Then I kissed his cheek.

“Get some rest. You have a shift at noon.”

His entire body relaxed.

He thought I believed him.

I didn’t.

A few hours later, the hospital called and asked Richard to come in early.

The second his car disappeared, I opened my memory notebook.

Behind several medical documents, I found two utility bills from before my accident.

Both listed an address I didn’t recognize.

If I had lived there before the crash, someone there might know something about the life I had forgotten.

Forty minutes later, I stood outside an old brick apartment building on Halsted.

The manager stared at me.

Then smiled.

“Claire? Haven’t seen you in forever.”

I looked at his name tag.

“Mr. Alvarez?”

“Same as always. How’s the new place treating you two?”

I froze.

“You two?”

His smile disappeared.

“You and the guy you lived with.”

A cold sensation moved through my stomach.

“What guy?”

He stared at me.

“Claire, are you okay?”

“I had an accident. I don’t remember living here.”

His expression softened.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“How long did I live here?”

“Almost three years.”

“With someone?”

“Yeah. I mostly dealt with you, though.”

“Do you remember his name?”

He frowned.

“Rick. Ryan. Something like that.”

My pulse quickened.

“Who lives there now?”

“Nobody.”

Then he added,

“But the rent is still being paid.”

I stared at him.

“What?”

“Someone sends it every month.”

“Who?”

“No idea. As long as the payment cleared, I never checked.”

Someone had been paying for two years to keep my old apartment exactly as I had left it.

“Do you still have a spare key?”

Minutes later, the door to apartment 3B opened.

The place looked like someone had left in a hurry.

Dust covered the furniture.

But several boxes were still there.

I started searching.

The first thing I found was a stack of photographs.

One showed me standing on a beach in a white sundress.

My hair was longer.

My leg was uninjured.

I stared at myself.

Nothing came back.

Then I found another photograph.

And another.

Until finally, I turned over the third one.

My breath stopped.

Richard was kneeling in front of me.

I had both hands over my mouth.

And an engagement ring was shining on my left hand.

The same ring Richard had supposedly chosen eighteen months ago.

On the back was a date.

Two years before my accident.

In my own handwriting.

Richard hadn’t met me after the crash.

We had already been planning to get married.

Under the photographs, I found an old phone.

I charged it.

Then searched through the messages.

One name stopped me.

Megan.

The same name crossed out in my notebook.

I called the number.

She answered on the fourth ring.

“Hello?”

“Megan? It’s Claire.”

Silence.

Then—

“Claire? Oh my God.”

Her voice cracked.

“I never thought you’d call me again.”

“I don’t remember what happened between us.”

I swallowed.

“But I need you to tell me.”

Her first question frightened me.

“Does Richard know you’re calling?”

“No.”

Megan took a breath.

“A few days before your accident, Richard and I got drunk at a party.”

She stopped.

“It happened once.”

I closed my eyes.

“You slept with him?”

“Yes.”

Her voice broke.

“We were supposed to tell you together. Neither of us did.”

My hand tightened around the phone.

“The night of your accident, you found the messages.”

Until that moment, I had always believed the accident was the night my old life ended.

Now I understood it was the night Richard’s lie began.

“What happened after that?”

“You called me screaming.”

Megan started crying.

“You got in your car. I begged you not to drive.”

I closed my eyes.

For one second, there was nothing.

Then—

Rain.

Water hammering against a windshield.

Headlights in my rearview mirror.

A horn blaring behind me.

Richard’s car.

My hands gripping the steering wheel.

Metal.

Pain.

Something pulling hard against my throat.

My eyes snapped open.

My mother’s necklace was still in my hand.

“Richard was there.”

“What?”

“He followed me.”

“I know,” Megan whispered. “He told the police he was trying to get you to pull over.”

I stared at the broken clasp.

That was enough.

I still couldn’t remember the entire argument.

Maybe I never would.

But Richard knew exactly what had happened that night.

And for two years, he had allowed me to build another life around not knowing.

When Richard came home that evening, I was waiting at the kitchen table.

The photographs.

My old phone.

The necklace.

Everything was spread out in front of me.

He stopped in the doorway.

Then his eyes landed on the engagement picture.

“Claire.”

“You didn’t meet me in the hospital.”

His face went still.

“No.”

“We were already together.”

“Yes.”

“We were engaged.”

He looked down.

“Yes.”

“Then explain.”

Richard slowly set down his bag.

“At first, I was waiting for your memory to return. The doctors said not to force anything.”

I stared at him.

“Then weeks passed. You were sleeping again. You were laughing.”

His voice began to break.

“You looked at me without knowing what I had done.”

“So you decided I was better off not knowing.”

“I told myself I was protecting you.”

“No.”

I picked up the necklace.

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