PART 2
When I picked it up, something shifted inside the inner pocket.
Something heavier than fabric.
I reached inside.
And pulled out a thin gold chain.
I knew what it was before I even looked at the pendant.
My mother’s necklace.
The small oval pendant I had been wearing the night of my accident.
The hospital told me it had disappeared at the crash site.
I stared at the necklace.
Then at the man I had married nine hours earlier.
Richard had never told me he was there that night.
My fist closed around the chain.
For two years, I had trusted my notebook because it contained the pieces of myself I could no longer remember.
But suddenly, one question terrified me.
How much had I discovered about myself?
And how much had Richard taught me to believe?
He stirred.
Then his eyes landed on the necklace in my hand.
His face changed immediately.
“Claire.”
He sat up.
“Let me explain.”
“Please do.”
Richard rubbed his face.
“I was nearby the night of the accident. I heard the crash and reached your car before the ambulance.”
“You’re a nurse. You helped me?”
“Yes.”
He hesitated.
“I pulled you out of the car. Your necklace caught on my sleeve and broke. I kept it because I wanted to repair it.”
I stared at him.
“I was planning to give it back to you after the wedding. I thought it could symbolize the night we met.”
The explanation sounded too smooth.
Too complete.
Too rehearsed.
“You always told me you first saw me at the hospital.”
He blinked.
“I didn’t want you remembering the accident. The doctors said you were fragile.”
I forced myself to smile.
Then I kissed his cheek.
“Get some rest. You have a shift at noon.”
His entire body relaxed.
He thought I believed him.
I didn’t.
A few hours later, the hospital called and asked Richard to come in early.
The second his car disappeared, I opened my memory notebook.
Behind several medical documents, I found two utility bills from before my accident.
Both listed an address I didn’t recognize.
If I had lived there before the crash, someone there might know something about the life I had forgotten.
Forty minutes later, I stood outside an old brick apartment building on Halsted.
The manager stared at me.
Then smiled.
“Claire? Haven’t seen you in forever.”
I looked at his name tag.
“Mr. Alvarez?”
“Same as always. How’s the new place treating you two?”
I froze.
“You two?”
His smile disappeared.
“You and the guy you lived with.”
A cold sensation moved through my stomach.
“What guy?”
He stared at me.
“Claire, are you okay?”
“I had an accident. I don’t remember living here.”
His expression softened.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“How long did I live here?”
“Almost three years.”
“With someone?”
“Yeah. I mostly dealt with you, though.”
“Do you remember his name?”
He frowned.
