Between Rivers and Silent Dreams

Chapter 1

Monday mornings were always a chaotic mess, and today was no different. Isabella Sullivan squeezed onto the bus, surrounded by townsfolk in Oldham, her hometown—a place she both loved and wanted to escape. The bus was packed, people pressed against one another like sardines in a can, an uncomfortable reminder of her small-town roots. She worked in Newbridge, a swanky city about an hour away. To get to her job, she had to change buses twice and hop onto the subway, a time-consuming routine she had perfected.

As the bus lumbered past Stonebridge, she felt a flicker of hope—just one more stop until she could transfer. This particular leg of the journey had the usual crowd and noise, but Isabella had planned for the day. She’d put her phone on Do Not Disturb last night, aiming for a full night’s sleep. With that goal achieved, she woke up early, ready to seize the day. Breakfast was a sacred ritual: steaming milk, frozen dumplings steamed to perfection, and crunchy grapes. Self-care was her mantra, ever since her parents’ divorce left her to fend for herself.

Growing up with a fractured family, she learned to be independent at a young age. After her parents remarried and started new families, she became an outsider in her own life, moving in with her grandmother in a cramped, rundown apartment. At least it had warmth, and after her grandmother passed during her last year of college, Isabella learned to embrace solitude. Now, with a degree and a decent job, she had carved out a semblance of stability, a life on her own terms.

Dressed in a neat blouse and a pencil skirt—with a light cardigan to ward off the autumn chill—she looked respectable, a young woman ready to take on the world. But as the bus jerked forward, she regretted her choice of shoes. Her flats were getting trampled by commuters, and the heat of bodies pressed around her made her back damp with sweat. Just hang on, she told herself, it’s only one more stop.

Suddenly, shouts erupted from the front. Confusion spread like wildfire through the crowd. Before she could comprehend what was happening, a tremendous force slammed into her, and everything went black.

In her fading consciousness, she felt herself sinking through dark, icy water. Panic surged as she gasped, throat burning, her lungs fighting against the frigid liquid pouring into her mouth and nose. Instinct kicked in, a primal urge to survive. She remembered an article she’d read online about drowning, the one that explained how not to flail about when you fell in. Stay calm, float, make your body stable.

With trembling resolve, she embraced the technique. She stretched out, arms above her head, letting the cold envelop her. Gradually, the frantic noise in her mind began to quiet, and she felt her body rise. Coughing and sputtering in the moonlight, she was afloat, suspended between life and death.

She had lost track of time. A day had passed since she’d been on that bus. The world above was a distant memory now, replaced by the eerie silence of the night and a profound emptiness. Where were the other passengers—the ones crushed beside her, potentially fighting for their lives?

Just then, the sharp jingle of a bicycle bell shattered the stillness—a strange yet familiar sound that made her heart leap. It pulled her further from despair. She mustered every ounce of strength to call out, her voice barely breaking the surface.

The bicycle bell fell silent, only to be replaced by the splash of someone diving into the water. Moments later, a strong pair of arms wrapped around her, pulling her toward the surface.

As her vision sharpened, the light from the moon illuminating the path ahead, Isabella clung to the hope of survival, her essence backlit by the promise of a second chance. She wasn’t ready to give up. Her journey was just beginning, and she had no intentions of sinking beneath the surface without a fight.

Chapter 2

Isabella Sullivan stumbled out of the river, her clothes clinging to her body like a second skin. She was soaked to the bone, and the biting wind cut through her like a knife, sending shivers racing down her spine. Only then did she realize that she wasn’t wearing the blouse and skirt she’d put on that morning; instead, she was wrapped in an old, heavy winter coat, waterlogged and clinging to her like a damp shroud. The cold was overwhelming, and a million questions flooded her mind, but for the moment, all she could focus on was the chill that gripped her.

“Thank you. Your clothes must be soaked too,” she stammered, her teeth chattering uncontrollably. “Could I get your contact information?”

Anyone who would jump into a river on a freezing day to save a stranger was a hero in her eyes. A simple thank you felt completely inadequate; she could at least get in touch later and express her gratitude with a proper gift. No way was she going to let someone who’d done a good deed feel unappreciated.

As gratitude swirled in her mind, another thought struck her: how was she going to get home? She had no clue where she was, surrounded by darkness, with only a few dim lights flickering in the distance. Her phone was probably lost to the depths of the river, so no Uber and no way to reach her friends.

