Page 27

“Thank you,” I say, relief washing through me. “Can I see him again today?”

He nods once, decisively. “After his afternoon rest. I’ll have someone let you know when he’s awake.”

I return to my room feeling lighter than I have in days. Having a purpose, even a small one, makes the fog of my memory loss seem a little less oppressive. I lie on my bed, one hand resting on my swollen belly, feeling our daughter’s gentle movements beneath my palm.

My eyelids grow heavy, and I drift into that strange twilight state between wakefulness and sleep. Images flash behind my closed eyes— disjointed, frightening. A building that looks like a warehouse, concrete floors stained with something dark. Two people— a man and a woman— standing over me. The woman’s face twists with hatred as she spits words I can’t quite hear. Fear washes through me, cold and paralyzing.

“No! I won’t!” My own sharp words rouse me, and I jerk awake with a gasp, my heart pounding. Sweat beads on my forehead despite the cool air of the room. The fragments of memory— if that’s what they were— slip away before I can grasp them fully, leaving only a lingering sense of dread.

Desperate to shake off the unsettling feeling, I get up and begin straightening my already tidy room. I open drawers at random, seeking distraction in mundane tasks. In the bottom drawer of the nightstand, I find a small box labeled “Discovery Deck: Science Conversations for Kids.”

Curious, I open it to find a set of beautifully illustrated cards, each featuring a scientific question on one side and a child-friendly explanation on the other. I flip through them, reading questions aloud to myself.

“Why do some animals hibernate during the winter, and how do they survive without eating?”

“Why do stars twinkle in the night sky, but planets don’t seem to twinkle as much?”

Perfect. This is exactly what I need for my time with Bobik— something structured that won’t highlight the gaps in my knowledge while still allowing us to connect.

When the message comes that Bobik is awake and ready for visitors, I gather the cards and make my way to his apartment. I follow all of Aleksei’s precautions meticulously— sanitizing my hands, leaving my shoes in the hallway, keeping a careful distance.

Bobik’s face lights up when he sees the deck in my hands. “The Discovery cards! I love those!”

We spend two hours working through the deck, taking turns reading questions and discussing the answers. With the cards as a guide, our conversation flows naturally. I don’t have to pretend to know things I’ve forgotten; instead, we explore the questions together, Bobik often expanding on the printed explanations with additional facts he’s learned from his extensive reading.

By the time we finish, we’re both tired but happy. The tension that’s been my constant companion since waking up in the hospital has eased slightly, replaced by a genuine contentment that feels like a small victory.

“Thanks for coming, Stella,” Bobik says as I prepare to leave. “This was the best day since I got home.”

“For me too,” I tell him, and I mean it.

Back in my room, I place the Discovery Deck on my nightstand, intending to return it to the drawer. As I do, a particular card catches my eye. I pick it up, reading the question printed in elegant script:

“How does the brain help us remember things, and why do we sometimes forget important details?”

I stare at the card for a long moment, my finger tracing the embossed letters. The irony isn’t lost on me. Here I am, surrounded by a life I can’t remember, people who know me better than I know myself, and secrets I can sense… but not access.

I turn the card over, hoping for answers, but the simplified explanation meant for children offers little comfort to someone whose entire identity has been fractured.

I set the card down with a sigh.

“I wish I knew,” I whisper to the empty room.

Chapter Twelve

Aleksei

I lean back in my leather chair, eyes fixed on the bank of monitors displaying feeds from throughout the manor.

My attention is drawn to the screen showing Bobik’s apartment, where Stella sits cross-legged on the floor beside his wheelchair. They’re bent over what looks like a board game, Bobik’s face animated as he explains something, hands moving expressively. Stella watches him with rapt attention, nodding and smiling at all the right moments.

The sight stirs something unexpected in my chest. My son and the mother of my unborn daughter, forming a bond that seems to transcend her fractured memory. Bobik hasn’t connected this easily with anyone since his mother died. Even with Diana, who loves him fiercely, there’s always been a reserve. But with Stella, he’s open, animated, unguarded.

I zoom in slightly, studying their interaction. Bobik is demonstrating something with the game pieces, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. Stella laughs at something he says, her head tilting back, exposing the elegant line of her throat. Even through the grainy security footage, her beauty is striking— more so now with the flush of pregnancy softening her features.

Her condition is becoming more noticeable each day. The gentle swell of her belly is visible even through the loose dress she wears. I wonder if Bobik has noticed, if he’s connected the dots. Probably not. For all his brilliance with scientific concepts, he’s still a child in many ways, innocent to the complexities of adult relationships.

Sometimes, I envy him.