A dream and Aaron's emotions

MARGARET POV

The sun bathed the field in golden warmth, and Lewis and I raced through the tall grass, hand in hand. The birds serenaded us, their melodies weaving into our laughter. This was the place where Lewis had proposed—a memory etched in my heart.

But then, reality shifted. Lewis glanced back at me, his eyes distant. I followed his gaze to my stomach—it was flat, devoid of the life that had once thrived within. Panic surged through me, and I halted, breathless.

"Lewis!" I called, desperation lacing my voice. But he continued walking, each step taking him farther away. I stumbled after him, my legs heavy with grief.

"Please don't leave me!" I pleaded, tears blurring my vision. Why was he slipping away? What had changed?

He didn't answer, and I pushed myself harder, my chest aching. "Why?" I screamed. "Why are you moving away?"

But then, a gentle voice cut through my anguish. "Don't run anymore," it said. I turned, expecting to see Lewis, but instead, there was a figure—a shadow of comfort.

"If it makes you cry," the voice whispered, "then stop running."

I stood still, torn between chasing after a love slipping through my fingers and surrendering to the pain. Perhaps dreams held their own truths—the ones we couldn't face in waking life. And so, I let go, sinking to my knees in the sun-kissed grass.

The voice lingered, a balm for my wounded soul. "Sometimes," it murmured, "the only way to find peace is to stop chasing what's already gone."

************************************

The sterile hospital room enveloped me, and Aaron's presence felt like an echo from my dream. I blinked, adjusting to the harsh reality—the white walls, the faint hum of machines, and the weight of my own confusion.

"You're finally awake," Aaron said, his voice mirroring the one that had whispered in my dream. Was it merely a coincidence, or had my subconscious woven him into my fractured memories?

"Did you tell me not to run?" I blurted out, my curiosity overriding any semblance of logic. If I'd spoken in my sleep, he would know about Lewis.

Aaron raised an eyebrow, unfazed. "Why would I say you shouldn't run?" he replied plainly.

I pushed myself up, the hospital bed creaking beneath me. "I need to leave now, Mr. Liam," I announced, my urgency fueled by the need to escape this surreal situation.

"It's already morning," he informed me, and my world tilted. How had the night slipped away so swiftly?

"What do you mean it's already morning?" I asked, my voice sharper than intended.

"It is," Aaron confirmed, his gaze steady.

My mind raced. Had Lewis been searching for me? Was he worried? .

"I have to go," I declared, grabbing my purse and getting up from the bed. I turned to face Aaron, who remained seated, watching me.

"Does that mean you were awake, watching me all night?" I probed, curiosity gnawing at me.

Silence stretched, and then he spoke. "No," he said, pausing. "Why would I? I have work to attend today—I don't need to feel sleepy."

I nodded, chastising myself for assuming more. Aaron was merely a stranger, albeit one who shared a voice with my dream.

I wrapped my scarf and donned my shades.

"Should I drive you to your place?" he asked.

"No," I replied firmly. He shouldn't know where I lived.

As I stepped out of the room, I encountered imposing bodyguards stationed by the door.

***********************************************

The cab ride from the hospital to my house felt like an eternity. My mind raced, wondering if Lewis would be there, waiting for me with open arms or a furrowed brow. How angry would he be when he discovered I'd been absent all night?

As I swung open the front door, hope fluttered in my chest. But the emptiness of the house swallowed my optimism whole. Lewis was nowhere to be found. I called his name, my voice echoing through the silent rooms, but there was no response.

Desperation clawed at my insides. I checked every corner, every hiding place, but the house remained stubbornly vacant. The dining chair welcomed me, and I sank into it, my elbow on the table, palm pressed against my forehead.

Tears threatened, and I fought to hold them back. What had I done wrong? Why did the universe conspire to leave me alone in this echoing space? The weight of loneliness settled on my shoulders, suffocating and cruel.

And then, just when despair threatened to consume me entirely, the telephone rang. I lunged for it, my heart racing. "Hello, Lewis," I blurted out, desperate for his voice, his reassurance.

But silence greeted me. The line disconnected, leaving me with nothing but the hollow echo of my own plea. I slammed the receiver down, frustration and anger boiling over. How could he leave me hanging like this?

In that moment, the house seemed colder, the walls pressing in. I screamed, releasing the pain and frustration that had been building within me. Lewis might not be here, but my heartache was very much present.

************************************

AARON POV

Margaret lay on the bed, her delicate features etched with exhaustion. What had caused her to faint? The doctor's diagnosis—stress—left me with more questions than answers.

My family's ownership of this hospital afforded me certain privileges. I'd warned the staff to keep Margaret's presence confidential. Reporters and journalists prowled like vultures, hungry for any scoop. This situation could explode into a headline-worthy article if mishandled.

I paced, my footsteps echoing in the quiet,when I was sleepy or uncomfortable while sitting. The clock mocked me—6:20 am. Margaret might wake soon. I settled back into the chair, my gaze fixed on her as thoughts flowed through my mind. Who was her husband? Why had she married early? And the most haunting question: when and why had she broken up with Lewis?

Lewis. Did she still harbor feelings for him? Was her husband a good man? And then there were my own feelings—unbidden, unwelcome. She was married, carrying another man's child. I shouldn't entertain such thoughts.

Her smile flickered, then faded. Tears traced down her cheeks. I reached for my handkerchief, gently wiping them away. What had turned her dream into a nightmare? Her lips moved, and I leaned closer, straining to hear her whispered words.

"Lewis," she murmured, and my heart clenched. "Please don't leave me." The plea hung in the air, raw and vulnerable.

"I run after you," she continued, her voice barely audible, "but you are going further away."

Lewis. Was she still love with him? Was he the father of her unborn child? Or perhaps it was both. I'd have to tread carefully, observe her when she left.

I called one of my bodyguards, instructing him to pose as a cab driver. Margaret wouldn't want me to know, but I'd watch from a distance.  I found myself ensnared in her story—a story that held more questions than answers.

Margaret's tears flowed, her pain etched across her features. I watched, torn between empathy and my own turmoil.

My fingers brushed her tear-streaked cheek, the touch gentle yet inadequate. "Don't run anymore," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "If it makes you cry, then stop running."

I'd step in, protect her if needed, but the tangled web of emotions stretched beyond my reach. Margaret deserved solace.

As she stirred, her eyes fluttering open, I retreated to my chair.