Chapter 7: The Memory I Was Trying To Protect
The last person who accessed the video was me.
I stared at Brandon.
Waiting for him to laugh.
Waiting for him to say it was a mistake.
Waiting for someone, anyone, to tell me this nightmare had a logical explanation.
Nobody did.
"That's impossible," I whispered.
Brandon looked down at the phone.
"I know what it says.""
"No.""
I shook my head.
"No, you don't understand.""
I stepped closer.
"I never opened that file.""
The words sounded strange.
Because eight months ago, I would have trusted my own memory.
Now I wasn't sure what I could trust.
Not my thoughts.
Not my memories.
Not the people around me.
Brandon swallowed.
"Maybe it was accidental.""
"Accidental?""
I looked at him.
"How do you accidentally open a hidden video on someone's computer?""
He didn't answer.
Because he knew.
You don't.
David moved toward us.
"Susan, listen to me.""
I turned.
"What?""
"There are things you don't remember.""
The sentence felt like a knife.
Because it was the sentence everyone had been waiting to use.
"You mean things you say I don't remember.""
"Susan.""
"No.""
I held up my hand.
"You don't get to use my memory against me anymore.""
His expression changed.
Pain.
Real pain.
But I couldn't let that distract me.
Because pain could exist beside guilt.
People could feel bad and still do terrible things.
"Where is your laptop?""
David hesitated.
"In my office.""
"Show me.""
"Susan—"
"Show me.""
He looked at Brandon.
My son looked away.
That was enough.
David walked toward the study.
I followed.
The room smelled like him.
Coffee.
Old books.
The cedar shelves he had built himself twenty years earlier.
A place that had always felt safe.
Now it felt like a room where secrets were stored.
David sat at the desk.
"I don't want to fight with you.""
"I don't either.""
I looked at the computer.
"But I want the truth.""
He opened the laptop.
The screen lit up.
A password box appeared.
I looked at him.
"What is it?""
He typed.
I watched his fingers.
My heart tightened.
The password wasn't random.
It was our anniversary.
The date we got married.
Forty years.
A date I had believed belonged only to us.
When the desktop appeared, I saw the folders.
Documents.
Photos.
Medical.
My breath caught.
"Open it.""
David didn't move.
"David.""
"I was going to tell you.""
"When?""
He looked down.
"After we had a plan.""
"A plan.""
I almost smiled.
"You had a plan for my life.""
"No.""
"That's exactly what you had.""
He opened the folder.
Inside were dozens of files.
Medical reports.
Appointments.
Emails.
I scrolled.
March.
April.
May.
June.
Eight months of information.
Eight months of a life I didn't know I was living.
Then I saw a folder.
The name made my blood run cold.
Susan - Memory.
I clicked it.
David reached out.
"No.""
I froze.
His hand stopped inches from mine.
"What is in that folder?""
He didn't answer.
"What is in it?""
His voice became quiet.
"Things you wrote.""
I stared at him.
"Things I wrote?""
"Yes.""
"Then why don't I know about them?""
"Because you asked me not to show you.""
The room became silent.
"What?""
David looked like he had been waiting months to say those words.
"You asked me.""
"No.""
"You did.""
"No.""
"Susan, you were scared.""
"I know I was scared.""
"You told me you didn't want to see everything.""
My mind searched.
Nothing.
A blank wall.
But then...
A memory.
A small one.
Me sitting at this desk.
Crying.
David standing behind me.
His hand on my shoulder.
I had said something.
Something like:
"I don't want to become a person everyone has to take care of.""
I closed my eyes.
The memory disappeared.
I opened them again.
"What is in the folder?""
David opened it.
Inside were documents.
Notes.
Voice recordings.
Videos.
My stomach turned.
"Why are there recordings?""
"Because you wanted them.""
I looked at him.
"Why?""
"Because you were afraid you would forget.""
The answer hurt.
Because it sounded exactly like something I would do.
I clicked the first audio file.
David looked nervous.
