I stared at the photo until my eyes blurred.
Not from tears — from something heavier.
Dread.
Because the girl he was kissing in the photo…
Wore my face.
But it wasn't me.
And it wasn't Amelia either.
---
I ran inside.
Slipped the flash drive into the house computer in the study.
No password. Just a single video file titled:
> "You Promised"
I hit play.
---
The video was grainy.
Taken from a hidden angle.
The lighting flickered like candlelight.
The woman — me, not me — stood in the middle of the room in the red dress.
The same red dress.
But her voice was colder.
> "If she finds out, it's over."
"She's fragile. You said you'd protect her."
Off-camera, his voice replied.
> "I will. But I can't lose you either."
> "So what happens when she wakes up?"
Silence.
Then:
> "She'll believe what I tell her. She always does."
The video cut off.
---
I couldn't breathe.
The walls felt closer.
The air thicker.
Like the house itself wanted me to forget.
But I couldn't.
I wouldn't.
---
Later, at dinner, I watched him.
Smiling.
Pouring wine.
Complimenting my eyes.
Saying they looked more alive today.
I forced a smile back.
Because I remembered now.
Not my memories.
Theirs.
---
He cleared his throat.
> "You found the box."
It wasn't a question.
I said nothing.
> "You're starting to remember more than I expected."
I dropped my fork.
> "What do you mean?"
He leaned in.
> "You think the heart remembers because it's poetic. But it's biological, Arianne."
"Memory… emotion… even instinct… is coded in the beat."
He tapped my chest lightly.
> "You were never supposed to open it."
---
That night, I locked the door.
Tried to sleep.
Tried to forget.
But around 2AM, the doorknob twisted.
Then a voice.
Not his.
Not mine.
Hers.
> "Don't sleep in my pain. Don't dream his lies."
---
I sat up. Heart pounding.
And at the foot of the bed…
The red dress.
Laid out again.
This time, torn.
Blood on the hem.