The Future

Six years Later

I adjusted the drip for Mrs. Isolde, who let out a soft cough. She was a frail but sharp woman in her eighties, her onyx eyes still bright as she stared at me. Her crowfoot clenching together with her warm smile.  I had grown fond of her over the past few months that I started working as her personal doctor. 

"There you go, Mrs. Isolde," I said, smoothing the blanket over her legs on the wheelchair. 

"Thank you, dear," she replied, her voice raspy but affectionate. "You're such a blessing to have around."

A smile spread across my face. Balancing my career as a surgeon and raising my twins, Larry and Sally, was no small feat, but moments like this made it all worthwhile. "It's my pleasure. You remind me of my own grandmother."

Mrs. Isolde chuckled softly. "You're too kind, Isolde. Always so kind."

As I tidied up her bedside table, the television in the corner of the room caught my attention. A news anchor's voice filled the room, announcing the day's headlines.

"...and in business news, multi-billionaire Rowan Vaughn has just announced his engagement to childhood sweetheart and renowned philanthropist, Gigi Raphael."

My hand hovered, the glass of water suspended halfway to Mrs. Isolde.

 My gaze snapped to the screen, my lungs locking in a silent gasp. The words 'Rowan Vaughn' flashed on the display, and my heart stumbled. 

The camera zoomed in on a face that made my mind stutter - chiseled features, sharp jawline, and eyes that seemed to bore into my soul. A shiver danced down my spine as our gazes met, albeit through the screen. My throat constricted, the air thickening like a physical presence. The glass of water trembled in my hand, a tiny ripple disturbing its surface, as my mind slowly remembered those same eyes that looked at me with such lust.

And hatred. 

And the woman who he had loved rather than me. 

I shouldn't be hurt. I shouldn't care less, it's been six years. Yet my heart, just couldn't take it. 

"Rowan Vaughn," Mrs. Isolde murmured, her eyes narrowing as she peered at the screen. "Isn't he quite the handsome one?"

I nodded absently, but I failed to look at her so she wouldn't see the tears that filled my eyes. 

My gaze shifted to the necklace around his neck in the photo, a simple chain with a pendant bearing the initials "R.V." My heart pounded as I remembered the ring. Our wedding ring also had his initials. 

Gosh Remi, don't do this to yourself. Look away. Act like he doesn't exist. 

But he does exist and it hurts more than anything to know the man you loved, crushed on, got married to destroyed your life. 

Mentally and physically. 

"Remi dear, are you alright?" Mrs. Victoria's voice broke through my thoughts, and I realized I was still holding the glass of water.

"I'm fine," I replied, dropping the glass off water. "Just a bit of a shock, that's all."

She looked at me with concern, her hand reaching out to cover mine. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Before I could respond, the sound of tiny footsteps echoed down the hallway.  Larry and Sally burst into the room, their faces flushed with excitement. "Mommy! Mommy! Look what we found!"

They held up a bouquet of wildflowers, their eyes shining with pride. "Aren't they pretty, Mrs. Isolde?" Sally asked, her voice filled with childlike wonder.

Mrs.Isolde's eyes softened as she took in the sight of the twins. "They're beautiful, my love. Thank you."

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. "Why don't you put them in the vase over there?" I suggested, pointing to the dresser by the window.

As they scampered off to arrange the flowers, I turned back to the television. The news had shifted to another topic, but the image of Rowan was imprinted into my mind. 

When I look at my children I see his face. When Larry stagger sometimes or his cold matured attitude, I knew he got it from his father. Everything about them reminded me of him. 

Mrs. Isolde noticed my distraction and she shifted her wheelchair closer. "Remi, you look troubled. Is there something you want to talk about?"

I hesitated, not wanting to burden her with my worries. "It's just... that man on TV. He looked familiar."

She tilted her head, her eyes searching mine. "Do you know him?"

I bit my lip, unsure how much to reveal. "I think he might be... someone from my past. Someone important. Maybe they just look alike. That's all"

The elderly woman nodded thoughtfully, her grip on my hand tightening. "Sometimes, the past has a way of catching up with us when we least expect it."

Before I could respond, a loud crash came from the corner of the room. I turned to see the vase of flowers tipped over, water and petals spilling across the floor. Sally and Larry  stood frozen, their faces was that of guilt. 

"I'm sorry, Mommy," Larry said, his voice trembling. "We didn't mean to."

I hurried over, my heart aching at the sight of their distress. "It's alright, sweetheart. Accidents happen."

As I knelt to clean up the mess, I caught a glimpse of Mrs. Isolde watching us, her eyes filled with sadness and something else—curiosity, perhaps? She looked from me to the twins and back again, her expression pensive.

"Remi," she said softly, once the vase was upright again, "those children of yours... they have a striking resemblance to that man on TV."

I froze, my fingers stilling on a damp cloth. "I noticed that too," I admitted. 

Mrs. Isolde's eyes bore into mine, her gaze unwavering. "Do you think it's a coincidence?"

I shook my head, tears threatening to spill. “Yeah…it is." I turned my eyes away, not wanting her to see my tears. 

Before we could go further, Mrs. Isolde's hand jerked towards the phone which started to ring, her eyes fixed on the screen as if willing it to silence. She lifted it to her ear, her expression serene. But as she listened, her face crumpled, like paper crushed by an unseen hand. Her eyes glazed, their warmth extinguished, leaving only a vacant stare. The phone slid from her fingers, hitting the floor with a metallic clang. Her gaze drifted towards me, her pupils dilating as if searching for an escape. Terror seeped into her eyes, like ink bleeding into paper, and her mouth parted, but no sound emerged.

Except one word. 

"Help.”