Seven Years in Pain, a Lifetime in Vain

The evening breeze swept through the city's neon lights, stirring the fallen leaves along the street, yet it couldn't dispel the obsession that has lingered in my heart for seven years. The faint scar on my wrist warmed subtly in the evening wind, like a needle constantly pricking at memories I'm unwilling to revisit. The HR's voice still echoed in my ears, cold and bureaucratic: "Nora Xavier, this is your dismissal notice. Please sign to acknowledge." My fingertips trembled as I gripped that flimsy piece of paper, as if clutching my own fragile, crumbling life. Walking out through the glass doors of the office building, the late autumn wind blew into my collar. I shivered, instinctively pulling out my phone to call a ride, but the screen automatically opened a short video. The woman in it was perfectly made-up, a composed smile at the corner of her lips—the very face etched into my bones: Melody Carter, Bruce Lewis's mother. "My son Bruce Lewis is getting married next week. We welcome all friends and family to witness their happiness." Melody Carter looked into the camera, her tone gentle, but her eyes concealed the usual arrogance. My heart felt as if gripped tightly by an invisible hand, the pain making it hard to breathe. Seven years have passed. I thought I had long buried this person, this chapter, in the deepest corner of my heart. But now, those suppressed emotions have erupted like a broken dam, instantly drowning me. The scar on my wrist started aching again—a mark from seven years ago, carved despairingly with a fruit knife, stroke by stroke, etched with helplessness and collapse. With a 'ding,' my phone vibrated. It was a gossip message from a colleague: "Nora, have you seen this? Bruce Lewis, the youngest heir of the Lewis Group, has fled his wedding! I heard everything was set up, but he ran off. The Lewis Family is utterly disgraced!" I stared at the words on the screen, my fingertips trembling slightly, still not having digested the sudden news when my shoulder was gripped firmly. I spun around sharply, colliding with a pair of familiar eyes. Those eyes that once sparkled like stars, in which I lost myself throughout my youth, were now filled with urgency and weariness. Bruce Lewis's forehead was slick with sweat, strands of hair clinging to his smooth skin; he was panting, his voice barely trembling: "Nora, I've been looking for you for seven years."