FORGET ME

PROLOGUE

As she steps out of her car with the help of her driver, she gazes up at the looming building in front of her with an expression of melancholy on her pale face. People stream in and out, some carrying leaflets and sporting impressed smiles or talking in low voices. Gripping her crutches tightly, she makes her way up the stairs, hoping against hope that the reporters wouldn't miraculously spot her.

Oh, what wishful thinking!

Like moths to a flame, reporters and photographers swoop in on her just as the wooden base of her crutches grazes the cemented steps. The paparazzi flash their cameras at her; momentarily blinding her, and bombarding her with question after question even though her driver did his best to clear a path for her.

Maybe she should have listened to her family and hired some bodyguards?

She smiles politely like she always did, resisting the urge to scowl at them in irritation. Her ears were already ringing with the same old inquiries; her eardrums might just explode at any moment.

"Miss Cadighan! Do you think you'll be able to continue your career in the long run?"

That one question makes her stop in her tracks. A sense of nostalgia and anguish washes over her. Things could never be the same again, she reminds herself. Her passion, her desire for the spotlight; she will never be able to recapture them again. A year ago, this would have devastated her tremendously - she lived for the attention (however, the same cannot be said about the kind of attention she had garnered now), but she was grateful.

Grateful for life.

With a neutral expression on her face, she faces the reporters, "My broken leg is nothing compared to the loss of many lives. Every one of you should be grateful for the lives you have now."

With that, she turns away and proceeds towards the entrance of the building, leaving the flashing paparazzi behind her. The reporters don't follow.

Her driver expresses his concern, "Madam? Shall I accompany you inside?"

"No, thank you, Charles. They won't follow me anymore, except maybe when we leave. I can manage on my own," she reassures him with a smile. Charles leaves with a worried look, while she gazes up at the banner hanging over the brick entrance.

'In my memories'

Exhaling shakily, she enters the gallery, her body growing cold despite the warm weather. A serene quiet fills the room as she took in the sight. People were admiring the paintings on display that were illuminated by spotlights on the walls in hushed voices or in complete silence, showing their deep respect for the art.

For the first time that day, she smiles to herself. It seems to her that the silent admirers were intently listening to the stories each painting told. She observes the guests with profound interest for a few minutes, studying their expressions and reactions to the paintings carefully, even as she keeps a blank expression on her own face.

Afterward, she herself wanders through the halls, marveling at the paintings, recalling the fond and bitter memories connected with each one. She had seen the paintings countless times before setting them up, but now, it was as though she was seeing them for the first time.

Some guests recognize the elegant lady on crutches admiring the artwork with a sad smile, but they gave her space and stopped themselves from approaching her.

She explores the first floor of the gallery for half an hour before deciding to proceed. Gripping her crutches tightly, the woman starts making her way up the stairs to the second floor. Despite being offered help by a young man, she courteously declines and makes it to the next floor without any mishaps.