Chapter 6: Memory Fragments
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"My beloved wife's tragic accident has left an irreplaceable void in my life," he said, dabbing at dry eyes. "Rachel was everything to me."
A visceral revulsion crawled up my spine. Though I couldn't place why, every cell in my body screamed that this man was dangerous.
"You okay?" Jack entered with two mugs of coffee.
"I don't know him," I whispered, "but I hate him."
Later that night, Jack offered to run me a bath. The moment water touched my skin, panic seized my lungs. I scrambled out, gasping, water splashing everywhere as flashbacks assaulted me—darkness, pressure, the desperate burn for oxygen.
"Hey, I've got you," Jack's voice anchored me back to reality, his hands steady on my shoulders as I trembled in a towel.
That night, I made a decision. Staring at my reflection—a stranger's face—I vowed, "I won't wait for memories to find me. I'll hunt them down myself."
The next morning, I presented Jack with a list: potential triggers, places to visit, and research topics.
"I'm not sitting around waiting for my life to come back to me," I declared, chin raised in defiance. "Memory or no memory, I'm taking control."
Something shifted in Jack's expression—respect, perhaps, or admiration.
"Then let's get started," he said, reaching for his car keys.
