The Heiress's Comeback

Chapter 154: [Volume 1] - 154- Forget.

Tears streamed down Esme’s face, each drop burning with the weight of her forgotten past. Her chest felt as though it was being ripped apart, and her heart thudded painfully against her ribcage. She couldn’t believe it—she had forgotten her mother’s face. How could she, of all people, have lost the memory of something so fundamental, so deeply tied to her identity?

The woman, the one who looked like her but wasn’t, stood there holding the younger Esme. That memory, so vivid and so warm, stung her now. It was a bittersweet ache, a longing she hadn’t even realized she harbored. But just as Esme felt like she was being swallowed by the crushing weight of her emotions, something unexpected happened.

A voice, cheerful yet laced with a sweet playfulness, cut through the haze like a lifeline. It was a voice Esme knew well—a voice she had also forgotten. The sound of it stirred something deep inside her, something so familiar that it made her heart stop for a moment.

"You idiots! How dare you dump me!" the voice scolded, though there was no real malice behind it. The playful tone was almost addictive, dripping with the kind of warmth that pulled Esme out of her spiral of despair.

She blinked, trying to make sense of what she was hearing. Who was that? She knew this voice. But before she could fully grasp it, the figure of a man appeared, just a few steps away from the woman—her mother. He stood with his hands on his waist, glaring at Esme’s mother with mock frustration, though a smirk danced at the corners of his lips. His hair caught the light, a shimmering golden hue that reminded Esme of sunlight, as if the very sun itself had painted his locks.

Without a second thought, the man rushed toward them, his movements fluid and filled with energy. He stopped beside Esme’s mother, and with a teasing grin, he tugged at her ears. "You! Playing with your biome and your daughter, forgetting all about me? Do I not exist?" he huffed, though his eyes were filled with fondness, not anger.

Esme’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t even realized she was holding it. The sight of him—the way his golden hair framed his face, his cheerful blue eyes that sparkled with mischief—it all felt so familiar. Yet, just moments ago, she hadn’t remembered any of it.

The younger Esme, still cradled in her mother’s arms, beamed at the sight of him. With a squeal of pure joy, she leapt from her mother’s grasp and jumped into the man’s arms. "Daddy!" the child cried, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck.

And then it hit Esme like a crashing wave. Daddy. That voice, that face—it was her father.

The memory was so overwhelming that Esme staggered, clutching her chest as fresh waves of pain surged through her. She could barely stand. How could I have forgotten him? The man she idolized, the one who had lifted her onto his shoulders when she was too small to see over the garden hedges. The man whose laughter had filled their home with warmth.

She gasped, covering her eyes with trembling hands as tears streamed down her cheeks. The realization was like a knife to her heart. She had forgotten both of them. Her mother. Her father.

How could that be possible?

Her mind raced, searching for answers in the chaos of her thoughts. She was Esme Valhalle, known for her near-perfect memory—her photographic memory. Every detail, every face she saw, was etched into her mind like a permanent mark. It’s impossible. She had always been able to recall even the smallest things, the tiniest moments. So how could she, of all people, forget the faces of her own parents?

It didn’t make sense. It shouldn’t be possible. Yet here she was, standing in this vivid memory, realizing that the faces she thought she had known, the ones she believed were imprinted on her soul, had been wrong all along.

The weight of it was crushing.

How could I forget them? Esme’s mind replayed the scene—her mother, so tender and loving, her father, so full of life and joy. The little girl who was her past self, so innocent and full of laughter. It felt like another lifetime, a world she had been ripped away from.

And as her tears fell, her body wracked with sobs, the thought gnawed at her.

"Ahhhhh".

Was it possible that she had buried these memories so deep, hidden them away because of the pain? Had she shielded herself from this heartache for so long that even her brilliant memory had failed her?

Her parents—their love, their faces—everything was slipping through her fingers like sand. She could see them now, clearer than ever before, but the pain of having forgotten them, even for a moment, was unbearable.

Esme looked up at the memory of her father holding her younger self, his blue eyes twinkling as he kissed the top of her head. Her mother stood beside him, smiling, her hand resting gently on his shoulder.

How could I forget this? Esme wondered, her heart breaking all over again. She had lost so much more than she ever realized. And now, the memory of them was both a gift and a curse, a reminder of everything she could never truly get back.

.....

Esme’s eyelids fluttered open, the dim light filtering into her vision. A strange sense of disorientation settled over her, as though she were waking up in a place she had only vaguely known in dreams. Her mind felt clouded, weighed down by the haze of sleep, and yet the room around her—the hospital equipment, the soft beep of machines—was unmistakably real.

Turning her head slightly, Esme’s gaze landed on the window across the room, the faint glow of morning seeping through the curtains. It took her a few moments to realize she wasn’t alone. There, beside her bed, sat Ray. His figure was slouched in the chair, his head tilted at an awkward angle, fast asleep.