Chapter 8: Truth Hidden in Memories

Beatrice's heartbeat skipped the instant her eyes met George's across the street.

Even from a distance, she recognized the conflicted expression on his face.

Gone was the confidence and arrogance he always carried.

Instead, there was confusion.

Regret.

And something that looked frighteningly close to guilt.

"Beatrice?" Nathaniel called softly.

She blinked and looked away from George's car.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yes... I just thought I saw someone I knew."

Nathaniel followed her gaze toward the opposite side of the street.

By then, the black sedan had already pulled away into traffic.

"Someone important?" he asked.

Beatrice hesitated before answering.

"Someone from a life I've already left behind."

Nathaniel didn't understand the deeper meaning behind her words, but he respected her privacy.

"Then perhaps it's best to keep walking forward," he said gently.

"Looking back rarely changes anything."

She smiled faintly.

"You're right."

The rest of the evening passed peacefully, yet George's troubled face refused to leave her thoughts.

When Nathaniel dropped her home, he walked her to the front door.

"I had a wonderful evening," he admitted.

"So did I."

"I'd like to do it again sometime."

"I'd like that too."

Nathaniel smiled before leaving.

Watching his car disappear down the street, Beatrice realized something important.

For the first time in either life...

She felt completely safe with someone.

There was no fear.

No pressure.

Only quiet comfort.

Meanwhile, George drove aimlessly through the city.

The memories were becoming impossible to ignore.

Every passing hour revealed another painful fragment of a life he couldn't explain.

Finally, he parked outside a quiet lakeside park and rested his head against the steering wheel.

"Why now?" he whispered.

"Why am I remembering all of this now?"

Closing his eyes only made things worse.

Another memory surfaced.

He saw Beatrice standing in the rain outside their old home.

She looked exhausted.

She kept trying to explain something.

But he refused to listen.

Instead, he slammed the front door in her face.

"No..." George muttered.

"I couldn't have done that..."

Yet deep inside...

He knew he had.

The guilt settled heavily over him.

The next morning, George arrived at the Chapman headquarters earlier than usual.

For the first time in years, he wasn't thinking about promotions or business contracts.

He only wanted answers.

He went directly to his grandfather's office.

"Grandpa, may I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Did Beatrice ever..."

He stopped himself.

"Ever what?"

"Never mind."

Mr. Chapman Senior looked at him carefully.

"George."

"You've changed these past few days."

"Have I?"

"Yes."

"You seem like someone carrying regrets."

George lowered his eyes.

"What if someone realizes they've made the biggest mistake of their life?"

The elderly man answered without hesitation.

"Then they should admit it before it's too late."

"And if it already is too late?"

"Then they must learn to live with the consequences."

Those words struck George harder than he expected.

Across town, Beatrice had returned to her small art studio for the first time in months.

Dust covered the easels and unfinished canvases.

She slowly opened the curtains, allowing warm sunlight to fill the room.

"It's been too long," she whispered.

She picked up a brush almost instinctively.

At first, she wasn't sure what to paint.

Then her hand began moving on its own.

Within an hour, the outline of a peaceful lakeside appeared on the canvas.

A narrow wooden bridge stretched across the water.

On the opposite side stood two distant figures walking toward the sunrise.

Her mother quietly entered the room.

"You've started painting again."

"I have."

"I haven't seen you smile like this in years."

Beatrice looked at the unfinished painting.

"Maybe because I'm finally painting for myself."

That afternoon, Nathaniel unexpectedly stopped by with several architecture magazines.

"I remembered you said you liked old European buildings," he explained.

"I thought these might inspire your artwork."

Beatrice accepted them with genuine surprise.

"You actually remembered that?"

"Of course."

"People should remember the things that matter to those they care about."

His simple answer touched her deeply.

He wasn't trying to impress her.

He was simply paying attention.

As they sat together drinking tea in the garden, Nathaniel noticed one of her paintings leaning against the wall.

"Did you paint this?"

"Years ago."

"It's beautiful."

"You don't have to flatter me."

"I'm not."

"I honestly think you should exhibit your work someday."

Beatrice laughed softly.

"One step at a time."

"Fair enough."

Far away, Isabella watched the news reports discussing Beatrice and Nathaniel's growing relationship.

She frowned.

Something about George's recent behavior worried her.

He had become distant.

Distracted.

Almost obsessed with Beatrice.

"That isn't how things were supposed to happen," she murmured to herself.

For reasons even she couldn't explain, an uneasy feeling settled inside her heart.

Late that evening, George finally returned home.

As he entered his apartment, he noticed an old photo album lying on a shelf.

Curious, he opened it.

Inside were photographs from countless Chapman family gatherings.

One picture immediately caught his attention.

It showed a teenage Beatrice smiling brightly while looking directly at him.

He, however...

Was looking somewhere else entirely.

George stared at the photograph for several minutes.

"You were always looking at me..." he whispered.

"But I never really looked at you."

For the first time since the memories began returning...

A single tear rolled quietly down his face.

He finally understood one painful truth.

In his previous life...

Beatrice had loved him with all her heart.

And he had destroyed that love with his own hands.

Now that she had finally let him go...

He wasn't sure he could ever forgive himself.