Page 18 of Evermore

Finn wanted to argue, but Maya's words were hitting targets he hadn't realized were vulnerable.

He had been letting River take the lead on medical research and doctor advocacy.

He had been relying on River's scientific background to legitimize concerns that doctors dismissed when Finn raised them alone.

But that didn't mean his feelings for River were just dependency in disguise. The connection between them felt deeper than caretaking dynamics, more real than trauma bonding over his medical crisis.

“I love him,” Finn said quietly, the admission surprising him with its certainty.

“Not because he takes care of me, but because of who he is.

Because he's passionate about his work and funny in unexpected ways and gentle with things that are broken.

Because when he looks at me, I feel like someone worth loving instead of someone who's falling apart.”

Maya was quiet for a moment, her expression cycling through emotions Finn couldn't identify.

“I know you think you love him. But love that develops this quickly, under these circumstances, needs to be examined carefully. Are you falling for River, or are you falling for the way he makes you feel about yourself?”

“Does it matter?”

“It matters because one is sustainable and the other isn't. If your feelings are based on how he manages your medical crisis, what happens when the crisis resolves? What happens if it gets worse and he can't handle it?”

The questions hung in the air between them, loaded with implications that made Finn's chest tight with panic.

Because Maya wasn't wrong about the timeline being compressed or the circumstances being unusual.

But she was wrong about the depth of what he felt for River, the way their connection seemed to exist independent of his medical symptoms.

“I can't believe you're asking me to choose between my relationship and my family,” Finn said, defensive anger rising to cover his fear.

“I'm not asking you to choose anything. I'm asking you to be careful about making major life decisions while you're dealing with a serious medical condition that affects your judgment and memory.”

“My judgment is fine.”

“Is it? Because you're talking about love after knowing someone for a week.

You're allowing near-strangers to make medical decisions for you.

You're experiencing episodes that suggest significant neurological dysfunction.” Maya's voice rose with frustration and fear.

“None of that suggests your judgment is operating normally.”

Finn felt tears burning behind his eyes, overwhelmed by the combination of his sister's concerns and his own growing terror about what was happening to his mind.

“So what am I supposed to do? Push away the one person who makes me feel human because the timing isn't convenient? Live in isolation because my brain might be falling apart?”

“I'm supposed to watch you repeat Mom's pattern? Watch you get confused and lost and forget who you are?” Maya's voice cracked with emotion she'd been trying to contain. “I can't go through that again, Finn. I can't watch someone else I love disappear gradually while I stand by helplessly.”

The raw fear in her voice stopped Finn's defensive anger cold.

Maya had been his caretaker during their mother's illness, had managed medical appointments and insurance claims and the slow erosion of their family's normalcy.

She'd put her own life on hold to handle their mother's needs, and now she was watching him develop symptoms that might require the same sacrifice.

“Maya,” Finn said softly, moving toward her with hands that wanted to offer comfort. “I'm not Mom. Whatever's happening to me, it's not the same thing that happened to her.”

“You don't know that. Memory loss, confusion, behavioral changes—those were all her early symptoms too.” Maya wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to regain composure.

“And you're making the same mistakes she made, isolating yourself from family while depending on someone who might not stick around when things get difficult.”

“River isn't going anywhere.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

Finn wanted to explain about the recognition he felt when he looked at River, the way their connection seemed to transcend normal relationship timelines, the sense that they'd been looking for each other without knowing it.

But explaining supernatural certainty to someone trained in psychology would only reinforce Maya's concerns about his judgment being compromised.

“I know because I trust him,” Finn said finally. “I trust what I feel when I'm with him, and I trust that he feels the same way.”

Maya studied his face with the careful attention she'd learned during their mother's illness, looking for signs of delusion or wishful thinking. “And if you're wrong? If he leaves when your condition gets worse or the novelty wears off? What then?”

“Then I'll deal with it. But I'm not going to push him away because of possibilities that might not happen.”

Maya was quiet for a long moment, clearly struggling with wanting to protect him while respecting his autonomy. “I'm setting up an appointment with a neurologist in Boston,” she said finally. “Someone who specializes in early-onset memory disorders. Will you go?”

“Yes.”

“And will you consider slowing things down with River until we have more information about what you're dealing with?”

Finn felt his chest tighten with the impossibility of that request. Slowing things down with River felt like asking him to stop breathing, like cutting off the one source of stability and joy he'd found since his mother's death.

“I'll consider it,” he said, the lie coming easier than he'd expected.

Maya nodded, clearly recognizing the non-commitment but accepting it as the best she was going to get. “I'm worried about you, Finn. Not just medically, but emotionally. You're making decisions that could affect the rest of your life based on feelings that developed under unusual circumstances.”

“I know you're worried. But I need you to trust that I'm capable of making my own choices, even if they're not the choices you'd make.”

After Maya left, Finn spent the evening alone in his apartment, surrounded by evidence of knowledge he couldn't remember acquiring and haunted by his sister's warnings about moving too fast with River.

He tried to focus on reading, on normal activities that might ground him in familiar routines, but his mind kept circling back to the impossible restoration work and the marine biology notes that suggested he'd been living a life he couldn't remember.

As night settled over Beacon Point and the lighthouse beam began its rotation, Finn's emotional turmoil reached a breaking point.

The familiar disorientation began creeping in around the edges of his consciousness, but this episode felt different from the beginning—more gradual but also more pervasive.

Instead of the sudden confusion that usually marked his episodes, reality seemed to be shifting subtly around him, like looking at the world through water that was slowly becoming more turbulent.

The walls of his apartment appeared to shimmer slightly when he wasn't looking directly at them. Books seemed to rearrange themselves on shelves just outside his direct vision. The lighting in the room shifted in ways that had nothing to do with the darkness gathering outside his windows.

Finn rubbed his eyes, thinking fatigue or stress might be affecting his perception, but the subtle wrongness persisted. Everything looked almost exactly as it should, but with tiny details that didn't match his memory of how things were supposed to be.

The coffee mug on his side table was a different color—still ceramic, still the right size and shape, but blue instead of the green he remembered buying specifically because it reminded him of sea glass.

When he picked it up to examine it more closely, it felt exactly right in his hands, perfectly familiar despite the color change.

“Okay, this is new,” Finn muttered, setting the mug down and looking around his living room for other subtle alterations.

The framed photograph on his bookshelf showed the same scene—him and Maya at last year's harvest festival—but Maya was wearing a red sweater instead of the blue one he distinctly remembered her buying specifically for the occasion.

In the photo, she looked exactly like herself, happy and relaxed, but the wrong sweater made the entire image feel like it belonged to someone else's memories.

Panic started building in Finn's chest as he noticed more small changes.

The pattern on his throw pillows was slightly different, the same general design but with details that didn't match what he remembered choosing.

A book on his coffee table had a different cover design, though the title and author were exactly right.

Everything was wrong, but only by degrees. Like someone had taken his apartment and made tiny adjustments that preserved the overall feel while changing specific details that only he would notice.

His phone trembled in his hands as he dialed River's number, desperation overriding embarrassment about calling for help with something that sounded completely insane.

“Finn?” River's voice was warm with concern, probably because Finn rarely called this late. “Everything okay?”

“I need you to come over,” Finn said, his voice shaking with fear he couldn't control. “Something's happening to my apartment. Things are changing, but they're not changing, and I can't tell what's real anymore.”

“I'm on my way,” River said immediately, without asking for details or demanding explanations. “Stay on the phone with me until I get there.”