CHAPTER 8

A sudden, sharp thud from downstairs jolted Evelyn awake.

The sound vibrated through the floorboards, sending a spike of white-hot pain shooting through the back of her skull. 

She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut as the rhythmic thump-thump of her heartbeat hammered against her bandages.

The room felt too bright; the morning sun was aggressive and harsh across her face. 

‘Who put the bed next to the window?’ she wondered, her eyes narrowing.

Slowly, she pushed herself into a sitting position, waiting for the dizziness to subside. Her vision swam for a moment before settling on the nightstand. 

Beside a glass of water sat a small orange pill bottle and a handwritten note in Sarah’s messy, hurried scrawl.

“Drink the water, take your pills, and head downstairs. I’ve put food in the microwave—just heat it. I had to run to the office for an emergency, but I’ll be back by noon. Don't push yourself! – S.”

Evelyn stared at the note. 

The simple, domestic kindness of it made her throat tighten. She reached for the glass, her hand trembling slightly as she swallowed the bitter tablets. 

The cool water helped, but it couldn't wash away the heavy, hollow ache in her chest, the phantom weight of a child that was no longer there.

She moved with the caution of someone made of glass. 

Every step toward the door felt like a victory over the gravity trying to pull her back down. 

As she descended the stairs, the house was eerily quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerator. 

The scent of Sarah’s home, vanilla and old books, usually felt comforting, but today, Evelyn felt like a stranger in her own skin.

In the kitchen, she found the plate Sarah had left: a hearty breakfast burrito wrapped in foil. She placed it in the microwave. 

As the machine began its low, mechanical drone, Evelyn leaned against the counter, her gaze drifting to the polished surface of the stainless steel toaster.

In the distorted reflection, she saw her own face.

The bandages were stark and ugly. 

Her skin was a sickly shade of porcelain, and her eyes looked like two bruised craters. But it was the marks on her throat, the faint, yellowish-purple fingerprints left by the man she couldn't remember, that made her breath hitch.

She reached up, her fingers hovering just an inch away from the bruises. ‘Who did this?’ She knew the name "Julian." She knew he was the man who had discarded her. But try as she might, she couldn't summon his features. 

When she closed her eyes, she saw only a dark, towering silhouette and felt the terrifying sensation of being shoved into the abyss.

The microwave beeped, a sound like a gunshot in the silent kitchen.

Evelyn jumped, her heart hammering against her ribs. Taking a steadying breath, she pulled the warm plate out.

She turned toward the dining area, wanting only to sit and eat. But as she stepped into the room, she froze.

A man was sitting at the table.

He was hunched over a laptop, his back to her, his dark hair slightly tousled. He seemed completely absorbed in the screen, oblivious to her presence. 

Evelyn’s blood ran cold.

‘An intruder?’

The thought screamed through her mind. Sarah was supposed to be alone. 

This man sat there casually, as if he owned the place, while Sarah was miles away. Had he been watching the house? Waiting for her to be left defenseless?

The plate in her hands began to rattle, the ceramic clicking rhythmically. She wanted to bolt, but her legs were lead. She stood frozen, a silent gasp caught in her lungs, measuring the distance to the back door.

Suddenly, the man reached for a coffee mug. He let out a quiet sigh, leaning back in the chair to stretch his neck. 

As he turned his head, his gaze swept across the room and landed directly on her.

He flinched violently, nearly knocking his mug over as he scrambled to his feet. His eyes widened in shock, his face turning pale.

"Evelyn?" he breathed, his voice cracking with disbelief.

He stood stunned for a long heartbeat before his eyes traveled upward, landing on the thick, white bandages wrapped around her cranium. His expression shifted instantly from shock to pained horror.

"Evelyn... what happened to your head?" he asked, his voice trembling as he took a cautious step toward her. "Who did this to you?"

Evelyn stared at him. The primal terror began to melt away. 

There was something in his voice, a deep, familiar resonance, that made her feel like she could finally breathe.

"Liam?" she whispered.

The moment she spoke his name, his face transformed. 

The fear left his eyes, replaced by a smile so bright it seemed to cut through the gloom. He looked at her with such pure joy that, for the first time since waking up, Evelyn felt the crushing weight on her chest lighten.

"You're standing," Liam said, his voice a mix of awe and worry. He moved toward her but kept a respectful distance. "Sarah told me you were in bad shape, but seeing you like this..."

His eyes lingered on the bandages again, his brow furrowing. 

As Sarah’s elder brother, Liam had always been a protective shadow in the periphery of Evelyn’s life.

Growing up, he fixed their broken toys; later, he gave them rides when they were too young to drive. But after Evelyn married Julian, the distance between them had grown into an ocean.

"I... I honestly thought you were never coming to visit Sarah again," Liam admitted, a small, sheepish smile tugging at his lips. "After you married that Hart guy, it was like you vanished into another world. Sarah missed you like crazy."

His smile faded quickly, replaced by a sharp, probing look. He gestured toward her head and the faint bruises peeking out from her collar.

"But Evelyn, what on earth happened?" His voice dropped, turning serious and protective. "Sarah was hysterical on the phone, but she wouldn't give me the full story. Where is your husband? Why aren't you at home? And why in the hell are you in this condition?"

Evelyn hesitated. 

Liam was family, and his warmth was genuine, but she was standing in the middle of a fractured life with a memory full of holes. She had no idea how to tell him that the man he was asking about was the same man who had erased himself from her mind by force.