Buried behind them were two utility bills dated several months before my accident.
Both carried the same address.
An apartment building on Halsted.
I had never been there.
Or at least I didn’t remember being there.
Forty minutes later, I was standing in front of a brick walk-up holding one of the bills.
The building manager looked up when I entered.
His face changed immediately.
“Claire?”
I froze.
“You know me?”
He smiled uncertainly.
“Of course I know you.”
I looked at his name badge.
“Mr. Alvarez?”
“Same guy.”
For him, it was casual.
For me, it felt like someone had opened a door into another lifetime.
“How have you two been?”
My skin prickled.
“Who?”
He frowned.
“You and your boyfriend.”
I couldn’t speak for a second.
Then I said carefully, “I had an accident. I don’t remember living here.”
The warmth disappeared from his expression.
“Oh. Claire, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“How long did I live here?”
“Almost three years.”
“With someone?”
“Yes.”
“What was his name?”
Mr. Alvarez rubbed his chin.
“Rick? Richie? Richard, maybe. You handled most of the rent stuff, so I didn’t deal with him much.”
The hallway seemed to tilt beneath my feet.
Richard.
I already knew the answer.
I simply wasn’t ready to say it.
“Who lives in the apartment now?”
“No one.”
“It’s empty?”
He nodded.
“But the rent still gets paid every month.”
I stared at him.
“I pay it?”
“Not from the account you used before. Different account.”
“Whose?”
“I’ve never checked. Payments clear, so I never had a reason to.”
Someone had spent two years paying to preserve an apartment I didn’t remember.
Richard had told me nothing about it.
“Do you still have a key?”
A few minutes later, I stood outside apartment 3B.
The lock clicked.
I pushed open the door.
Dust floated through the sunlight.
The place smelled like cardboard, old wood, and a life abandoned too quickly.
Most of the furniture was gone.
But several boxes remained.
And inside those boxes was the woman I used to be.
Photographs.
Receipts.
Christmas cards.
A pair of shoes I didn’t recognize.
A scarf that somehow made my chest hurt even though I couldn’t remember wearing it.
Then I found the photographs.
In the first one, I stood barefoot in the ocean.
My hair was longer.