A bus crashing into the river had to be the talk of the town. Surely, her coworkers would notice she hadn’t shown up to work; but even if they had looked for her, her phone was off now—impossible to reach. And her parents? Well, they hadn’t been part of her life for ages. They’d probably forgotten she existed, unaware that their daughter was missing after the bus plunge.

“Could you please share a way to get in touch?” she pressed when he didn’t respond. Then added, “Also, can I borrow your phone?”

She barely made out his features in the moonlight, but through the gloom, she noticed he was wearing a green uniform, topped with a military-style hat. He looked like a soldier, but the uniform didn’t resemble anything she had seen in real life.

He seemed not to grasp what she was saying, or perhaps her chattering teeth were making it hard to understand. Instead of answering, he asked, “Where do you live? I can give you a ride.”

Isabella paused. His use of the word "comrade" threw her off. Sure, she knew its meaning, but it felt archaic, almost out of place in her everyday life. She couldn’t recall the last time a stranger had addressed her that way. Odd, but she shook it off.

“I live in Cloudhaven, Peace Street, Sunlight Lane,” she replied.

He fell silent, and after a moment’s contemplation, said, “This is Riverton, on the outskirts of Cloudhaven. As far as I know, there isn’t a Peace Street in Cloudhaven.”

Isabella froze. How could it be? Peace Street was an old part of Cloudhaven, famous for its historical shops and, more recently, a hotspot for social media influencers. It was a name every local knew.

Riverton? That was unfamiliar territory. Isabella had lived in Cloudhaven for over twenty years and never heard of such a place. Confusion clouded her thoughts, electricity buzzing through her. Just as her mind was racing with questions, he added, “Guardhall isn’t far from here. Let’s get you there first.”

“Right,” she thought, that made sense—there’s safety in numbers.

“Hop on.”

He mounted a bulky, old-fashioned bicycle and gestured for her to follow. Isabella hadn’t seen a bike like that in ages, yet without hesitating, she dashed forward, grasped the seat, and hopped on the back.

As they rode, she shivered throughout the journey, but it wasn’t long before they arrived—just about ten minutes later—at a brightly lit wooden house that looked as if it belonged in a different era.

“Get off. We’re here,” he instructed.

Isabella stepped off the bike, squinting at the building before her. Without the sign out front, she would’ve assumed it was a quaint family home left over from the eighties.

Upon entering the lit room, her surprise only deepened. The police officer inside wasn’t wearing the standard uniform she’d expected. And the man who had saved her? He looked like he’d strolled off a period drama set, handsome with striking features that sent her mind racing. He resembled the kind of leading man she often read about in novels.

Something felt off, and Isabella swallowed back the words she almost uttered—that she was a survivor of the bus crash.

Her attention was drawn to a stack of newspapers on the table. The date on the top one caught her breath: January 2, 1980.

“I was passing by Stonebridge and saw her fall into the water, so I jumped in and pulled her out,” the man explained to one of the officers. “But it seems she’s having a hard time remembering where she lives.”

The room was warmed by a fire, and on the stove sat a kettle. The officer, Henry Thompson, had a friendly round face and introduced himself with an easy smile.

Seeing them both trembling, he grabbed a couple of chairs and urged them to sit by the fire, then went to the table and poured two mugs of steaming water.

Isabella cradled the warm enamel cup in her hands, finally feeling some warmth seep back into her chilly bones.

“I don’t even know how I fell in,” she muttered, confusion still marring her brow. “Everything before that is just...blank.”

Henry raised a brow, “Let’s take a statement first. You can stay here tonight, and we’ll figure out if anyone’s reported you missing tomorrow.”

After making her statement, her rescuer seemed ready to leave in a hurry. “I have to get back to work,” he said, leaning in to speak privately to Henry before heading out.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on her tonight,” Henry assured him.

Isabella couldn’t shake the feeling that they thought she was in danger, that her earlier cries for help might’ve been perceived as something more sinister—after all, who wouldn't think the worst when someone was in a freezing river?

Chapter 3

Isabella Sullivan rolled the thought around in her mind. She wasn’t ready to die—not now, not ever. Life was too beautiful. She set her enamel cup aside, stretching her hands over the little stove, letting the warmth seep into her palms before flipping them to soak in the heat on the backs.

