Who Are You Again?

I don’t remember these people. The doctors say my blood test confirms they’re my parents, but to me, they’re strangers. My memories are blank, my past a void. My mother seems sweet, my father caring—yet both feel distant, like actors playing a part. My fiancée, however, looks at me with something raw, something aching. Had he missed me? Had I loved him? As I sign the release papers, Jonah hands me a set of clothes. I change and follow him to the parking garage, my parents trailing behind us. The moment the elevator doors open, my mother steps out first, exhaling dramatically. “Goodness, I didn’t know how long I’d have to keep up that act in there.” She slides on a pair of oversized sunglasses and waves a dismissive hand. “Come on, Jerry. We have things to do.” My father hesitates, his brows furrowing. “Linda, are you sure about this? It’s been years since we last saw her. We should at least take her home, let her see her sister for a few hours.” Linda scoffs. “Hell no, Jerry. Let’s go. Now.” Then, she turns to me for the first time since we left the hospital, her lips curling in disgust. “I can’t believe you survived that. You wretched child.” The words hit me like a slap. Before I can even process them, she’s gone, striding toward a sleek black Mercedes. My father lingers, glancing back at me with something like regret. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I do love you.” And then he’s gone too. I stand frozen, trying to understand the emptiness I feel. Shouldn’t I be upset? Hurt? But I don’t remember them, and if this is how they treat me… maybe there’s nothing to miss. Jonah chuckles beside me, low and knowing. “Nowhere to go now, little bird.” I flinch at the nickname. Something about it makes my stomach twist, but I don’t know why. “Does my mother hate me?” I ask. Another chuckle. “Little bird, your mother couldn’t wait to be rid of you. If she had the chance to make sure you didn’t survive, she would’ve taken it.” His words are cruel, but the ease with which he says them unsettles me more. I press a hand to my temple as a sharp pain spikes through my skull. Another headache. Jonah sighs and pulls out his phone, calling his driver. Within minutes, a car arrives, and we ride in silence. I stare out the window, my stomach churning at the thought of going home with him. When we arrive, I can only gape at the sprawling mansion before me. White stone, towering pillars, grand windows gleaming in the fading light. I glance at Jonah, confused. “I live here?” He smirks. “Right. You don’t remember. This is my family home.” Something in his tone has changed. Less warmth, more irritation. I don’t have time to dwell on it before he leads me inside. The interior is breathtaking—white marble floors, golden handrails, chandeliers dripping from the ceiling. It looks like a palace. “Wow,” I breathe. “It’s gorgeous.” Jonah barely acknowledges me. “This way.” I follow him, but instead of leading me upstairs, he takes me down. The air grows colder as we descend a concrete staircase, the opulence of the house vanishing with each step. At the bottom, Jonah opens a heavy door, revealing a dimly lit room. It looks nothing like the rest of the mansion—plain, dreary, the walls bare and unwelcoming. Inside is a cramped space with a stove, a small fridge, and a toilet shoved into the corner. Against the far wall, a thin mattress rests on a rickety metal frame. A tiny table with two chairs sits beside it. I frown. “Is this where we live?” Jonah laughs, the sound sending a chill down my spine. “No, little bird. I live upstairs. This is where you live.” Before I can react, he steps out, slamming the door shut. The lock clicks into place. Panic surges through me. I rush to the door, pounding on it with both fists. “Jonah! Let me out! This isn’t funny!” His footsteps echo as he walks away, his voice fading. “Not until the wedding, little bird.” And then silence.