I was laughing.
My left leg—the one that now ached every time rain approached—was perfectly healthy.
I touched the image.
Nothing came back.
Then I found another photograph.
And another.
Finally, I turned over one picture and stopped breathing.
Richard was kneeling in front of me.
I stood with both hands covering my mouth.
A ring sparkled on my finger.
My engagement ring.
The same ring Richard had supposedly chosen for me eighteen months after my accident.
But the date written on the back of the photograph was from long before the crash.
I sank onto the floor.
Richard hadn’t met me after my accident.
He had already been my fiancé.
We had already planned a future together.
And somehow, after I lost my memory, he had convinced me we were strangers falling in love for the first time.
Why?
At the bottom of another box, I found an old phone.
I connected it to a charger.
The screen eventually flickered alive.
There were hundreds of old messages.
Then one name caught my attention.
Megan.
The same name I had crossed out in my notebook.
My supposed best friend.
I copied the number.
My thumb hovered over the call button.
Then I pressed it.
Part 5 — Megan
She answered after several rings.
“Hello?”
My throat tightened.
“Megan?”
“Yes?”
“It’s Claire.”
Silence.
Not confused silence.
Shock.
Then I heard her inhale sharply.
“Oh my God.”
Neither of us spoke for several seconds.
Finally, she whispered, “Claire?”
“I don’t remember you.”
“I know.”
“But apparently we were close.”
Another pause.
“We were.”
“Then tell me what happened.”
Her voice changed.
“Does Richard know you’re calling?”
That question told me everything I needed to know.
“No.”
Megan exhaled slowly.
“Claire, I have wanted to tell you the truth so many times.”
“Then tell me now.”
She began crying before she even reached the worst part.
“A few days before your accident, Richard and I were at a party.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“We drank too much. Everyone else left. We were alone.”
“Megan.”
“It happened once.”
My body went cold.
“What happened once?”
She whispered the answer.
“We slept together.”
The room became impossibly quiet.
I looked at the photograph of Richard proposing to me.
“So he cheated on me.”
“Yes.”
“With my best friend.”
“Yes.”
“And neither of you told me.”
“We were going to. We kept saying we would. But we were afraid.”
