The Fire We Tried To Forget (The Always Series Book 1)

The Past Never Truly Lets Go

Shania Elliott's The Fire We Tried to Forget explores the quiet ache of a woman caught between the life she built and the love that never faded. As her marriage fades into routine and silence, an unexpected reunion with DeShawn—the man who once knew her best—reignites emotions she thought she had buried for good. What unfolds isn’t just a love story, but a reckoning: with herself, her desires, and the path forward.

Start reading The Fire We Tried to Forget today and experience the pull of memory, heartache, and second chances.

Excerpt from the book

The Life She Chose

Brielle Johnson could balance invoices in one hand and her children’s issues in the other. Her mornings always started at 6:30 packing lunch, coordinating schedules, answering emails, and slipping into her boutique by 10 a.m. sharp. She was a wife, mother of four, and a proud owner of House of Bri, a soulful fashion brand with a loyal following.

But she hadn’t felt like a woman in a long, long time.

Marcus used to surprise her with flowers. He used to call her “Queen” just because. Now, most days, she was just “Ma,” “Bri,” or “Babe, did you pay the water bill?”

Brielle stood at the sink barefoot, her fingers submerged in dishwater, her mind miles away as she gazed out the window while the sun painted golden stripes across the hardwood floor. The house was quiet. The twins were watching TV upstairs. Her daughter was sulking about her day at school, and her son needed help with a science project. Marcus was already gone for the day, no goodbye, no kiss.

She wrapped her robe tighter around her waist and sighed. She loved her family fiercely. But there was this quiet ache inside her, like a song she hadn’t heard in years but couldn’t forget.

Fifteen years.

Fifteen years of being the dependable wife, the mother, the backbone. Fifteen years since he last touched her like he meant it. They didn’t argue anymore. They didn’t talk much either. Just daily check-ins, calendars, and to-do lists. She knew the shape of his back better than his voice.

She dried her hands slowly and caught a glimpse of herself in the microwave reflection, still beautiful, still strong, but tired in a way makeup couldn’t cover.

That afternoon, she stepped out between meetings and school pickups to grab tea at Brown Sugar Café. The air smelled of cinnamon-roasted beans. She hadn’t been here in years. It felt like home and rebellion at the same time.

“Brielle?”

The voice was velvet and thunder.

She turned, and her breath caught.

DeShawn Taylor.

The man who once sat with her on college rooftops, asking about her dreams. The one she almost gave her heart to. The one who left to chase his music and left her to chase stability.

He looked older, finer. Beard fuller, shoulders broader, eyes still deep as midnight.

“Damn… It’s really you,” he whispered, stepping closer.

Brielle felt the ground tilt. She hadn’t been seen in years. Not like this.

“I can’t believe it,” she said, voice thick. “What are you doing here?”

“Thinking ‘bout what I lost,” he said, eyes never leaving hers.

Something inside her cracked open, and a heat she thought was dead rose from the ashes.