Lost Time, Found Love: Ava’s Return

Lost Time, Found Love: Ava's Return

Gavin

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The first thing I felt was the slow, steady beep of a machine. I opened my eyes to a sterile white ceiling, definitely not my bedroom. A nurse rushed in, dropping her clipboard, whispering, "She' s awake!" Then a doctor: "Mrs. Hayes? Ava? Can you tell me your name?" "Ava Reed... Ava Hayes." "And the year?" "2023. It' s October." Their pitying looks made my skin crawl. "Ava," the doctor said gently, "It' s not 2023." He pointed to a digital screen: July 12, 2038. Fifteen years. Gone. Just like that. The car crash that felt like yesterday had apparently happened a decade and a half ago. My Lily, my four-year-old daughter, would be nineteen. My husband, Ethan... I called him, desperate, finding his contact on a sleek, alien device. A voice answered, but it wasn' t his. It was cold, hollow. "Who is this?" "Ethan? It' s me. It' s Ava." Then, a harsh, bitter laugh. "My wife is dead. She died fifteen years ago. Don' t you dare use her name again." He was about to hang up. "The scar!" I screamed, "Under your left rib, from Miller' s Peak! And Lily... she called her bear 'Sir Reginald Fluffen-Bottom' !" Silence on the line. Then a whisper: "How... how do you know that?" Who was this stranger on the phone? What had happened to my life, my family? I was Ava Reed, a woman robbed of fifteen years. "Because I am your wife, you idiot. Oceanville General, Room 304. Ten minutes." I hung up, a cold, hard knot forming in my stomach. Ethan never showed. Instead, a slick lawyer offered me a hotel, a car, a credit card. I took the car. My daughter. Lily.

Introduction

The first thing I felt was the slow, steady beep of a machine.

I opened my eyes to a sterile white ceiling, definitely not my bedroom.

A nurse rushed in, dropping her clipboard, whispering, "She' s awake!"

Then a doctor: "Mrs. Hayes? Ava? Can you tell me your name?"

"Ava Reed... Ava Hayes."

"And the year?"

"2023. It' s October."

Their pitying looks made my skin crawl. "Ava," the doctor said gently, "It' s not 2023."

He pointed to a digital screen: July 12, 2038.

Fifteen years. Gone. Just like that.

The car crash that felt like yesterday had apparently happened a decade and a half ago.

My Lily, my four-year-old daughter, would be nineteen.

My husband, Ethan...

I called him, desperate, finding his contact on a sleek, alien device.

A voice answered, but it wasn' t his. It was cold, hollow.

"Who is this?"

"Ethan? It' s me. It' s Ava."

Then, a harsh, bitter laugh. "My wife is dead. She died fifteen years ago. Don' t you dare use her name again."

He was about to hang up.

"The scar!" I screamed, "Under your left rib, from Miller' s Peak! And Lily... she called her bear 'Sir Reginald Fluffen-Bottom' !"

Silence on the line. Then a whisper: "How... how do you know that?"

Who was this stranger on the phone? What had happened to my life, my family?

I was Ava Reed, a woman robbed of fifteen years.

"Because I am your wife, you idiot. Oceanville General, Room 304. Ten minutes."

I hung up, a cold, hard knot forming in my stomach.

Ethan never showed. Instead, a slick lawyer offered me a hotel, a car, a credit card.

I took the car.

My daughter. Lily.

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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles

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I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved. He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again. "Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports. For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian. In return, he treated me like furniture. He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste. I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home. So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco. I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage. But I underestimated Dante. When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat. He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away.

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