“I had a head injury.”
“I wandered away from the road.”
“A driver found me miles from the crash.”
“I had no identification.”
“My face was injured.”
“I didn’t know where I belonged.”
I stared.
“So you had amnesia.”
“Severe memory loss.”
“And nobody connected you to the crash?”
“Not then.”
I felt sick.
“When did they identify you?”
Her expression changed.
That was the first moment I understood that survival was not the entire secret.
She looked down.
“Not for a long time.”
“How long?”
“Claire, can we please leave?”
I should have refused.
Instead, I told the receptionist I was taking her.
Neither of us spoke until we reached my car.
Then Lily gave me an address.
I looked at the navigation screen.
“That’s outside Bellmere.”
“Yes.”
“How far?”
“About forty minutes.”
“You live there?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
She hesitated.
“Three years.”
I turned toward her.
