Chapter 2
753words
"You're fine, Sophie. Once we're home, get some sleep, and you'll feel better," he said, steering with one hand and holding mine with the other.
His palm was warm, yet it sent a chill through me. Everything felt wrong, deeply wrong, but I couldn't explain why. My mind was foggy, my thoughts tangled, and I couldn't think straight.
The car rolled into the familiar underground garage and stopped in the parking space we had used for five years. The elevator went up, the numbers increasing along with the rate of my pounding heartbeat.
Chester must've picked Dorothy up without telling me. This had to be a prank. Everything was fine. Dorothy had to be at home.
The elevator chimed, and we arrived on the 12th floor. I unlocked our door and didn't even bother changing my shoes. I ran down the hallway like I had lost my mind, straight for the door at the end.
It should've led to Dorothy's room—pink wallpaper, a small bed piled with stuffed toys, and a desk full of crayon drawings. Chester followed behind me, his tone helpless. "Sophie, that's just the study."
I shoved the door open, and I gasped. There was no pink, no stuffed toys, nor crayon drawings. Instead, what met my eyes were dark-gray bookshelves, a massive rosewood desk, and walls filled with foreign-language books I couldn't even read.
The air held none of that childlike sweetness, just the old smell of paper and a faint trace of sandalwood.
"No, this can't be… This isn't real…"
I dropped to my knees, my hands clawing frantically at the expensive carpet. Just yesterday, Dorothy had been on this carpet, playing with her puzzle. A blue piece of sky had gone missing, and she had cried for ages looking for it.
Now, there was nothing. Shaking, I pulled out my phone and opened my photo gallery.
There were more than 3,000 photos saved, all of which were records of Dorothy growing up—her first time rolling over, her first steps, her first time calling me Mommy, and her first trip to the amusement park…
I tapped on the folder named "My Baby". It was empty, with zero items. Still dubious, I opened Facebook, only to find every post where I had shown Dorothy off, even on nights I worked past midnight, was gone.
What remained were only photos of Chester and me or shots of scenery. Even the captions had changed. What used to say, "Dottie learned how to ride a bike today!" now read, "What a nice day for a stroll in the park."
I broke down screaming. The phone flew from my hand and slammed into the wall, shattering the screen.
"Sophie!"
An anxious voice came from the doorway. I turned and saw my and Chester's parents. I scrambled over on my hands and knees and clutched Mom's leg.
"Mom, tell me the truth! I have a daughter, don't I? Dottie—just last week, you knitted her a sweater! It's red, with a bunny on it!"
Mom's eyes were rimmed red. She crouched down, stroked my hair with her trembling hand, and cried.
"Sophie, please stop… That sweater… You forced me to knit it for a doll. After your miscarriage five years ago, your mental state was never stable. The doctors said you developed delusions. We were afraid of upsetting you, so we went along with it this whole time…"
I froze. Even Mom was lying to me.
"A miscarriage?" I murmured. "That's impossible. I clearly had a C-section…"
I yanked up my shirt and pointed at my smooth, pale belly. "How do you explain this, then? I used to have a scar here."
This time, my mother-in-law spoke. She sighed, her eyes full of pity.
"Sophie, you never carried the pregnancy to term. It was an early miscarriage. These past few years, you've been doing unnecessary scar-removal treatments and skin care nonstop because you thought you had a C-section. Have you really forgotten?"
Everyone was looking at me, some with sympathy, some with pity, and some with helpless resignation. They formed a circle around me, trapping me in the center.
Had I truly lost my mind all this time?
The room began to spin. Darkness rushed in, and I lost consciousness completely.
