Twice You

The SUV tears through the rain-soaked streets of New York, cutting through the darkness as though the storm itself is chasing us.I keep struggling in the back seat, desperate to escape the man who dragged me away from my wedding. My wrists ache from the force of his grip, and every attempt to pull away ends with him blocking my path.“Let me go!” I scream, my voice raw from crying. “I don't know you! Somebody, help me!”He watches me in silence, his blue eyes fixed on my face.“Stop fighting, Evie.”“My name is Beatrice!”His jaw tightens, and for a moment, I see something break through his cold expression. It might be pain. It might be anger. I can't tell, and I don't care enough to find out.“You'll remember eventually.”“Remember what? Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?”He leans back slightly, but he doesn't move away from the door.“My name is Declan Callahan.”The name means nothing to me.He seems to be waiting for a reaction, perhaps a flicker of recognition, but all I

This TownLONDON / DUBLINFunny how some things never change in this town.The studio lights are soft and golden, a welcome contrast to the harsh brightness of backstage corridors. I sit on a stool with my guitar resting against my thigh, working through the final chords of a song I've been trying to finish for weeks.Another song for you, Evie.I let the last note fade into the room.Silence follows.It always does.Claire sits cross-legged on the floor near my feet, her sketchbook spread across her lap. The tip of her tongue pokes out between her lips as she concentrates, a habit she inherited from her mother. Her drawings cover nearly every page in a riot of colors and shapes that make perfect sense to her and absolutely none to me.I wouldn't change a thing.“I liked that last chorus,” she says without looking up.A smile finds its way onto my face. “You say that about all of them.”“Because they're all good.”“Even the ones I haven't finished?”She finally looks up, blue eyes brig

FamilyBreakfast ends in a tense silence that Claire seems determined to ignore.She talks enthusiastically about her plans for the day, telling me about a book she's reading, a drawing she wants to finish, and a school project she insists will be the best in her class.I listen as carefully as I can, trying to respond naturally despite the unfamiliarity of every detail.Declan sits across from me, quiet and watchful. His presence is impossible to ignore, but I refuse to let his silence dictate how I interact with our daughter.Our daughter.The words still feel strange inside my head.“Can I show Mommy my room now?” Claire asks, practically bouncing in her chair.Declan sets down his napkin.“Of course, princess.”She turns to me with a smile so hopeful that I can't bring myself to refuse.“Come on! There's so much I want to show you.”I let her take my hand and lead me upstairs.For a little while, the distance between Declan and me feels like a relief. I need space to understand the

Where She WentThe silence in the living room feels heavier than stone.Rain beats against the Gothic windows, and the flames in the fireplace cast restless shadows across the ancient walls. Declan watches me with the same icy intensity I've come to associate with his brutal honesty.He has just said four words that have changed the shape of my world.Someone tried to kill you.I repeat them silently, turning them over in my mind as though they might make more sense the second or third time.They don't.They only hurt more.“How do you know?” I ask. My voice sounds weaker than I want it to. “If I was unconscious, if there were no witnesses…”Declan leans forward, his forearms resting on his knees. He never takes his eyes off me.“Because I was on the phone with you when it happened.”The cold that moves through me is immediate and brutal.It isn't surprise exactly. It's recognition, as though some buried part of me has been waiting for this truth to surface.“You heard the crash.”“I h

She Has to Get BetterThe silence that follows the revelation about Harvey and Beatrice Ashford is deafening. I feel as though the ground has vanished beneath my feet, leaving me adrift in a void where nothing makes sense anymore.I spent six years living as a dead woman.Nausea rolls through me in violent waves. Every fabricated memory from Boston—the parents I visited on weekends, the childhood photographs I didn’t recognize but pretended to remember, the birthdays celebrated with strangers who smiled at me with a love whose origins I could never understand—all of it was an elaborate architecture of lies built over a woman’s grave and the ruins of my own amnesia.“I need some air,” I whisper.My voice sounds strange, hoarse and distant, as though it belonged to someone else.Just as Beatrice Ashford’s life belonged to someone else.Declan gives Luka a slight nod. Luka moves discreetly toward the door and opens it without a word. It isn’t much of an escape. I know he’ll follow my move