Erased

My fingers clawed desperately at the car door as he drove off, dragging me over ten meters across the pavement. Watching the exhaust fumes fade into the distance, my heart turned to ashes. I thought I would die on that frozen mountain, but fate intervened—a passing stranger saved me and, in doing so, restored eight years of lost memories. The first thing I did upon waking was erase my current identity. 1 "Ma'am, are you certain? Once the identity of 'Jenna Hayden' is legally dissolved, that person will, for all intents and purposes, cease to exist." I nodded, my voice steady. "I'm certain." My name was never Jenna, anyway. I am Elara Vaughn. Eight years ago, a plane crash stole my memories and left me stranded in Port Sterling. The Hayden family took me in, and eventually, I became their daughter-in-law. George and I... we were in love once. The golden couple, the one everyone in our circle envied. That all changed two years ago, when she came back. I glanced up at the massive screen dominating the city's central square. It was broadcasting the final moments of the national piano championship. Unsurprisingly, with me out of the way, Lila Sinclair had clinched first place. In the post-win interview, George was beaming, his smile radiating a warmth I hadn't seen directed at me in years. "Lila has always been number one in my heart. No one can touch her talent. As her agent, I couldn't be prouder." "Oh?" the host chimed in, a little flustered. "My apologies, I just assumed the number one spot in your heart belonged to your wife." George let out a smooth laugh. "When it comes to my heart, of course, Jenna is my number one. But when it comes to pure talent? That has always been Lila." Hearing that, a bitter, ironic smile touched my lips. I turned away and dialed a number. "Pierce. I need a pickup in Port Sterling. Seven days." Leaving the noise of the city square behind me, I slipped into a tattoo parlor on a quiet side street. "Hey, looking for some ink? What did you have in mind?" the artist asked, gesturing to a chair. "I need something removed," I said, pointing to my chest, just over my heart. "This name." He leaned in. "G-E-O? Those letters must have meant something special." I looked down, a sad, hollow laugh escaping me. "They used to." Four hours later, I walked back into our house carrying a small, custom-ordered cake. George was already home, lounging on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. He looked up as I entered. "What's the occasion? You bought me a cake?" The last embers of warmth in my heart flickered and died. It was my birthday. "It's nothing important," I said, my voice flat. "Just felt like it." "Perfect timing," he said, tossing his phone aside. The mention of Lila brought an unconscious, genuine smile to his face. "Lila won today. We're having a celebration dinner later. I'll take this along." I was silent for a moment, then just nodded. I went to our room to change. George followed me in. "Elara, you should come to the party. You were the five-time champion before her. It would be good for you to show your support." As he spoke, his eyes caught on something. "What happened to your chest? Why is it bandaged?" 2 "I got hurt when you dragged me with the car." A flicker of guilt crossed his face, but it was fleeting. "Well, at least it's just an injury. That tattoo is the proof of our love. Make sure it doesn't get damaged." "Right," I said, the word tasting like ash. "I know." His expression softened, satisfied. "Good. Get ready. We're leaving soon." The moment I settled into the passenger seat, a small bear-shaped air freshener on the dash chirped in Lila's sultry, sweet voice. "Kissy kissy, handsome. Have a beautiful day!" George's face tensed. "It's just a stupid gag gift she recorded. Don't read into it." "I'm not," I said, my voice a monotone as I turned to stare out the window, remaining perfectly still. I had to. Because my foot had just brushed against a tube of lipstick wedged under the seat. Lila's favorite brand. Her signature shade of crimson. But I wasn't going to say a word. I just wanted to pretend I hadn't seen it. I was leaving soon; there was no point in starting another pointless fight. Halfway there, George started texting. He'd forgotten his messaging app was synced to the car's display. LilaTheCat: When are you getting here, handsome? I'm starving. George: Again? I thought I fed you in the car just now, you greedy little thing. I stared at the screen, my mind numbly trying to picture them feeding each other snacks in the car. Then, like a switch flipping, another image burned into my mind. The lipstick under the seat... Fed you in the car... Oh god. They hadn't been talking about food. They'd done it. Here. In this very seat. A wave of revulsion, deep and visceral, churned in my stomach. I, a notorious germaphobe, felt utterly defiled. "Stop the car," I choked out. The moment it slowed, I shoved the door open and threw up on the side of the road. 3 "Can you hurry up?" George called out, his voice laced with impatience. "I'm on a schedule." There was no way in hell I was getting back in that car. Seeing me dawdle, he slammed