They say everyone has core memories—the moments that shape us, the ones we never forget.
For as long as I can remember, every single one of mine has had Zane in it.
Every laugh. Every late-night drive. Every whispered promise.
Everything worth remembering was only worth it because he was there.
But now, as I sit alone in my closed bakery, staring at the faint outline of dried blood on my palm, I wonder—what happens when the person tied to all your memories becomes the one thing you want to forget?
What happens when the moments that once felt like home now feel like a trap?
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the memories away. But they come anyway.
Zane’s voice, warm and teasing. His hands are steady on the steering wheel as he drives us through the city at night. The way he used to loo
