5: Where I Was Found

|| Rachel ||

Six Years Later

I had already finished making breakfast and packed an early lunch for Rick.

​Rick walked into the dining room as I finished arranging the breakfast on the table. "Breakfast is ready," I said.

​"Thank you, Rachel, but you know you don't have to do that," he said, sitting down at the table.

​"Rick, I can never thank you enough for what you're doing for us. Let me go and wake the children," I said, walking toward the children's bedroom.

I have been living with Rick Gordon for the past five years. I had a major accident six years ago that stole my memory. I can’t remember who I am. When they looked into my record, they found no one. My parents were dead. I was a blank slate with no past, no family, and no identity.

I spent a year at the hospital, where I had my miracles—that’s what they call them. My children were indeed my miracle. The accident took so much from me, leaving me physically broken and mentally lost, but it gave me the best gifts in the world: my twins.

When I was discharged, I had nowhere to go, and Rick took pity on me and let us come live with him. He treated my children with a kindness and generosity that I will never be able to repay. He became the stable home and family we desperately needed.

I walked into the bedroom Rick and I had set up for Finn and Fiona. It was one room, but one side was blue and the other pink, each decorated accordingly.

I walked to Finn’s side and sat down on his bed. "Hey, baby."

He hummed sleepily.

​I started to tickle him, and his amber eyes opened wide in sudden surprise. "Mummy..."

​"It's time to get up," I said.

​"But there's no school today, we're on a break," he said with a scowl, rubbing the sleep from his face dramatically.

​"You need to eat breakfast on time, you know that," I said, ruffling his hair.

He looked over at Fiona, who was still sleeping, then back at me, a mischievous glint in his amber eyes, clearly hoping for a distraction.

I stood up. "I'm about to wake her, too, young man," I walked to the other bed, only to find Fiona already sitting up. Unlike Finn, Fiona's eyes are just like mine: blue.

​"You're awake?" I asked, smiling.

​"Why wouldn't I be, with his whining?" she said, getting out of bed to put on her shoes.

​"I am not whining!" Finn protested, already on his feet, pushing Fiona’s shoulder playfully.

​"Stop it, you two!" I scolded gently.

I took them to the bathroom where I assisted them, but when it came to brushing their teeth, my babies believed they could do it themselves. They were “grown-ups.”

We went to the dining room. Rick was still there, reading the news on his pad, with his glasses perched on his nose.

​"Good morning," they greeted Rick in unison.

​Rick's face brightened as he looked up at us, pecking their forehead like always. "Good morning, you two rascals."

We sat down and had breakfast, and then Rick left for the hospital. Fiona and Finn went to the living room to watch their cartoons. They can change the channels themselves, and I often ask myself how children know how to do so many things. Well, I can’t remember my childhood, but I thought that since they are small, you have to do everything for them. But my children prefer doing things themselves, which is perfect for me because it gives me time to rest.

I was clearing the kitchen when I saw Rick’s lunch bag; he had forgotten to take it. I decided to bring it to him — an excuse to see the hospital staff who had become my second family. Being in the hospital for a year makes you get to know everyone, and you start seeing them as family, especially when you have no one and can’t remember who you are.

I was a regular on the neurology ward during that year, and the nurses there were the first people who treated me like a person again, not just a trauma case. A year in that ward meant I knew every nurse’s laugh and every squeaky wheel on every cart.

After I finished clearing the house and getting Fiona, Finn, and myself ready, we headed to the hospital.

As soon as we were in the main lobby, Fiona and Finn rushed to greet everyone. They are all incredibly close to the staff, who treat them like beloved nephews and nieces.

Nurse Barbara walked up to me and pulled me into a hug. "Hi, Rachel, I miss you."

​"Hi, Barbie," I said. "Miss you more."

We disengaged from the hug as she looked at the bag in my hand. "Forgot his lunch."

​"Yeah, where is he?"

​"With a patient," she said.

​"Give me the gist," I chuckled, my shoulders slightly relaxing.

When I was a patient, Barbie always came with a gist for me to cheer me up. Most of the patient gossip was harmless and silly, designed to distract me from the terrifying blank space that was my past.

The hospital was the one place where I felt entirely comfortable and understood.

​"Well, this is actually an important patient," she said.

​"How important?" I asked.

​"Jacob Pierce. His son is one of the wealthiest men in the country, Slade Pierce. So Rick has to take him personally. You know he’s the best neurosurgeon we have," she slightly shrugged. "Jacob Pierce is also a tough patient...."

​Slade Pierce.

I placed my hand on my head as she said the name; I barely heard what she said after that. Why do I feel like I know that name? The name didn’t bring back a memory, but it caused a sharp, localized spike of pressure behind my eyes, like a key turning in a locked door.

​Barbara placed her hand on my shoulder. "Are you alright? Come, sit."

​"No, I'm fine," I said, ignoring the dull ache in my head.

Fiona walked up to me with a large, swirling sweet in her hand.

​"Where's your brother?" I asked.

Fiona shrugged both shoulders and licked her sweet. "I don't know."

​"What do you mean you don't know?" I snapped, my voice louder than intended, the stress of the name instantly overriding my calm.

​"Calm down," Barbara said softly. "We'll find him."

I don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t find my son. A sudden, blind fear—a fear that felt too deep to belong just to this moment—gripped me as we started looking for him.