the passenger door shut. "Fine! Get in or don't! I'm not your chauffeur!" By the time I arrived at the restaurant, the party was in full swing. George gestured for me to take the seat beside him. As I approached, I saw Lila's leg draped casually over his, her hand pulling his own up, guiding it deep beneath the fabric of her skirt. George froze for a second, his eyes darting towards me. But Lila held his hand fast. He watched my face, and when he saw only a mask of indifference, he relaxed, a faint, flushed heat rising in his cheeks, mirroring the one on hers. Later, when the party moved on to drinks and games, George couldn't hold it in any longer. "Elara," he whispered, "could you run out and get me some ibuprofen? My stomach is killing me." It was the perfect excuse to escape. I nodded and left the private room. Just as the elevator doors were closing, I realized I'd left my phone. As I walked back, I heard the muffled sounds of their friends talking through the door. "...the balcony? Damn, George and Lila are getting riskier." "What choice do they have? There's a pharmacy right downstairs. Elara will be back any minute. They have to be quick." I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms to stop my hands from shaking. So everyone knew. Everyone was in on their little secret, and I was the fool left in the dark. Then, I heard George's voice, strained and breathless. "Hey... keep it down. If my wife hears you, you'll all answer to me." A round of mocking laughter followed. They knew I wasn't there. They knew I wouldn't hear. I couldn't listen anymore. I turned and fled, my retreat a clumsy, humiliating escape. When I returned with the medicine, they were all composed, sitting on the couches, playing a party game as if nothing had happened. Someone noticed me. "Hey, Elara was the last one here! You still haven't given Lila a gift. Let's all guess what our five-time champion is going to give the new winner!" In all my years as a Hayden, the finances were controlled entirely by George and his parents. I had almost no money to my name. Sensing my predicament, George leaned in and whispered, "Just give her some cash in an envelope. Put it on my tab." I set the box of ibuprofen on the table. "The grand piano I've used for the last five years," I announced, my voice clear and steady. "If you wouldn't mind taking it." A collective gasp filled the room. That piano was a one-of-a-kind instrument, handcrafted by the legendary Maestro Valerius himself. George had spent half a year convincing the Maestro to part with it. It had been his second-anniversary gift to me. Suddenly, the way everyone looked at me shifted, their gazes filled with a strange, calculating curiosity. After arranging for the movers, I was about to head to my room to rest when the door was thrown open. George stood there, his face a thundercloud. "What the hell was that?" he seethed. "Giving away the piano I gave you. What are you trying to say?" 4 I met his furious gaze. "You said it yourself. When it comes to talent, Lila is better. An instrument like that deserves a true artist." His anger faltered. "How did you...?" "The broadcast was everywhere. I saw it on the screens in the city square." They were his own words, thrown back in his face. He had no comeback. "But that doesn't mean you just give it away! It was our anniversary gift!" I offered a thin, empty smile. "And?" He froze. "Jenna... what are you saying? Are you trying to leave me?" "I told you from the beginning," I said softly. "If you ever fell in love with someone else, I would leave you forever." He suddenly laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Go on, try it. Everything you are in this world, I gave you. Where could you possibly go without me? Don't forget, Jenna. This marriage ends when I say it ends. You can't divorce me without my consent." But he was wrong. Because my name isn't Jenna Hayden. My name is Elara Vaughn. And my marriage to him was never legally valid. "Don't even think about leaving me," he said, his voice dropping to a low, menacing command. "You stay here, in this house, and be a good little wife. I'll give you everything you could ever want. Remember that." I smiled. A real smile this time. We'll see about that. For the next four days, I systematically erased every trace of myself from that house. The clothes in good condition were donated to charity. The old ones, I burned in a small, contained fire in the backyard. I closed every social media account associated with Jenna Hayden. I went to the records office and officially relinquished the identity. And George would never notice. He and Lila were gone, jetting off to Singapore to celebrate her victory. Singapore was like their second home; they flew there at the drop of a hat. Three days until my departure. Lila sent me a picture. It was of a little girl, happily eating a snack. Her daddy made her the biggest candy apple today, just because his little princess asked for it~ This wasn't the first time she'd sent things like this, but I'd never understood the context. The girl... what was her connection to them? This time, however, the photo was a clear