Chapter 3

The girl slowly woke up.

Her eyes opened to soft light and familiar shapes. The ceiling above her was carved wood, polished and warm, not sterile or cold. The faint scent of lavender hung in the air. The room feels familiar to her somehow.

She blinked once. Then again.

Two figures stood beside the bed.

Her mother leaned forward instantly, eyes wide, breath caught somewhere between fear and relief. Her father stood close, his expression guarded but tense, as though he had been holding himself together for far too long.

“Melanie,” her mother whispered. “Melanie, are you alright?”

The sound of her name anchored her.

“Yes,” Melanie croaked, her throat dry. “I… I think so.”

Her mother let out a shaky breath and pressed a hand to her mouth. “Thank God.”

Her father turned toward the doorway. “She’s awake. Call the doctor.”

“I’m here,” Melanie said weakly, trying to push herself up. Pain shot through her shoulder, forcing her back onto the pillows.

“Don’t move,” her mother said quickly, resting a hand on her arm. “Please.”

Melanie frowned slightly. “Why are you both looking at me like that?”

They exchanged a look.

Her father spoke carefully. “Do you remember what happened?”

She thought for a moment.

“I remember leaving,” she said slowly. “I was supposed to come back in two days. I was packing. I talked to mom before bed. I remember everything before that.”

Her mother’s fingers tightened around hers. “And after?”

Melanie shook her head. “Nothing. There’s just… nothing.”

Relief flickered across her parents’ faces, quickly replaced by concern.

The doctor entered the room moments later, rainwater still clinging to his coat. Alena and Brian stood near the doorway, quiet, watchful.

“How are you feeling?” the doctor asked.

“Sore,” Melanie replied. “Confused.”

“That’s understandable,” he said, checking her pulse and shining a light briefly into her eyes. “You were found unconscious. Your injuries suggest a severe impact.”

“Impact?” she repeated. “From what?”

“That’s what we’re trying to understand,” her father said gently.

Melanie’s brows knit together. “But my flight wasn’t for another two days. How did I even get here?”

No one answered immediately.

Alena stepped forward. “We found you in the forest,” she said carefully. “Alone. Injured.”

“Forest?” Melanie echoed, startled. “Why would I be in a forest?”

Brian shook his head. “That’s what doesn’t make sense.”

The doctor straightened. “Your memory loss seems selective. That’s common after trauma. It may return gradually, or it may not. The important thing is that you’re safe now.”

Melanie leaned back against the pillows, unease settling over her. She knew her parents. She knew her life. Yet the missing hours felt too large to ignore.

Somewhere else, far from the quiet bedroom, awareness lingered.

“She remembers everything,” one presence observed calmly.

“Except what matters,” another replied.

Outside, night pressed against the windows, silent and patient.

And Melanie D’Angelo lay awake, certain of one thing.

Something had happened to her.

Something she wasn’t meant to remember.

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