I couldn't sleep that night; it was as if she had invaded my mind. What's wrong with me? She's not my wife. Morning came, but I still couldn't forget what happened the previous night. Then Bianca came, standing at a distance, and said, "I'm sorry for what happened last night."Maintaining my cold demeanor, I said, "Sit here, I want to ask you something. Why are you not afraid of me?" My voice was gentle, but my eyes bore into hers, searching for an honest answer.She was stunned for a second but then said, "I am. It's just that I don't have any other reason to be afraid as far as I've seen. You've never hurt me, and now you're the only one I can rely on," her voice soft and filled with a mix of vulnerability and sincerity.
As she spoke, my attention was drawn to a photo on the mantelpiece, a picture of Yura. Bianca had noticed it too, and before I could stop her, she reached out and touched the frame, but she didn't notice anything since only Yura's back was visible, with me holding her. A surge of anger welled up inside me. "Don't touch that!" I snapped, my voice harsh and unyielding. Bianca recoiled, her eyes wide with shock and hurt. The tension in the room became palpable, a stark reminder of the past that continued to haunt me. My fists clenched involuntarily, and I could feel my composure slipping away. She had crossed an invisible line, and the raw wound of Yura's memory was laid bare once more.
After our tense exchange, I told her to go back to her own room. Bianca seemed distracted, her eyes darting around the room. She noticed a slightly open door at the end of the hallway. Curiosity got the better of her, and she slowly walked towards it. I didn't pay much attention, lost in my own turbulent thoughts.
She stepped into the room and was immediately drawn to a large frame hanging on the wall. It was a picture of Yura and me on our wedding day, smiling, happy, and deeply in love. The image stunned Bianca; the woman in the photograph looked remarkably like her. Her head began to spin, and a sharp pain shot through her mind as fragments of her past started to surface. Memories she couldn't quite grasp swirled chaotically, overwhelming her senses.
"Aagghhh it hurts... it hurts... agh it hurts!" she shouted, clutching her head as she fell to her knees. Her voice was filled with agony, echoing through the house.
I ran to the room, panic gripping me. Seeing her on the floor, writhing in pain, brought a mix of fear and confusion. "Bianca!" I called out, kneeling beside her. "What's happening? Are you okay?"
She continued to shout, her face contorted with pain, "Make it stop! Please, make it stop!" Tears streamed down her face as she struggled against the torrent of memories and emotions assaulting her mind.
I felt a pang of guilt and helplessness. This wasn't just about Yura anymore; something deeper was at play. I reached out, hesitating for a moment before placing my hands gently on her shoulders. "Bianca, breathe. Focus on my voice. I'm here," I said, trying to calm her, though inside I was as lost as she was. The past had a grip on both of us, and it was tearingat our fragile connection like a storm threatening to rip apart a tattered sail.