, while she slept on the left, with his picture beside her. Whenever they’d argued, he’d turn to her smiling photo, always in that blue dress he’d given her on their first anniversary, her favorite pearl-drop earrings glinting. Blue was her color, her self-proclaimed lucky charm.

One day, she’d asked him to choose between a blue dress and a black one, stubbornly insisting blue was her color, while he preferred black. After a playful argument, they’d chosen the blue, because, in the end, it was her choice that mattered. As he recalled that memory, a small smile crept onto his face. It was a strange feeling—he hadn’t smiled in so long that his own jaw felt foreign.

“Why, Scarlett? Why?” he whispered, running a finger over her picture. In that moment, he realized just how much he missed her. Entering this house, he’d thought he hated her; now, pity filled the hollow spaces, and he recognized the lingering traces of love still tied to her.

“This house is haunting me,” he muttered, the weight of it pressing down on him. “I need to finish my work here quickly before I lose my mind.” Yet even as he tried to bury his feelings, he knew that love was relentless; it refused to allow even the smallest reproach for her.

---

Hours later, Edward found himself enveloped in darkness, still unable to sleep. Hunger gnawed at him, and he finally went to the kitchen, though a chilling realization struck him: She’s gone, but my heart’s still beating. For seven years, he’d clung to the hope that she was happier without him. Now, though, he could see through his own lies; he had been feeding himself empty comforts.

The world he once knew felt like a foreign land now, haunted by death’s lingering shadow, as it had taken everyone he once held dear.

He’d always dreaded death, not because he feared his own, but because he feared losing those he loved. Now that his greatest fear had materialized, he was somehow surviving it—yet he didn’t know how long that strength would last. Alone in this empty house, he felt as if everything familiar had slipped into shadows, leaving only his haunted heart in its wake.