**David’d POV** I stand there, by Scarlet’s resting place, with the familiar weight of white roses in my hands—her favorite. It’s a clear morning, the cemetery dappled with sunlight, peaceful and introspective. As I place the flowers down, I can’t help but feel a blend of solace and sorrow, her diary's words echoing in my mind. “Scarlet,” I start, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “I’ve read every page you left behind. It’s like having a part of you still here with me, and I’m grateful for that. You always had a way of making the world a bit brighter, even in writing.” I pause, taking a breath as I look around, feeling her presence. “You know, Emma and Daniel are back together. After everything, they’ve found their way back to each other. You worried about them, I know. But they’re happy, truly. Daniel once told me that without her, he’d be lost... an unfinished love story. Well, they’ve got their happy ending now.” My voice falters as I touch the cold stone, a part o
Writing "His Unfinished Love Story" was like talking to a friend for me. It came from a place where I was struggling with family stuff, and I didn't really have anyone to open up to—no best friends or unbiased family members. Counseling wasn't my thing, so I poured it all into this book instead. This story is a mix of real-life vibes and make-believe, exploring all kinds of love—whether it’s the love for a parent, a sibling, a friend, or even the complicated, sometimes obsessive kind. What I've realized is that no type of love is superior; they all just... are. And while love can push us to do crazy things, it's not a free pass to mess up and just expect forgiveness. That kind of forgiveness, the kind that really matters, comes from a higher place. I hope my book helps you sort out your own feelings, find some peace, or maybe even close a chapter that's been open too long. Thanks for diving into this journey with me. Here's to finding your peace, whatever that looks like.
Emma glanced at the clock on the wall, the soft tick-tock mingling with the gentle hum of the night outside. Her three-year-old daughter, Lily, was finally asleep, her tiny body curled up under the pastel pink blanket that had been a birthday gift from her grandparents. Emma took a moment to brush a stray strand of hair from Lily’s forehead, her heart swelling with the kind of love only a mother could understand.She tiptoed out of the room, careful not to make a sound, and settled into the corner of the living room where her laptop awaited. The room was dimly lit, bathed in the soft glow of the desk lamp that illuminated the scattered notes and textbooks she’d used for her research. Emma had been working tirelessly on her manuscript for months, pouring her heart into every page. Tonight was the night she would finally submit it to the esteemed journal she had been dreaming of reaching.As she opened her laptop and navigated to the journal’s submission guidelines, she realized she nee
The alarm blared at 5:30 a.m., pulling Emma from a fitful sleep. She quietly slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Daniel, and began her morning routine. She brushed her teeth, washed her face, and stared at her reflection in the mirror. The events of the previous night replayed in her mind, a loop of unease and doubt. She quickly got dressed and tiptoed into Lily's room to kiss her daughter goodbye before heading out the door.At the hospital, Emma threw herself into her work. She made her rounds in the internal medicine ward, diligently checking on patients, and gave instructions to her trainees. Her mind was a whirlwind of medical terminology and personal turmoil. Her colleagues noticed the dark circles under her eyes, but Emma brushed off their concern with a weak smile."Emma, are you alright?" Dr. Patel asked during their lunch break."Just allergies," Emma lied, wiping at her red eyes. "And PMS."Dr. Patel gave her a knowing look but didn't press further. Emma appreciated the
Emma's alarm woke her at 5:30 a.m. as usual, but today, she felt a strange sense of resolve. She dressed quickly, kissed Lily goodbye, and headed to work. The hospital bustled with its usual activity, and Emma threw herself into her rounds, giving instructions to her trainees with renewed energy.During a rare quiet moment in the staff room, Dr. Patel told a hilarious story about a patient who mistook a stethoscope for a fancy necklace. Emma couldn’t help but laugh along with her colleagues, the sound of their laughter echoing in the room. For a moment, the weight on her shoulders lightened.After work, Emma headed to her Pilates class. Her instructor, Lisa, a stunning 36-year-old divorcee with a 12-year-old son, shared a story about a date with a mixed-race rich man who ditched her upon learning she was a single mom. Emma usually enjoyed these anecdotes, often making witty comments. But today, she just listened, her mind drifting to her own troubles. Lisa noticed Emma's silence but d
Emma’s p.o.v.I walked slowly along the familiar path at "the plateau," the secluded green area of the prestigious high school Daniel and I had attended. It was a place filled with memories of our walks together, our favorite activity as a couple. Today, however, I walked alone, seeking clarity in the quiet solitude.My mind drifted back to the first time I met Daniel. Although we attended the same high school, Daniel was two years my senior. We didn’t interact much back then, but we moved in similar social circles and had connected on social media.During my first year of college, I was sent to the University of Illinois to work in a lab, thanks to my academic achievements. It was during this time that I met an Irish boy two years older than me. After a few dates, he forced himself on me. Naive and inexperienced, I could only muster a subtle "no." After the deed, as the alcohol's effect waned, he apologized. I left, pretending nothing had happened, but upon returning home, I began ex
Emma’s p.o.v.I continued my walk at "the plateau," the place where Daniel and I had spent countless hours together. As I wandered through the secluded green area of our old high school, memories flooded back, each step bringing a new wave of nostalgia.Daniel had proposed to me during one of the hardest times in his life. His father was suffering from a terminal brain tumor, lying on his deathbed, and his stepmother was relentlessly pursuing his inheritance. When Daniel asked me to marry him, I didn’t think it through. I thought the best way to ease his mind was to say yes. So I did.My parents were grateful to Daniel for bringing me back to life after my trauma, but they had their reservations about our relationship. They believed we were mismatched. I was content with a simple life, while Daniel always aspired for more. My mother tried to object, but when she saw the tears in my eyes, she didn’t persist.Our wedding was beautiful, held at a luxurious venue with a stunning view of t
Daniel’s p.o.v. I sat at my home office desk, the quiet hum of my laptop filling the room. It was my lunch break, and the stillness of the house gave me time to reflect. As a portfolio manager, my work is demanding, but today, my thoughts drifted far from spreadsheets and market trends.I found myself thinking back to Emma, to when we first met. I remembered how I had jokingly commented on her underweight figure, trying to lighten the mood. “Have you been skipping meals?” I had said, trying to mask my concern with humor. Her response was sharp, and it struck a chord in me. I remember feeling uneasy, like I had crossed a line. It was the first hint of something deeper, a worry that I shouldn’t let go of this topic.In the weeks that followed, I started following her on social media. I saw pictures of Hello Kitty dolls she had collected and laughed at her quirky sense of humor. Then there was the one of an old woman in traditional Anatolian attire playing an electronic guitar. I couldn