Chapter 4: The Memory Everyone Buried
The photograph was only six inches wide.
But it felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.
I stared at it until my eyes hurt.
There I was.
Two years younger.
Paler.
Thinner.
Standing outside a hospital room with a folder pressed against my chest.
My hair was messy. My face looked exhausted.
But my eyes were different.
They weren't the eyes of someone who trusted the world.
They were the eyes of someone who had discovered something and was terrified nobody would believe her.
And beside me was my mother.
Her hand was wrapped around my arm.
Not comforting me.
Holding me.
Like she was afraid I would walk away.
My phone buzzed again.
Another message from Jessamine.
*Please call me. You deserve the truth.*
I almost threw my phone across the room.
The audacity of that sentence.
The woman who had stood behind me that morning, arranging my hair while planning a life with my fiancé, was now telling me I deserved honesty.
I looked back at the photograph.
At my mother's face.
At my own.
"What did you do?"" I whispered.
The question wasn't directed at anyone in the room.
But somehow, it felt like the house itself was listening.
I grabbed my keys.
I didn't know where I was going.
I only knew I couldn't stay there.
Not with all those hidden pieces of myself staring back at me.
My mother opened the door before I even knocked.
That was the first sign.
She had been waiting.
She stood there wearing the same blue sweater she always wore when she was nervous. The same sweater she wore at funerals, hospital visits, and every difficult conversation she didn't want to have.
Her eyes immediately went to my dress.
Then my hair.
Then my face.
And she started crying.
"Oh, Amelia.""
I stepped inside.
"Don't.""
She froze.
"Don't look at me like I'm the one who got hurt.""
Her lips parted.
"I didn't mean—"
"No.""
I held up the folder.
"I need answers.""
My mother looked at it.
And the color drained from her face.
"You found it.""
I laughed quietly.
"You say that like I found an old photo album.""
She looked away.
"Who else knows?""
I stared at her.
"That's your first question?""
"Amelia—"
"Who else knows?""
She swallowed.
"Ethan.""
I nodded slowly.
"Of course.""
"Your sister.""
"Of course.""
"Jessamine.""
That one hurt differently.
Even though I already knew.
Hearing her say it made it real.
My best friend knew.
My fiancé knew.
My family knew.
Everyone knew.
Except me.
I walked into the living room.
The same room where my mother had hugged me after Ethan proposed.
The same room where she had helped me choose wedding invitations.
The same room where she told me, "You found a good man.""
I turned around.
"Was he ever good?""
My mother's eyes filled with tears.
"Amelia...""
"Answer me.""
She looked down.
And that was the first time I saw something I never thought I would see on my mother's face.
Shame.
"I don't know.""
I nodded.
A strange calm came over me.
Because somehow, that answer hurt less than a lie.
"What happened two years ago?""
My mother sat down.
Slowly.
Like her body was suddenly too heavy to carry.
"You were driving home.""
I waited.
"There was a storm.""
I remembered storms.
I hated storms.
But that wasn't unusual.
"I don't remember.""
"I know.""
"What happened?""
"You lost control of the car.""
I looked at the floor.
"The accident.""
She nodded.
"You hit a tree.""
My fingers tightened around the folder.
"How long was I in the hospital?""
"Three weeks.""
Three weeks.
A whole world could change in three weeks.
"What did the doctors say?""
"That you had a traumatic brain injury.""
"And my memory?""
My mother wiped her face.
"They said some memories might come back slowly. Others might not.""
I looked at her.
"Six months.""
She nodded.
"The six months after the accident.""
"Why those six months?""
She hesitated.
And I saw it.
The moment she decided whether to protect me or finally tell me.
Finally, she chose.
"Because that's when everything happened.""
I sat down across from her.
"What everything?""
My mother looked at the folder.
"You found out Ethan was cheating.""
The words should have shocked me.
But they didn't.
Because somehow, deep down, my body already knew.
"When?""
"Before the accident.""
I stared at her.
"What?""
"You found messages.""
"Between Ethan and Jessamine?""
She nodded.
My stomach turned.
"So I knew?""
"Yes.""
"Before I forgot?""
