I spent 30 years mourning my first love, Gabriel, who supposedly died in a fire meant to separate us. When my new neighbor, calling himself Elias, moved in, I recognized him instantly — older, scarred, but alive.
The fire hadn’t been an accident. Gabriel’s powerful parents had faked his death to keep us apart, manipulating reports and hiding him away while he recovered from burns and trauma. He was controlled, isolated, and told I’d moved on. I was left to grieve a lie.
When his mother reappeared and tried to dismiss him as unstable, we decided to stop hiding. With proof in hand and support from my friend Janet, we confronted her and exposed the truth to the company board she once controlled.
For the first time in decades, Gabriel chose his own name, his own life — and this time, we chose to fight together.