Chapter 2

I stared at the photograph for what felt like forever.

Nathaniel.

The boy beside me was Nathaniel.

I knew it.

Hindi ko alam kung paano.

Hindi ko alam kung bakit.

Pero somewhere inside me, I knew.

My fingers tightened around the old photograph.

“Impossible.”

Mahina lang ang boses ko.

I looked at the picture again.

Little me was smiling.

Nathaniel wasn't.

He was looking at me.

As if he was waiting for me to say something.

As if he already knew that one day, I would forget him.

I turned the photograph over.

Never find him again.

My mother's handwriting.

Why?

Why would she write that?

And why would she keep a photograph of the person she wanted me to forget?

I heard footsteps outside my room.

I quickly shoved the photograph inside the metal box.

“Mia?”

Nanigas ako.

My mother's voice.

I closed the box.

“Coming.”

I pushed it beneath my bed before opening the door.

My mother was standing in the hallway.

She looked tired.

“Why are you still awake?”

“Hindi ako inaantok.”

She studied my face.

“Are you okay?”

I nodded.

“Okay lang.”

Her eyes moved toward my room.

“May hinahanap ka ba?”

My heart jumped.

“No.”

Too fast.

She noticed.

Of course she did.

My mother had always been good at noticing when I was lying.

“Mom.”

“Yes?”

“Have you ever called me Mia?”

Her face changed.

It was subtle.

Almost nothing.

But I saw it.

Her lips parted slightly.

Then she looked away.

“Bakit mo natanong?”

“Just answer me.”

Silence.

I waited.

Finally, she said—

“No.”

One word.

A lie.

I knew it.

Because Nathaniel had remembered the name.

And now—

my mother was pretending she had never used it.

“Mom.”

She turned to me.

“Where did you hear that name?”

I didn't answer.

Her expression hardened.

“Who told you?”

I swallowed.

“Nathaniel.”

The color disappeared from her face.

For a second, she looked genuinely terrified.

Then she grabbed my wrist.

“Stay away from him.”

“Why?”

“Because he's dangerous.”

“Why?”

“Mia—”

She stopped.

We both froze.

Her hand slowly loosened around my wrist.

I stared at her.

She stared at me.

“You just called me Mia.”

She didn't answer.

“Mom.”

Her eyes filled with something I couldn't understand.

Fear.

Regret.

Maybe guilt.

“Forget what you heard.”

“Why?”

“Because some memories are better left buried.”

I pulled my wrist away.

“What happened between me and Nathaniel?”

She stepped back.

“Nothing.”

“Then why do you have his picture?”

Her face went completely still.

I felt my heart drop.

She knew.

She knew exactly what I was talking about.

“You went through my things?”

“No.”

I walked back into my room and pulled the metal box from underneath my bed.

I opened it.

“Then explain this.”

I held up the photograph.

My mother stared at it.

She didn't speak.

I turned it around.

Never find him again.

Her eyes immediately filled with tears.

“Where did you get that?”

“It was inside your box.”

She closed her eyes.

For several seconds, neither of us moved.

Then she whispered—

“You were never supposed to see that.”

My chest tightened.

“Why?”

She opened her eyes.

“Because if you remember Nathaniel…”

She stopped.

“What?”

Her voice trembled.

“…they'll know you're still alive.”

I couldn't breathe.

“Who?”

She looked toward the window.

And suddenly—

the lights in our house went out.

Everything became dark.

“Mom?”

She grabbed my hand.

“Don't move.”

“What happened?”

“Shh.”

A sound came from downstairs.

A door opening.

Slowly.

Then footsteps.

Someone was inside our house.

My mother's grip tightened around my hand.

“Mom…”

“Don't make a sound.”

The footsteps stopped.

Right outside my bedroom.

My heart pounded against my chest.

The doorknob slowly turned.

I looked at my mother.

She looked terrified.

Then the door opened.

A man stood in the darkness.

He wasn't holding a weapon.

He didn't need one.

Because the moment he stepped into the light from the window, I recognized him.

He was the same man I had seen standing beside Nathaniel three years ago.

At the company.

I remembered him.

Nathaniel's uncle.

He looked at my mother.

Then at me.

And smiled.

“So…”

His eyes settled on the photograph in my hand.

“She finally remembered.”

My mother stepped in front of me.

“Get out.”

The man laughed softly.

“You should have killed that memory when you had the chance.”

My blood ran cold.

“What are you talking about?”

He looked directly at me.

“Ask your mother what really happened the night of the fire.”

Then he turned around.

Before leaving, he stopped at the doorway.

“And tell Nathaniel…”

He glanced over his shoulder.

“…that the girl he failed to save is alive.”

The door slammed shut.

I couldn't move.

My mother was crying.

And suddenly, the photograph in my hand didn't feel like a memory anymore.

It felt like a warning.

Because for the first time—

I wasn't afraid of remembering Nathaniel.

I was afraid of remembering why I was supposed to forget him.