Chapter 2 – Proof I Can’t Deny
1211 Words
(Adrian’s POV)
The room felt smaller today. Tighter. Like the walls had inched closer through the night while I slept. The same machines blinked and hummed. The same harsh sunlight bled through the blinds. The same sterile, suffocating smell clung to the air.
Nothing had changed.
Except me.
Or maybe… the lie I was living was finally cracking.
The door clicked open. Soft steps. Controlled breathing. And before I even looked, my pulse reacted—too fast, too aware.
Eva.
She walked in holding the same folder as yesterday, but today… her posture was different. Not desperate. Not timid. Something steadier. Like she’d spent the night reminding herself she had a right to be here. A right to fight for whatever life we supposedly shared.
She stopped beside my bed, clutching the folder like armor.
“Morning,” she whispered, voice warm, cautious. “I brought… everything.”
Everything.
The word sounded like a weight.
I wasn’t ready for “everything.”
I barely remembered my own name most mornings.
But something in my chest tightened when she looked at me—an involuntary pull I didn’t invite.
“I don’t trust you,” I said before she could speak. It came out sharper, colder, more vicious than I intended.
Her lips parted, but she didn’t look away. “I know.”
And somehow… that hurt.
The honesty of it. The acceptance. Like she’d already prepared herself for the worst version of me.
She opened the folder slowly, like she was afraid the truth might spill out too fast and drown me.
“I know you don’t remember, Adrian,” she murmured. “But this…”
Her fingers brushed the top sheet. “This is us.”
Us.
The word punched through my ribs.
I leaned back against the pillows, arms crossed tightly. A barrier. A shield. “You expect me to wake up from a coma and—what? Believe I’m married? To a woman I’ve never seen before?”
Her throat bobbed. Eyes glistening but determined. “Yes. Because it’s true. And I can prove it.”
She turned the first page.
And I forgot how to breathe.
Photographs. Dozens of them.
Me—laughing, smiling, relaxed in ways I didn’t recognize.
Her—beside me, touching me, leaning into me like I was home.
Us—at sunsets, airports, beaches, rooftops. Eyes locked. Hands entwined.
My pulse stuttered hard.
I tore my gaze away. “Fake,” I snapped. “Photoshop. Anyone can—”
“They’re dated,” she cut in gently. “Timestamped. Pulled from your phone. The metadata’s intact. Nothing is edited.”
My jaw tightened.
She wasn’t stupid. She came prepared.
Eva spread more across my lap. Wedding invitations. Receipts with both our names. Bank accounts showing joint signatures. Hotel bookings. Plane tickets. Handwritten notes.
Evidence piling up like a slow-motion avalanche.
“You traveled with me to Santorini last July,” she said softly. “You surprised me with this picture.”
She pointed to one—the two of us wrapped in a blanket, wind in our hair, my forehead pressed to hers.
My chest constricted painfully.
I didn’t remember the trip.
I didn’t remember the moment.
But the expression on my face—soft, unguarded, painfully real—said I lived it.
I shook my head. “You could’ve forged—”
“I didn’t,” she whispered. “If I wanted to lie to you, I wouldn’t bring proof that can be verified.”
Then came the videos.
She held up her phone and pressed play.
My voice filled the room. Laughing. Teasing. Whispering her name like it meant something sacred.
I swallowed hard. My vision blurred at the edges.
“What… what is this?” I rasped.
“Your life,” she whispered. “Our life.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to force a memory—anything—to break through the fog.
But there was nothing.
Only a hollow ache deep in my chest, like the ghost of a life I lost.
A sharp knock shattered the moment.
My mother walked in.
Victoria Cole.
Polished. Cold. Perfectly lethal.
Her smile was thin. “I hope she’s not bothering you too much.”
Eva didn’t turn. “He deserves the truth.”
“And you deserve a restraining order,” Victoria replied calmly.
My stomach twisted. Their voices felt like two sides of a war I didn’t remember signing up for.
“She’s lying to you, Adrian,” Victoria said smoothly, stepping closer. “Grief-stricken young women do desperate things. Don’t be manipulated.”
Eva finally faced her. Not afraid. Not shaken. “I loved him long before your approval mattered.”
Victoria’s eyes narrowed. “You never had it.”
A silence fell—sharp, thick, electric.
I couldn’t breathe.
“Get out,” I muttered.
They both looked at me.
I stared at the folder. At my own face smiling back at me like a stranger.
“Both of you,” I said louder. “I can’t— I need to think.”
But Eva stepped closer instead.
And the moment she touched my hand—just barely—something inside me snapped awake. A jolt. A spark. Heat bleeding through my skin like recognition.
I ripped my hand away instantly.
“I don’t trust anyone!”
Her breath hitched, but she didn’t look away. “Then don’t trust me,” she whispered. “Trust yourself.”
She nudged the folder slightly.
An envelope slipped out.
My name.
My handwriting.
My blood froze.
I reached for it without thinking.
Inside were letters. Dozens. All written by me.
Lines filled with confessions, raw emotions I didn’t even know I was capable of writing.
“I miss you.”
“You’re the only thing that feels real.”
“I’m terrified of losing you.”
My throat closed.
I didn’t remember writing them.
But the handwriting was mine.
The tone was mine.
The desperation was mine.
A photograph fluttered loose, settling against my thigh.
Us again—on a cliff side, ocean roaring behind us. My arms wrapped around her waist. Her hands on my shoulders. Our foreheads touching.
But this one… this one had something else.
A shadow.
A figure lurking in the distance.
Watching us.
My mother.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
Victoria’s voice slid through the tension like ice.
“You see? This is why she’s dangerous. She twists things. Distracts you. You’re vulnerable, Adrian. She knows that.”
Eva didn’t look away from me.
Not once.
“I’m not here to twist anything,” she whispered. “I’m here because you asked me to stay. Because you loved me. Because you chose me.”
Her eyes glistened once more—but she didn’t cry.
Not today.
And somehow… that hurt more.
I looked between the two women.
One controlling.
One desperate.
One familiar in all the wrong ways.
One familiar in ways my mind couldn’t remember but my body couldn’t deny.
My head pounded.
Thoughts spiraled.
Everything blurred.
I didn’t know who to trust.
But the truth?
The truth was even worse:
A part of me already wanted to believe her.
And that…
that terrified me more than forgetting everything ever could.
- Writer