The recording began.
My own voice filled the room.
"Today is March eighteenth.""
A pause.
"I am making these recordings because I keep feeling like pieces of my memory are missing.""
I looked at David.
He looked down.
My voice continued.
"David says it is the tumor.""
A breath.
"But I don't know if I trust my own judgment anymore.""
The recording became quiet.
Then my voice whispered:
"That scares me.""
I stopped it.
I couldn't listen.
Not yet.
Brandon stood in the doorway.
"Mom.""
I turned.
"What?""
"I need to tell you something.""
My stomach tightened.
"Another secret?""
His face fell.
"Yes.""
I almost laughed.
But I didn't.
"What now?""
He walked inside slowly.
"When I found the video, I didn't just find the video.""
"What else?""
He looked at David.
Then me.
"I found messages.""
"Between who?""
"Between Dad and Dr. Reeves.""
My heart sank.
"What kind of messages?""
Brandon took out his phone.
"I didn't want to show you because I thought it would hurt you.""
I looked at him.
"Everyone keeps deciding what hurts me.""
He lowered his eyes.
"You're right.""
"Show me.""
He handed me the phone.
The messages were from six weeks earlier.
David:
She is asking questions again.
Dr. Reeves:
How much does she remember?
David:
More than before.
Dr. Reeves:
Then you need to be careful.
My hands shook.
Careful.
Another message.
David:
I don't want to keep lying.
Dr. Reeves:
You agreed this was necessary.
David:
I agreed to give her time.
Dr. Reeves:
Time is running out.
I looked at the next message.
From David.
A message I wished I had never seen.
I don't know if I'm protecting her anymore.
I think I'm protecting myself.
I couldn't breathe.
Because that sentence was the first honest thing anyone had said.
I looked at David.
His eyes filled with tears.
"I was scared.""
I didn't respond.
"I watched you forget things.""
Silence.
"I watched you get frightened.""
His voice cracked.
"And I kept telling myself I was doing the right thing.""
I looked at him.
"You knew.""
"Yes.""
"You knew and you still let me think I was losing my mind.""
He closed his eyes.
"I didn't mean for it to happen that way.""
"But it did.""
He nodded.
"Yes.""
That honesty should have made it easier.
It didn't.
Because honesty after eight months of lies was not enough.
I walked back to the laptop.
The folder was still open.
Susan - Memory.
I clicked another file.
A video.
The screen loaded.
This one was different.
It showed me sitting at the kitchen table.
Not a hospital.
Not a doctor's office.
My own home.
I looked older.
Tired.
But calm.
I was speaking directly to the camera.
"If you're watching this...""
I stopped breathing.
Because I knew.
This wasn't a warning from a frightened woman.
This was a message from me.
My past self looked into the camera.
"If you're watching this, something happened.""
She paused.
"I need you to remember one thing.""
My eyes filled with tears.
She leaned closer.
"David is not the person you should be afraid of.""
The room went silent.
I looked at my husband.
He looked shocked.
My past self continued:
"Because David is trying to protect you.""
I froze.
What?
Then she said:
"But someone else is not.""
The video shook.
My past self looked toward the door.
Like she was afraid someone was listening.
And then she whispered:
"The person who wants you to forget...""
A sound came from outside the room.
My past self turned.
Her face changed.
Fear.
Real fear.
Then the video cut.
Black screen.
Nobody moved.
Nobody spoke.
Until Brandon whispered:
"Mom...""
I looked at the screen.
At the unfinished message.
At the mystery I had left for myself.
"Who was she talking about?""
No one answered.
Then David's phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
And his face changed.
I saw the name.
I knew the name.
Because it was someone I trusted.
Someone who had been comforting me all week.
Someone who had told me I was imagining things.
David slowly answered.
The voice on the other end spoke.
And even from across the room, I saw the blood drain from his face.
He looked at me.
Then said:
"Susan...""
May you like
His voice trembled.
"Your sister Emily knows where the missing part of the video is.""
