Chapter 7: The Memory Buried Inside Me
I read the letter ten times.
Every time, the words stayed the same.
*I failed to stop myself.*
It didn’t make sense.
I was eight years old when the fire happened.
A child.
A victim.
Not the person responsible.
“This is impossible,” I said.
My mother looked devastated.
“I know what it looks like.””
“No.””
I shook my head.
“I don’t mean the letter.””
I looked at Adrian.
“I mean all of this.””
Ten years of secrets.
Ten years of people deciding what I was allowed to know.
Adrian moved closer.
“Lillian—”
“Don’t.””
He stopped.
I hated that he listened.
Because a part of me still trusted him.
That was the worst part.
My mother sat across from me.
“Your biological parents were scientists.””
I looked at her.
“What?””
“They created a treatment that could change how memories are stored.””
“That sounds insane.””
“It was supposed to help trauma victims.””
Adrian added quietly:
“Until people realized it could be used to erase information.””
My stomach tightened.
My mother nodded.
“Your biological father discovered someone wanted to use it to control witnesses.””
“And I was involved?””
“No.””
She looked at me sadly.
“You were the first person they tested it on.””
The room became silent.
My fingers touched the scar beneath my hair.
“The accident…”
“Was not an accident.””
I closed my eyes.
A memory flashed.
A laboratory.
Lights above me.
Someone crying.
Me.
A little girl.
A woman saying:
“Lillian, you have to forget.””
I opened my eyes.
“I remember.””
Everyone froze.
“What did you remember?”” Adrian asked.
I looked at him.
“You.””
His face changed.
“I saw you.””
“Where?””
“The laboratory.””
Adrian went pale.
“No.””
“You were there.””
He stepped back.
“No, I wasn’t.””
“You were holding my hand.””
A silence followed.
Then my mother whispered:
“You’re remembering the wrong night.””
I looked at her.
“What?””
“The night you lost your memories was not the night of the fire.””
My heart stopped.
“There were two events.””
She opened another folder.
Inside were photographs.
The laboratory.
The fire.
My childhood.
Everything connected.
“Someone erased your memories before the fire.””
“Why?””
My mother looked at Adrian.
“Because someone knew you saw the truth.””
I turned.
“About what?””
Nobody answered.
Then my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Again.
This time, I answered.
A familiar voice spoke.
Ethan.
“Did they tell you yet?””
I tightened my grip.
“Tell me what?””
“That Adrian was the one who erased your memories.””
The room went silent.
I looked at Adrian.
His face was impossible to read.
“You did it?””
He didn’t answer.
That was all I needed.
“Adrian.””
His voice was barely a whisper.
“I saved you.””
“You erased me.””
“I had no choice.””
The call continued.
Ethan laughed softly.
“Ask him what happened to your real memories.””
My hand shook.
“What happened?””
Adrian closed his eyes.
And for the first time…
The man who always had answers looked afraid.
“Your memories weren’t erased.””
I stared.
“Then what?””
He opened his eyes.
“They were replaced.””
A cold feeling moved through me.
“Replaced with what?””
Adrian looked at the letter in my hand.
“With a story someone created.””
The phone slipped from my fingers.
Because suddenly I understood.
My entire life might not have been a lie.
May you like
It might have been a performance.
And I was the only person who didn’t know my lines.