Officer Edward Garrett leaned in with his notebook, trying to piece together the fragments of her memory. “Do you remember your name? Where do you live? What do you do for work?” he asked, his brow furrowed with concern. But the only reply he got was that she was Isabella Sullivan. Everything else was a blank slate.

The sun crept into the room, and by the time the other officers reported for duty, Garrett was no closer to uncovering her story.

Margaret Ellis, a middle-aged officer with kind eyes, took pity on Isabella. Her clothes were damp, and it was freezing outside. “Come on, I’ll get you a dry sweater,” she offered, leading Isabella to her modest home just a twenty-minute walk away. When they returned to the Guardhall, there were still a few officers milling about.

“Someone came to report a missing person,” one officer said, glancing over. “He says his wife, Isabella Sullivan, had a fight with him last night and hasn’t come back.”

Isabella’s heart raced. What a twist of fate. The man before her resembled the soldier who’d rescued her only hours before—young, with sharp features and deep-set eyes that seemed to burn with worry.

As soon as he spotted her, the soldier’s face twisted in an emotional storm. “The motel staff said you didn’t come home last night. Where the hell were you?” he demanded, voice rising slightly.

Garrett stepped in, “She fell into the river last night. Another officer fished her out and brought her here. It’s been freezing, and she was in shock. Give her some space; you can talk to her later.”

“What?” The husband was taken aback. “What were you doing by the river?”

“She doesn’t remember,” Garrett explained gently. “She might not remember even who you are right now. We’ve taken her statement, but it’s all pretty jumbled. Let's try to keep this calm.”

Isabella sat there, her heart pounding. She recalled something—it was strange, yet somehow familiar. She’d read a novel once, a silly romance from years ago. The male lead's name had been Edward Garrett. And his late wife, the character Isabella Sullivan, had been graced with her name as well. It had been a joke back then, an amusing little coincidence she’d shared with friends.

Now, sitting in that gray room feeling cold and lost, she realized she was trapped in the very story she had once tossed aside. Cloudhaven—the setting of that tired tale—it was the same name as the city she was now in, so utterly unfamiliar and so close to her heart.

If only she had paid more attention to the book. But it had bored her—the heroine had reborn into a life where Edward adored her, mostly due to the trials she had avoided. In this version, though, she was alive. She had survived when she shouldn’t have—floundering in the depths just long enough to float again, and now, she was shattered but present.

“Good to know you’re safe,” an officer named Henry Thompson said, easing the tension. “Make sure to check up on each other. Every couple fights; just talk it out. You can’t let anything fester.”

Isabella followed as Garrett strode back to the motel. He walked briskly, his long strides eating up the ground. She found it hard to keep pace; the chill from her night by the river left her legs weak.

When they reached the motel, Fiona Mason, a young staff member, looked up anxiously. “Isabella, are you okay? Where were you last night?” she pressed.

Garrett hesitated for a beat. The light in his eyes dimmed for a moment before he answered, “Last night she stayed with relatives. It got late, and we had a miscommunication. Everything’s fine now.”

Fiona let out a breath of relief. The gossip had already circulated about the pretty girl losing her way. She recalled Isabella’s arrival, the look on her face—sweet, fresh from the countryside, and utterly stunning. Fiona had never met anyone quite like her, with a beauty that rendered her speechless.

The tension began to lift, but as Isabella stood between the two, weighed down by pieces of a puzzle she didn’t yet grasp, she felt like an echo between two worlds—one where stories ended, and one where hers was just beginning.

Chapter 4

Fiona Mason leaned against the desk, absentmindedly watching the tall, handsome officer beside her, Edward Garrett. Rumor had it that he was her lover, a fact that stirred a mix of envy and curiosity in Fiona’s heart. They were a striking couple, no doubt about it.

So when the news broke that Isabella Sullivan had gone missing, Fiona felt a twinge of worry. She spent the morning chewing on her thoughts, only to feel a rush of relief when she saw Isabella return, safe and sound. Fiona’s smile was instinctual. “Did you eat yet? I can bring you some hot water in a bit.”

“Sure,” Isabella replied with a warm nod, her smile brightening the dull hallway.

“Not a problem at all.” Fiona waved her off, glad to assist the charming girl who had a way of making warmth seem effortless.

