“I came because I finally got control of my records. I came because my mother can’t stop me anymore.”
We spent hours at that kitchen table, unraveling the tangled threads of our lives. He spoke about pain and foggy memories, about the loneliness of being erased. I told him about my wedding — how my ex-husband had never truly known me. I admitted to nights spent awake, wondering if forgiveness was something you had to ask for, or something you simply chose.
“Does anyone else know?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Just you. And my mother, of course. She needs to know where I am. I need your help.”
The next morning, Mrs. Harlan from the HOA stopped me at the curb.
“Morning, Sammie,” she said, smiling too brightly. “Your new neighbor seems… intense.”
Before I could respond, a sleek black sedan rolled up. Camille stepped out gracefully.
“Elias,” she called warmly, loud enough for the entire cul-de-sac to hear. “Sweetheart. I just came to check up on you.”
Gabriel stepped outside, his shoulders rigid.
Camille’s eyes slid toward me.
“Sammie, dear… I’m so sorry. He’s been recovering for years. Grief can do strange things — especially when someone resembles a memory.”
“I know who he really is, Camille.”
Her smile sharpened.
“For Elias’s health, keep your distance — or the paperwork will come, and he will vanish.”
Gabriel’s jaw tightened. “Stop talking about me like I’m not standing here.”
