What the Headache Brought Back

Julian set the white roses on my tray like a man leaving flowers on a grave.

"You look better," he said. "Did you sleep?"

I made my face go blank. It was the hardest thing I had ever done.

"A little," I said. "My head hurts."

"The doctor said it would." He pulled the chair close and sat. "Don't push yourself, Lena. Just rest."

He said my name softly, like a secret between us. An hour ago, I would have called it kindness.

Now I watched his hands.

A gold band sat on his left finger. I stared at it a little too long.

"Sasha picked it out," he said with a small smile. "Eight years ago."

"Oh." I tried to sound sleepy. "Where are Sasha and Milo?"

"Downstairs. Buying juice."

"Did anyone else visit me today?"

His smile stopped for half a second. Then it came back.

"Who would visit you?"

"I don't know. A man. I think I dreamed him."

"You dreamed it." His voice turned gentle. "You don't have anyone else, Lena. Only us. You know that."

Only us.

Something cold crawled up my back. It was not a memory yet. It was just a feeling, like a word on the tip of my tongue.

His phone buzzed. He looked at the screen and sighed.

"The board. They never let me breathe." He stood and touched my shoulder. "I'll send Sasha up. Get some rest."

The door closed behind him.

I counted to ten.

The bathroom door beside the window opened. Adrian stepped out. His jaw was tight and his eyes were burning.

"You heard," I said.

"Every word."

"He told me I have no one." My voice shook. "Why would he say that?"

"Because it's easier to keep someone when nobody comes looking."

I pressed my fingers to my temple. "I need to remember. Tell me something. Anything true about me."

He hesitated. Then, quietly: "You designed the Linden Library."

The words hit like a hammer.

Light. Glass. A curved ceiling. A girl in a blue dress on a stage, holding an award, laughing so hard she could barely speak. A man in the third row, clapping.

Pain split my skull. I cried out.

"Lena!" Adrian was beside me in one step. His hand pressed gently against my back. "Breathe. Look at me. Breathe."

"It's coming," I gasped. "It's coming back."

Then everything came at once.

My tiny apartment with the crooked blue door. Late nights with a pencil behind my ear, drawing buildings that did not exist yet. Julian at my door with takeout, saying, "Marry me, Lena. Let me take care of everything."

My belly, round and heavy. Milo's first cry. Julian's voice: "You don't have to work anymore. Stay home with him."

And Sasha.

Sasha Moreau. My college roommate. My best friend. The girl who held my hair when I was sick and cried on my shoulder over the boy who broke her heart.

Julian Blake. Her first love. The man she left behind for a rich husband in Paris.

Eight years ago, Sasha was in Paris.

I was the one standing at the altar.

"No," I whispered. "No, no, no."

"Lena."

"I'm his wife." The word broke in my throat. "I gave up my career for him. I gave up everything. And last spring, Sasha came to my door with one suitcase and red eyes, and I said, 'Stay as long as you need.'"

I laughed. It sounded broken.

"I gave her my guest room. I gave her my kitchen. I gave her my family. And they used my accident to take the rest."

Adrian said nothing. He just stayed.

I tried to find the night of the crash. Where I was going. Why I was driving.

There was nothing. Only two white headlights, growing bigger and bigger.

Tears ran down my face and I did not wipe them away.

"What did I do?" I whispered. "What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing." His voice was low and rough. "You did nothing wrong. Do you hear me? Nothing."

I cried until my chest ached. Somewhere in the middle of it, his hand stopped being a stranger's.

I hated that.

I got up on shaking legs and went to the window. Down in the hospital garden, a small family crossed the grass. A man. A woman. A boy between them, holding both their hands.

My husband. My best friend. My son.

They looked like a perfect picture.

And I was the one cut out of the frame.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

"Lena?" Sasha's voice, bright and sweet. "Can I come in?"

My heart stopped.

Adrian moved without a sound and slipped back into the bathroom. The door closed.

I had one second.

One second to choose. I could scream the truth and lose the only advantage I had. Or I could put the old Lena's smile on like armor and hide behind it.

I wiped my face with the sheet and leaned back on the pillow.

"Come in," I said.

Sasha walked in carrying a juice box and a soft smile. Her eyes went to my face.

"You've been crying."

"My head hurts," I said.

Her gaze drifted to the tray. To the two paper cups of water, one half-empty and still wet on the rim. One that I had not touched.

Her smile did not change.

"Funny," Sasha said softly. "I only left one cup."