Upstairs with Edward, Isabella walked down a hallway lined with a mix of old and new. The stark concrete floor and white walls hugged the faded paint of a once-vibrant green that now looked tired against the backdrop. To Isabella, it wasn’t home, but this state-run hotel was acceptable given the circumstances. The decor might have been simple to the eye—just a single bed dressed in floral sheets, a wooden table with a kettle and two cups—but it felt suffocatingly small.

Edward led her to the end of the hall and stopped at room 204. He pulled a key from his uniform’s pocket and opened the door. “Close the door,” he snapped as he stepped inside, a chill in the air that had nothing to do with the cold.

Inside, the room was neat but sterile, like a soldier’s quarters stripped of any personal charm. Edward’s expression shifted, his tension palpable as he collapsed onto the edge of the bed. “You don’t need to use threats to get your way, Isabella,” he said, his voice low and strained. “I thought you were understanding, but clearly, I was mistaken.”

The words hung heavily in the air, making Isabella wonder just what had gone wrong. Had they argued before her absence? Had he truly been considering divorce? The possibility played in her mind like a bad movie reel. She had come seeking comfort from him, and instead, he had turned to talk of separation. The thought of ending it all had crossed her mind, sitting heavy in her chest like a stone. But even now, he seemed less concerned for her than occupied with his own grievances.

Isabella felt a sudden wave of fatigue wash over her, her head spinning and her limbs cold. “I’m tired. I want to rest. Please leave,” she said, trying to muster any firmness she could find.

Edward frowned at her lack of warmth, the distance between them evident. “I know this is hard to accept,” he began, but his tone softened, “but we just don’t connect, Isabella. I don’t have fun with you anymore. If you really loved me, you’d let me go. You’re a great wife and everyone can see that. What if we do this? You can stay in our hometown, help your mother, and I’ll send money back regularly. We could make this work, right?”

He rambled on, but Isabella met his words with silence. She felt nothing—no sadness, no anger. Just a deep-seated desire for him to disappear. His pleas poured out of him like a tide, but they washed over her without leaving a mark.

Yet his gaze lingered on her, his eyes tracing the contours of her face. She had beautiful eyes, a captivating pool of emotion that had once drawn him to her like a moth to flame. But now, all he saw was a stranger. His thoughts drifted, recalling moments from their past, igniting a hunger he hadn’t felt in so long.

“Is that time of the month over yet?” The question slipped from his lips before he could reel it back in.

Isabella’s head throbbed. Disbelief washed over her. He was asking about intimacy while casually discussing their impending separation? The thought made her stomach churn, and she felt the anger flooding back. She couldn’t understand how he could be so callous.

“Get out,” she stepped to the door, swinging it wide open. “If you don’t leave, I’ll scream.”

For a fleeting moment, he froze, the implications of her words dawning on him. The scandal of it all—the whispers of their troubles traveling to the ears of his superiors—would ruin everything he’d been working towards. In one breath, he took a step back, his bravado slipping away like mist in sunlight.

“Let’s talk later,” he muttered, his voice strained as he slipped past her, casting one last look over his shoulder, a wounded animal retreating to the shadows where he felt safe.

Chapter 5

As the echoes of anger faded, Edward Garrett took a deep breath, feeling as though a bucket of cold water had doused the flames in his chest. He softened his tone, addressing Isabella Sullivan with a gentleness that surprised him. “Just rest for now. Take some time to think about what I said. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

The sound of footsteps ascending the stairs interrupted him, and without another word, he turned on his heel and hurried down.

Isabella, about to close the door behind him, heard the familiar sound of Edward greeting someone else. Just then, Fiona Mason appeared, balancing a hot water kettle in her hands, a cheerful smile lighting her face. “I just brewed some fresh water for you.”

Noticing the pallor on Isabella's face, Fiona’s expression shifted to concern. “Did you eat breakfast? You’re not feeling unwell, are you?”

“I’m fine, just a bit dizzy. Probably didn’t sleep well last night,” Isabella replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Fiona’s brow furrowed. “You look a little off. It’s freezing outside—are you sure you’re not coming down with something?” She reached out, the back of her hand brushing against Isabella's forehead, feeling the heat radiating from her skin.

“You’re burning up! You should lie down and get cozy. And you haven’t eaten yet, so I’ll grab you something.”

