Lena.
Julian’s memories did not stop at the blue-tiled kitchen.
Once that first older fragment broke through, others began following it in uneven waves, as if the door he had opened refused to close cleanly. The next day brought three more pieces before noon, none of them connected to Helen or the last seven months. All of them belonged to the life he had lived with Claire and a much younger Oliver.
They were sitting in the living room again when the second one hit.
Julian had been holding a glass of water, half-listening to Ava describe the layout of the old college apartment to Helen, when his hand tightened around the glass hard enough to make the water tremble.
“I remember a birthday,” he said suddenly.
Everyone turned.
“Not a recent one.” His eyes were unfocused, fixed on somet