close-up. And my blood ran cold. The little girl was a perfect, miniature blend of George and Lila. She was their daughter. So that's why he never wanted to have children with me. How utterly, pathetically laughable. Two days until my departure. George threw an eight-million-dollar fireworks show for Lila. Eight million dollars, just to see me smile, her message read. He said it was worth it. The display was beautiful, I'm sure. He'd once promised to watch fireworks with me, a promise he never kept. And now, he never would. One day left. This time, there was no picture, no text. Just an audio file. I pressed play. The sounds of their lovemaking filled the silence of the room—his low, sensual groans, her high, breathy moans. I listened to the whole thing, then just smiled faintly. I placed the phone on his desk, next to a sealed envelope. Slinging my only backpack over my shoulder, I walked out of the 'home' I had lived in for eight years, and I didn't look back. My ride was already waiting, a line of men in sharp suits standing discreetly at the private terminal. Just as I was about to board the jet, my burner phone rang. It was George. Hey, honey. I'm back from my trip. I'm on my way to pick you up for dinner. He was back, all right. Standing not fifty feet from me, with Lila and their daughter in tow. I kept my voice even. Dinner isn't for another hour. Can you make it? He was laughing, bending down to tie the little girl's shoelaces. As he opened his mouth to reply, I saw Lila lean in and press a lingering kiss to his lips. "Honey," she purred, "you promised you'd take Nina and me to the amusement park first. And we have to get her back to Singapore tonight. We're running out of time." "Daddy, please?" the little girl pleaded. "I wanna go to the park!" A moment later, a text from George came through. Elara, something came up at work. Let's reschedule dinner for three days from now. A genuine, liberating smile spread across my face. I switched the phone off for good. Sliding on a pair of dark sunglasses, I walked towards the jet, my security detail flanking me. We brushed right past George. He paused, a flicker of confusion on his face as he turned to look at my retreating back. "That's weird," he murmured. "That woman... she looked a little like Elara." Lila laughed, pulling at his arm. "Don't be silly. Someone that important, with bodyguards? Since when is Jenna Hayden a VIP?" George chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, you're right." He scooped up his daughter. "Alright, Nina, let's go! To the amusement park!" As my plane taxied onto the runway, a calm, professional voice came over the cabin speakers, a sound I hadn't heard in eight years but recognized instantly. Vaughn Jet-1, this is the tower. You are cleared for takeoff. Welcome home, Ms. Vaughn. Have a safe flight. 5 Upon landing on our family's private island, I was met by a line of security staff, their stoic professionalism cracking as they saw me, their eyes red with emotion. "Welcome home, Miss Elara." Eight years ago, after the crash, I was declared missing, presumed dead. My sudden return was a miracle they'd given up hoping for. My parents stood together, tears streaming down their faces as they watched me walk down the steps. My younger brother, Liam, broke from their side and ran to me, crushing me in a hug. "Elara," he choked out. "I missed you so damn much." I patted his back, my own eyes stinging. "It's okay, Liam. I'm back now." My parents hugged me next, their touch a mixture of relief and sorrow. To break the heavy mood, they immediately started teasing Liam. "Thank god you're back. He's been running the company into the ground while you were gone." I knew it wasn't true. Liam was more than capable, brilliant even. This was just my family's way—now that I was home, they'd tear him down to build me up. It was a twisted tradition, but it was born from love. We all knew that. Back in the familiar comfort of our home, they asked where I had been, why I hadn't contacted them. I'd intended to keep the details vague, but Pierce, the man who'd picked me up, had the subtlety of a sledgehammer. He'd spent the last week digging up every sordid detail of my life as 'Jenna Hayden' and now recited it all to my horrified family. Liam slammed his fist on the table. "That son of a bitch! You pay for a hooker, for god's sake! My sister was his indentured servant—giving him her heart, her body, and her goddamn talent for free, just to be thrown out in a snowstorm!" "Liam, what a way to describe your sister," my father grumbled, though his face was tight with fury. "A 'free hooker'?" "But Elara," he said, his voice softening as he turned to me. "You're home now. Let's forget all that ugliness. This is a fresh start." I nodded, my heart swelling with a gratitude so profound it hurt. "A fresh start." 