Not forgotten

Not forgotten
The afternoon sun poured through the tall windows, painting soft gold over the living room floor. Aria sat curled on the couch, half-lost in a book, when her phone buzzed beside her. An unknown number flashed across the screen.
She hesitated. Her stomach twisted. Something about the number — the timing — felt off. She almost ignored it, but instinct pressed her thumb to “accept.”
“Hello?” Her voice came out cautious, quiet.
For a moment, silence hummed on the other end — a deep, loaded pause that made her heart beat faster. Then a voice, low and rough, bled through the speaker.
“Aria.”
She froze. That voice — familiar, sharp with restrained anger. “Damien?”
“I didn’t call to fight,” he said. “We need to talk. Alone.”
Her fingers tightened around the phone. “After everything you’ve done, you expect me to—”
“Listen.” His tone hardened, silencing her. “You deserve to know the truth. About what really happened five years ago.”
Aria’s breath caught. The words sliced through her chest like ice. “The truth?”
“Yes,” Damien said. “But not here. Not with him listening.” The bitterness in his voice didn’t need a name — she knew who he meant.
Aria looked toward the hall, half-expecting Dante to appear at any moment. The air suddenly felt thinner, heavier. “Why should I believe you?” she whispered.
“You don’t have to. Just meet me. Tonight. No guards, no lies, no interference this time.” His tone dropped to a near growl, layered with desperation and something darker — regret.
She swallowed hard, torn between fear and curiosity. “Where?”
“You’ll know when you get there,” Damien said softly. “I’ll send you the address. Don’t tell him, Aria. This time, you need to hear it for yourself.”
The line went dead.
Aria stared at the phone, her pulse roaring in her ears. For a long moment, she didn’t move — didn’t breathe. Then her screen lit up again with a new message.
A location.
No name.
Just coordinates.
And beneath it, one final text:
If you come, everything will change.
The phone slipped from her trembling fingers as she whispered, “What are you hiding, Damien?”
Aria slipped on her jacket quietly, her heart thudding like a drum against her ribs. The house was still—Dante had gone upstairs to take a shower, and the guards were posted outside, oblivious. She clutched her phone, Damien’s message still glowing faintly on the screen.
If you come, everything will change.
She told herself she just wanted answers—nothing more. But her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. As she stepped into the hallway, the walls seemed to close in, her vision narrowing, sounds fading into a dull hum.
Her head throbbed. A sharp pain stabbed behind her eyes, forcing her to stop and grab the wall for support. “Not now,” she murmured, her breath coming shallow.
The air around her thickened, shimmering slightly—as if the world itself were tilting. The phone slipped from her grasp, clattering to the floor. Her knees buckled.
“Aria?” She thought she heard Dante’s distant voice, faint and distorted, echoing down the hall. But she couldn’t respond. Her heartbeat slowed, her fingers went cold, and before she could take another step, everything went black.
Her last thought before darkness swallowed her was of Damien’s voice—low, insistent, haunting.
You need to know the truth.
Then silence.
A faint, rhythmic beeping filled the quiet room. The scent of antiseptic hung in the air, sharp and sterile. Aria’s eyelids fluttered open, the blinding white ceiling slowly coming into focus. Her throat was dry, her body heavy, as though she’d been underwater for hours.
Then—his voice.
“Aria?”
Her gaze drifted sideways. Dante sat beside her bed, his hand gripping hers so tightly it trembled. His eyes—those silver-gray eyes—were rimmed with exhaustion and relief all at once. Behind him stood his parents, their expressions a mix of worry and fragile smiles.
“Hey,” Dante whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You scared me.”
Aria blinked, trying to piece together what happened. “I was… in the hall. Then everything went dark.”
“You fainted,” his mother said gently, stepping closer. “We brought you here as soon as we found you.”
A doctor entered just then, flipping through a chart. The click of his pen broke the stillness. “Mrs. Blackwood,” he began, glancing up with a faint smile, “your vitals are stable now. The fainting was caused by exhaustion and hormonal imbalance.”
Aria frowned. “Hormonal?”
Dante straightened, confusion flickering across his face. “What do you mean?”
The doctor’s smile softened. “Congratulations. You’re pregnant.”
For a heartbeat, the room fell completely silent. Aria’s lips parted, her breath catching. The word hung in the air like a fragile note—pregnant.
Dante’s hand tightened around hers. “Are you sure?” His voice cracked slightly, disbelief and hope blending into something raw.
The doctor nodded. “Positive. About six weeks along, I’d estimate.” He handed the chart to a nurse and left quietly, giving them space.
Aria stared at her stomach, tears threatening but never falling. Her mind whirled—memories of loss, of the child she once carried, of the ache that had never left her. And now… another chance.
Dante leaned closer, pressing his forehead gently against hers. “You have no idea what this means to me,” he whispered.
She swallowed hard, her fingers trembling as she clutched his hand. “I’m scared,” she confessed softly. “What if—”
“Don’t,” he cut in gently, his voice firm but tender. “This time, nothing will happen to you. I swear it, Aria.”
For the first time in a long while, she let herself believe him. The fear didn’t vanish, but it softened—replaced by a flicker of hope she thought she’d buried forever.
Outside, the afternoon sun poured through the blinds, painting them both in warm light.
And beneath that light, Aria whispered, almost to herself, “Maybe the moon goddess hasn’t forgotten me after all.”
Aria sat propped up against the soft white pillows, still dazed by the doctor’s words echoing in her mind — You’re pregnant.
Her hand rested gently over her stomach, the reality of it still sinking in when Dante’s mother, Evelyn, stepped closer, her eyes shimmering with emotion.
“Oh, sweetheart…” Evelyn’s voice broke softly as she reached for Aria’s hand. “This is a blessing. A second chance.”
Aria managed a faint smile, her throat tightening. “I… I didn’t think I’d ever hear those words again.”
Evelyn squeezed her fingers, her warmth steady and comforting. “The moon goddess never forgets her children. She takes, but she also restores. You’ve endured so much, my dear. This time, it will be different.”
Dante’s father, Lord Blackwood, who had stood quietly by the window, turned with a rare softness in his eyes. “Your strength saved my son once,” he said, his deep voice low but filled with respect. “Now, let it protect this child too.”
Dante, seated beside Aria, looked between his parents and her, emotion catching in his throat. His mother smiled gently and reached out, resting her hand over Aria’s.
“Let’s pray,” Evelyn whispered.
They all bowed their heads — the moment tender and still. The hum of the machines faded into the background as Evelyn’s soft prayer filled the room.
“Moon goddess,” she murmured, “we thank you for your mercy. Watch over this child growing within her. Let no harm come near them, let no shadow steal this joy. Strengthen Aria, give her peace, and bless them with life and light.”
When she finished, Aria’s eyes glistened. Dante leaned in and kissed her forehead softly, whispering, “You heard her — this time, we’re keeping our miracle.”
Evelyn smiled through tears, brushing Aria’s cheek with her thumb. “You are family, Aria. You’re not alone anymore. Whatever it takes, we’ll make sure this baby arrives safely in your arms.”
Aria felt something shift inside her — a fragile but steady warmth she hadn’t felt since before her loss. Hope.
As the light of dusk filtered through the curtains, bathing them all in gold, she let herself breathe for the first time in what felt like years, whispering a silent promise to the child she now carried.
You’ll live. I’ll make sure of it.