Before Isabella could protest, Fiona breezed out the door and downstairs. A moment later, she returned, clutching a container filled with food. Inside were two steamed buns, freshly made.

Isabella had already settled into bed, wrapped tightly in the blanket, yet she still felt a chill creeping into her bones, making her shiver beneath the covers.

“Here’s your breakfast! My mom made these last night—vegetable buns filled with cabbage and tofu. They’re delicious, trust me.”

Isabella looked at the food with a mix of appreciation and guilt. Compared to the cold demeanor of her husband, Edward, Fiona’s kindness felt like a warm embrace. If the original Isabella were still here, it would surely break her heart.

Sitting up in bed, with the blanket pooling around her, she asked, “Have you eaten?”

“I have,” Fiona waved her off, swallowing hard. “You eat. I’ll be fine.”

Isabella smiled gently and picked up one of the buns, handing it to Fiona, and they shared a quiet meal together, breaking the buns in half. Fiona's eyes twinkled as she watched Isabella. Suddenly aware of her staring, Fiona blushed. “Isabella, you’re really beautiful,” she managed to say, a hint of awe in her voice. She had seen Isabella's name during check-in and been taken aback by how such a stunning woman bore such an elegant name.

A soft laugh escaped Isabella's lips. “What’s your name?”

“Fiona Mason, like the little fish,” she replied with a grin. “But I have to get going before my boss realizes I’m slacking off.” Before leaving, she poured a cup of hot water for Isabella, her tone veering into sympathy. “Honestly, your husband is something else. You’re sick, and he walks away like it’s nothing. Even if he had something important to do, he shouldn’t leave you like this.”

Isabella's heart sank further for the original Isabella; a man like that wasn’t worthy of such sacrifice. After finishing a bun and sipping the hot water, she felt the sweat bead on her forehead, mingling with the relief as warmth slowly seeped into her limbs. A heavy fatigue wrapped around her, pulling her back into a deep sleep.

In her dreams, she wandered through a haze, haunted by memories of the original Isabella's life. She saw her adoptive father on his deathbed, handing over a silver heart-shaped locket, telling her it was something she had kept close since childhood, a precious reminder of home. But the dreams grew darker, more tumultuous, drifting towards the tangled history between her and Edward.

At sixteen, a matchmaker arrived at their door, eager to propose a union with Edward Garrett. While she felt a shiver of adolescent shyness, deep-down anticipation bubbled. Edward was tall, handsome—a figure that stirred admiration in more than a few hearts.

Though they say, “It’s a hundred families seeking one daughter,” the tables turned for the Garretts. Edward’s striking looks attracted suitors from families far and wide, but none met his gaze. He only had eyes for Isabella, the daughter of an aging man who had once fallen from a mountain, unable to find a wife. To ease his mother’s worries, he had adopted a pretty little girl whom he intended to raise as his own until he was too frail to care for himself.

As she grew, Isabella blossomed into a renowned beauty, gaining a reputation that spread like wildfire through the county. Edward told his mother he would only marry Isabella. Though hesitant, she eventually relented, securing the matchmaker to make it happen.

And thus, they wed. On their wedding night, Edward promised to love her for a lifetime, mentioning his plans to join the military soon, vowing to earn respect and wealth, ensuring a good life for them both.

And he did—Edward was exceptionally capable. In a few short years, he made a name for himself, earning recognition, and by the time he turned twenty-eight, he had risen to the rank of captain—a rarity that spoke of great promise.

But with Edward’s mother in decline and him being the sole heir, every household chore fell squarely on Isabella’s shoulders. She also tended to her ailing adoptive father, shouldering the weight of their lives all alone. Perhaps it was this overwhelming responsibility, or maybe Edward’s rare visits home from the army, but after a decade of marriage, there were still no signs of children.

Last winter, when her adoptive father passed away, Edward’s mother took pity on Isabella for her struggles, urging her to join Edward in the military and seek a child. A year after the funeral—with the ashes still bearing witness to grief—Isabella ventured to Cloudhaven, eager to find Edward.

However, upon her arrival, she realized the grim truth: Edward didn’t take her to military grounds, but instead to a place called The Haven. While she suspected something was off, denial outweighed reality until Edward uttered those life-altering words: he wanted a divorce.

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