The first thing Lena did was lock the nursery door.
The second was turn to Alex with a look he had never seen on her face before.
Not fear.
Not heartbreak.
Calculation.
“You knew,” she said quietly.
He didn’t answer immediately.
He was still holding the newspaper clipping, the paper slightly crumpled in his fist. His knuckles were white.
“I suspected,” he corrected.
“That I’m your dead wife?”
The words were acid.
His jaw tightened. “You are not her.”
“But I look like her.”
“Yes.”
“And I lose my memory five years ago. The same night she ‘dies’ here.”
His silence felt like confirmation.
The clock ticked again.
Too loud.
Too steady.
“You brought me into this house because I look like her,” Lena continued. “You kept me here because you thought it meant something. Fate. Redem