6 Meanwhile, back in Port Sterling, after dropping Nina off in Singapore, George tried calling me. The line was dead. A knot of anxiety began to form in his stomach. "She's probably just pouting," Lila said, trying to soothe him. "You know how dramatic she can be." But George couldn't shake a deep, creeping sense of dread. Three days later, they finally returned to Port Sterling. As they drove past a music store, George instinctively pulled over. He went inside and carefully selected a new grand piano. Lila, assuming it was for her, confidently gave the owner an address. "Please have it delivered to Apartment 102 at the Cypress Towers." "No," George corrected the owner. "Send it to the villa at Blackwood Manor." Lila's smile froze on her face. George looked away, a flash of shame in his eyes. "It's for Elara. I know she's mad about the competition... she didn't say anything, but giving away her old piano like that... she's hurt. I need to make it up to her." But when he arrived at the house with the delivery crew, he found it silent and empty. He frowned, calling out her name. "Elara? Jenna?" Strange. She should be home at this time. He told the movers to bring the piano inside. But as they opened the door and he saw the interior, the hopeful smile on his face vanished, replaced by a look of stark horror. The house was terrifyingly empty. The potted plants she doted on were gone from the balcony. The elegant vase she always kept filled with fresh flowers was gone from the dining table. Her favorite set of fine china was missing from the cabinet. George's face paled. He stormed through the house, throwing open the doors to the bedroom, the study... everything that was hers, every single trace of Jenna Hayden, was gone. All that remained was a single envelope on his desk. Inside was a note with two short, brutal sentences. I know about you and Lila. Thank you for taking care of me all these years. I'm gone. Don't look for me. There was no signature. Because in Elara Vaughn's world, George Hayden didn't exist. He immediately tried her phone, only to hear it vibrate from inside the desk drawer. She'd left it behind. A wave of panic seized him, and he gripped the edge of the desk to steady himself. "No... it's not possible," he muttered, his voice shaking. "Where could she go? Elara! ELARA!" He started calling their mutual friends, only to realize with a sickening jolt that Jenna had no friends of her own. In their circle, she was only ever seen as an extension of him, his quiet, unassuming wife. No one had any idea where she was. He was completely lost, his panic quickly curdling into rage. "You think you can just run away from me, Jenna Hayden?" he snarled at the empty room. "You think you can escape my grasp? If I want to find you, I will find you!" After twenty-four hours, he filed a missing person's report with the police. 7 The result left him utterly dumbfounded. "Sir, we've run the name through every database. There is no legal record of a 'Jenna Hayden' ever existing." He shoved their wedding certificate across the desk, but the officer was firm. No birth certificate, no social security number, no driver's license. The woman he was married to did not exist. It was a sick joke. The woman he had shared a bed with for eight years, and they were telling him she was a ghost? George mobilized all his resources. Even his parents, sensing the gravity of the situation, pulled their strings. But it was no use. He discovered her social media had been wiped, too. It was as if the last eight years had been nothing but a dream. After two weeks of hitting nothing but dead ends, George finally broke. An all-consuming terror, the fear of losing control, washed over him. He paced her empty room, pulling at his hair, his mind racing. Finally, his eyes landed on her phone, the one she'd left behind. He picked it up. The lock screen was still the same picture she'd always used: her hand making a peace sign against a backdrop of a brilliant blue sky. It had always seemed so serene. Now it felt like a mockery. He opened her contacts. As always, it was empty save for his number and those of his family. Not even a contact for a pizza place. He checked her photo gallery. She had deleted every picture of them together. It was a barren wasteland of digital white space. With a trembling hand, he opened her private messages. And the world fell out from under him. The most recent chat was from Lila. The messages went back two years. Why don't you just die already, Jenna? George and I have a child together. Don't you feel any shame, still taking up his wife's space? And Jenna's only reply, sent just days ago: The space is yours. Just as you wished. He scrolled up, his heart pounding in his chest. Two years of vitriol. Two years of Lila sending her vulgar, taunting messages. Explicit descriptions of her trysts with George, intimate photos, even audio clips that made his stomach turn. And in all that time, Jenna had never once replied. Not until that final, devastating message. The space is yours. It was the only thing she had ever said to Lila. Staring at the screen, George's hands began to shake violently. He sank to the floor, clutching his head. "No," he whispered, the denial a raw, ragged sound. "No, it's not possible." "She loves me... She can't live without me! She wouldn't leave!" He repeated the words over and over, a desperate mantra to ward off the horrifying truth.

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