Lost Time, Found Love: Ava’s Return

Lost Time, Found Love: Ava's Return

Gavin

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The first thing I felt was the slow, steady beep of a machine. I opened my eyes to a sterile white ceiling, definitely not my bedroom. A nurse rushed in, dropping her clipboard, whispering, "She' s awake!" Then a doctor: "Mrs. Hayes? Ava? Can you tell me your name?" "Ava Reed... Ava Hayes." "And the year?" "2023. It' s October." Their pitying looks made my skin crawl. "Ava," the doctor said gently, "It' s not 2023." He pointed to a digital screen: July 12, 2038. Fifteen years. Gone. Just like that. The car crash that felt like yesterday had apparently happened a decade and a half ago. My Lily, my four-year-old daughter, would be nineteen. My husband, Ethan... I called him, desperate, finding his contact on a sleek, alien device. A voice answered, but it wasn' t his. It was cold, hollow. "Who is this?" "Ethan? It' s me. It' s Ava." Then, a harsh, bitter laugh. "My wife is dead. She died fifteen years ago. Don' t you dare use her name again." He was about to hang up. "The scar!" I screamed, "Under your left rib, from Miller' s Peak! And Lily... she called her bear 'Sir Reginald Fluffen-Bottom' !" Silence on the line. Then a whisper: "How... how do you know that?" Who was this stranger on the phone? What had happened to my life, my family? I was Ava Reed, a woman robbed of fifteen years. "Because I am your wife, you idiot. Oceanville General, Room 304. Ten minutes." I hung up, a cold, hard knot forming in my stomach. Ethan never showed. Instead, a slick lawyer offered me a hotel, a car, a credit card. I took the car. My daughter. Lily.

Introduction

The first thing I felt was the slow, steady beep of a machine.

I opened my eyes to a sterile white ceiling, definitely not my bedroom.

A nurse rushed in, dropping her clipboard, whispering, "She' s awake!"

Then a doctor: "Mrs. Hayes? Ava? Can you tell me your name?"

"Ava Reed... Ava Hayes."

"And the year?"

"2023. It' s October."

Their pitying looks made my skin crawl. "Ava," the doctor said gently, "It' s not 2023."

He pointed to a digital screen: July 12, 2038.

Fifteen years. Gone. Just like that.

The car crash that felt like yesterday had apparently happened a decade and a half ago.

My Lily, my four-year-old daughter, would be nineteen.

My husband, Ethan...

I called him, desperate, finding his contact on a sleek, alien device.

A voice answered, but it wasn' t his. It was cold, hollow.

"Who is this?"

"Ethan? It' s me. It' s Ava."

Then, a harsh, bitter laugh. "My wife is dead. She died fifteen years ago. Don' t you dare use her name again."

He was about to hang up.

"The scar!" I screamed, "Under your left rib, from Miller' s Peak! And Lily... she called her bear 'Sir Reginald Fluffen-Bottom' !"

Silence on the line. Then a whisper: "How... how do you know that?"

Who was this stranger on the phone? What had happened to my life, my family?

I was Ava Reed, a woman robbed of fifteen years.

"Because I am your wife, you idiot. Oceanville General, Room 304. Ten minutes."

I hung up, a cold, hard knot forming in my stomach.

Ethan never showed. Instead, a slick lawyer offered me a hotel, a car, a credit card.

I took the car.

My daughter. Lily.

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My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend. From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down." That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny. But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded. I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said." Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off." My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers. I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal. Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing. As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury. In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho." How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me? Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault? Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred? I would not be his victim. Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done. I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties. This was not an escape; this was my rebirth. Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises.

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