Cities don't always remember their people.
Lucien Drake had always known this.
In a place where things moved quickly, names only mattered if they were beneficial. Memory was replaced by power. New scandals covered up old ones. What used to be in the news has become footnotes and then nothing at all.
He wasn't expecting it to happen so quickly, though.
Nobody talked about her anymore three months after the divorce.
Newer gossip had taken the place of the banquet scandal that had once fascinated the city. These included hostile takeovers, unexpected resignations, and a senator found to be lying. People kept talking about Lucien in the business pages, where they looked at what he did and why he did it.
Hers did not.
Someone brought up the divorce in passing at a private lunch.
"Hard to believe that happened this year," a woman said softly as she stirred her glass. "It feels like a long time ago."
Lucien didn't say anything.
Another person laughed. "Is she Drake's ex-wife? I don't even remember her name."
No one told him he was mistaken.
Lucien's jaw tightened almost without him knowing it.
They had forgotten about her.
Things moved quickly and smoothly at the Drake Group offices.
Lucien went back to his normal schedule of early mornings, late nights, and meetings that went on until the city lights blended together. Nothing had changed on the outside.
But there was something strange under it.
He missed things that he had never missed before. I forgot about my meetings. You read the same report over and over again without getting it.
His helper saw.
"Take a day off," the man gently told him one night.
Lucien didn't look away from his screen. "I don't need to rest."
The assistant wasn't sure what to do. "I'm not worried about rest, sir. It's all about what you stress.
Lucien's fingers stopped.
"I'm focused," he said.
But even as he talked, his eyes moved to the window, the city, and other places that no longer gave him answers.
The beach town had a different sense of time.
More slowly and gently.
I acquired the beat in the same manner as learning a new language: through repeated practice, observation, and incremental adjustments.
I liked mornings the best.
I would wake before dawn, when the world was quiet and blue, and sit by the window with my son on my chest. His weight stayed light, his breaths stayed steady and small, but his warmth made me feel grounded in a way that nothing else did.
The city has forgotten about me.
And for the first time, I felt thankful.
The nurses at the clinic knew my name, which is the name I still use. They asked about the baby's sleep and said he seemed very alert and able to learn quickly.
"You're doing well," one of them said with a big smile. "Both of you."
I nodded, but I couldn't speak because my throat suddenly felt tight.
I was doing well.
Living had become surviving.
Lucien stood in the lobby of the Drake Group in the city and watched people walk by without really seeing them.
He had heard his name enough times.
But not hers.
It bothered him more than the rumors ever did.
She had disappeared from both the real world and her social life.
It was like she had never been there.
Lucien went back to his office and opened a file that he hadn't looked at in weeks.
Elara Ward.
There was almost nothing in there.
There was no social media presence before the wedding. There aren't many close personal relationships. No strands left over.
Before him, she had lived a quiet life.
He believed that the calmness was devoid of meaning.
Lucien shut the file.
At the Quinn Consortium headquarters, silence was still the rule.
The new heir did not show up in public. There were no interviews. There were no pictures released.
The city made wild guesses.
Some people thought she was being trained in secret. Some people said she was sick. Some people said she didn't even exist.
They were all wrong.
Advisors went over predictions and impact maps in a private conference room.
One study says, "Drake Group's leverage continues to weaken." "Not obvious, but measurable."
"Okay," said another. "Then keep your distance."
There was a quiet voice coming from the head of the table. "Distance is strength."
The advisors nodded.
The city would change.
It always has.
Lucien felt a deep change within himself.
It took longer to make deals. Answers took longer. His name still meant something, but it didn't have the same power that it used to.
He was standing outside a small café near his work late one night.
It didn't matter much. There is no memory of it.
Still, he stayed there longer than he needed to, looking through the glass at other people who were laughing, talking, and living lives that were different from his own.
He knew what really bothered him.
Not that Elara had left.
But the world had changed without anyone noticing.
I pushed the stroller down the promenade in the coastal town, with the sea stretching out next to us forever.
An older woman walking her dog smiled at my son. "He has your eyes," she said.
I smiled in a charming way.
The woman said, "He's lucky." "They're eyes that think."
I said thank you and kept walking.
I didn't tell her she was mistaken.
It was better to not understand some things.
I put my son in his crib at home and sat on the floor next to it with my back to the wall.
The silence was deep and relaxing.
No knocks.
No shadows.
There are no questions.
For now, the city's forgetfulness kept us safer than any disguise could.
That night, Lucien Drake didn't sleep well.
He dreamed about a woman standing at the edge of the city with her back to him. She was holding something he couldn't see. No matter how fast he moved, the gap never closed.
He woke up with a heart that was beating.
He sent one message at 4:17 a.m.
Do you have any new leads?
The answer came hours later.
There are no confirmed sightings.
She's been completely erased.
Lucien looked at the words.
Gone.
He thought he could handle erasing.
He didn't want to admit it, but knowing that she had done it without him hurt more than he wanted to.
The sun rose softly and gently in the seaside town.
I stood by the window with my son on my shoulder and watched the light spread across the ocean.
A city far away has forgotten about me.
That was fine.
This was acceptable, as forgetting did not equate to loss.
And one day, when the time was right, the city would remember.
Not as a wife.
Not as a problem.
Instead, she perceives her situation as far more perilous.