Forgotten Once, Gone Forever

Bianca burst into loud, dramatic sobs the moment my hand connected with her cheek. She clutched her face like I had committed some horrific crime, her cries echoing through the room.

Caleb immediately pushed past me and stepped protectively in front of her, glaring at me with fire in his eyes. Without warning, he shoved me backward, hard enough to make me stumble.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he shouted. “She just got discharged from the hospital, and you think hitting her is okay?”

I steadied myself, rage burning in my veins as I stood tall again. “Of course,” I said bitterly, staring him down. “Of course you’re defending her—like always. That’s all you’ve ever done. You know what, Caleb? I’m done playing this game. If she’s what you want, go be with her. I’m finished with you. We're done.”

“No,” he said instantly, his voice shaking with disbelief. “You don’t get to leave me. You’re not walking away from this.”

I let out a laugh—sharp and humorless. “No, Caleb. You’re the one who can’t survive without me. And soon, you’ll understand exactly what that means.”

I turned toward the door, lifting my bag onto my shoulder, ready to leave it all behind.

But before I could step out, I heard his voice behind me—calm, casual, like this was just another day. “Relax, Bianca. She’ll come crawling back like she always does. She’s just throwing another tantrum.”

That cut deeper than anything he’d ever done.

For a second, I stood there in silence, the weight of his words pressing down on me like stones. I remembered all the times I’d gotten angry at him—hurt by his indifference, his gaslighting—only to end up apologizing, even when he was the one in the wrong. I always forgave him. Always found a way to excuse his behavior. Always hoped he’d change.

Once, I genuinely believed he loved me.

He used to do the little things—hold my hand when we crossed the street, text me good luck before every exam, show up with coffee when I’d pulled an all-nighter. There were moments that felt so perfect, like the surprise picnic he planned for my birthday or how he stayed up all night helping me cram for finals. Those were the memories I clung to when everything else started to fall apart.

But as time passed, things began to shift. He stopped listening when I spoke. When I cried, he called me dramatic. When I tried to explain why I was upset, he’d say, “You’re just too sensitive.” And somehow, I always ended up feeling guilty.

The love I thought we had became one-sided. He only cared when it was convenient—when he needed comfort, praise, or someone to stand beside him in public. When I needed support, he was always busy or indifferent.

I couldn’t pinpoint when it happened, but I stopped recognizing the version of myself that stayed with him.

Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was the hope that he’d go back to being the boy I fell for. Maybe I thought I didn’t deserve anything better.

But not anymore.

This time, I was leaving for good. No more explanations. No more apologies for loving too much. I was done.

Without glancing back, I walked out the door. A black luxury car was parked at the curb. My mother’s driver stood waiting and opened the door the moment he saw me. I got in wordlessly, my grip tightening around the handle of my suitcase as the car pulled away.

Every second, the distance between me and Caleb widened—not just physically, but emotionally too. And with each passing block, I felt a small part of myself begin to return.

When I arrived at the police station, two officers were already waiting for me. One of them offered a reassuring nod and led me to the interrogation room.

“We have him,” the officer said. “He confessed to being involved.”

My chest tightened. I stepped inside, my hands clammy as I faced the man who had haunted my nights.

He sat in a chair, chained at the wrist, wearing a smirk that faded the moment he saw me. I sat across from him, my heart pounding.

“Why did you do it?” I asked, my voice cold and controlled.

He leaned back and shrugged. “Wasn’t personal. I was paid.”

My breath caught. “Paid?” I echoed.

He nodded, nonchalant. “Yeah. Bianca Kingsley. She was the one who hired us. Said you needed to be taught a lesson. Said we should make sure you didn’t have anything left to hold onto—especially not the baby.”

I froze. The air left my lungs.

“Bianca?” I asked in disbelief, my voice barely audible.

He nodded again. “She wanted you gone. Claimed you were ruining her plans with your boyfriend. Told us to make you suffer, but not kill you—just break you enough that you wouldn’t come back.”

I sat there in stunned silence, every word he spoke driving a dagger deeper into my chest.

Bianca had been the one to orchestrate everything. Not just the manipulation, not just the betrayal—but the violence, the trauma. My body, my baby, my peace… all stolen because of her.

I stood up slowly, my fists clenched tightly.

“Make sure Caleb Grayson hears every word of this,” I said to the officers. “Send him the full report. I want him to see the truth he refused to believe.”

They nodded, assuring me they would deliver the information.

As I stepped outside into the night, the air hit my face like a wave of reality. The cold didn’t sting. I welcomed it.

Later that evening, I stood at the airport, watching the blinking lights of the departure board. My flight to Sydney was boarding soon. A strange calm settled over me.

Then my phone rang.

Caleb.

His name flashed on the screen, but I felt nothing—not anger, not sadness. Just finality.

I answered.

“Where are you?” he demanded, breathless and panicked. “Rhea, please. Let’s talk.”

I held the phone to my ear, my expression unmoving. “I’m going somewhere you’ll never find me,” I said quietly. “And this time, I won’t be coming back.”

Before he could reply, I ended the call and blocked his number.

The gate attendant called for boarding. I walked forward, heart steady, eyes clear.

I didn’t need closure. I didn’t need revenge. I just needed freedom.