"Yes.""
I stood up.
"No.""
My mother looked at me.
"Amelia—"
"No.""
I paced across the room.
"No, because after the accident, Jessamine was the person who sat beside me every day.""
My voice broke.
"She brought me food. She helped me walk. She told me I was going to be okay.""
My mother closed her eyes.
"I know.""
"And Ethan?""
Silence.
I already knew.
"He was there too.""
"Yes.""
I laughed.
A bitter, broken laugh.
"So they both betrayed me, and then they both helped me recover from being betrayed by them?""
My mother didn't answer.
Because there was no answer.
I looked at the folder.
"Why didn't you tell me?""
She whispered:
"Because you didn't want us to.""
I froze.
"What?""
"You remembered.""
The room went silent.
"What did I remember?""
My mother looked terrified.
"After the surgery, when your memory started returning, you found out again.""
"Found out what?""
"About Ethan and Jessamine.""
My hand moved to my chest.
"And?""
"You were devastated.""
"Obviously.""
"You wouldn't eat. You wouldn't sleep. You kept saying everyone was lying.""
I swallowed.
"Because they were.""
My mother nodded.
"Yes.""
"Then why are you acting like I was wrong?""
"I'm not.""
"Then what?""
She looked at me.
"You were afraid.""
The word landed softly.
But it hurt.
"Of what?""
My mother looked at the folder.
"Of losing yourself.""
I didn't understand.
"You made that folder because you were afraid your memory would disappear again.""
I stared at the documents.
"You knew?""
"You asked us to help you.""
"Help me do what?""
"Remember.""
My mother's voice cracked.
"You wrote down everything you discovered. Every conversation. Every piece of evidence.""
I opened the folder again.
The documents.
The notes.
The warnings.
"You knew this existed.""
"Yes.""
"Then why hide it?""
My mother looked away.
"Because after you recovered, you changed.""
I frowned.
"What does that mean?""
"You stopped asking questions.""
"Why?""
"Because Ethan convinced you.""
My stomach dropped.
"Convinced me of what?""
My mother took a breath.
"That your memories were wrong.""
I felt cold.
"He told you that?""
"He said the accident damaged your judgment.""
My hands curled into fists.
"And you believed him?""
"No.""
The answer came instantly.
But too late.
"I didn't believe him.""
"Then why?""
My mother started crying.
"Because you believed him.""
I stopped.
"What?""
"After months of therapy, you told us you wanted to move forward.""
I shook my head.
"No.""
"You said you didn't want to live your life being angry.""
I looked down.
"That sounds like me.""
"It was.""
My mother reached for my hand.
I didn't move away.
"You said if Ethan and Jessamine were truly sorry, you wanted to forgive them.""
My heart pounded.
"But I didn't remember.""
"No.""
She whispered.
"You didn't remember the pain.""
I looked at the folder.
The warning.
*If I ever start trusting them again, remind me why I stopped.*
Suddenly I understood.
I hadn't forgiven them.
Not completely.
I had forgotten why I couldn't.
My phone rang.
I looked down.
Ethan.
Again.
I let it ring.
Then a message appeared.
*Amelia, please answer. There's something you need to know about the accident.*
I stared at the screen.
My mother saw it.
And her face changed.
Not fear.
Recognition.
"What?""
She looked at me.
"Amelia...""
"What?""
She stood up.
"Don't let him tell you that story.""
My heart started racing.
"Why?""
Because my mother looked toward the window.
Like she was afraid someone was watching.
Then she whispered:
"Because Ethan wasn't the reason you crashed.""
I froze.
"What are you saying?""
She looked at the folder in my hands.
"The night of the accident, you weren't running from Ethan.""
A chill moved through me.
"You were running from Jessamine.""
My phone buzzed again.
This time, it wasn't Ethan.
It was a voicemail notification.
From a number I didn't recognize.
I pressed play.
At first, there was only static.
Then I heard a voice.
My voice.
Recorded two years ago.
Terrified.
Whispering.
"If anything happens to me... don't trust Jessamine.""
The message ended.
May you like
And beneath it was the date.
The night before my accident.
