Chapter 2

The next morning, I started making plans.

Phoenix. A new city, a new life.

I called a moving company, got a quote.

I emailed my landlord, giving my notice.

It felt decisive. Clean.

I needed to pick up some specialty baking supplies for a final small order I had.

The Portland Farmers Market was bustling. The smell of fresh produce and flowers filled the air.

I was looking at a stall of organic berries when I heard a familiar voice.

Not familiar to me, but familiar from the voicemails.

Ethan Cole.

He stood a few feet away, talking to a vendor.

He was handsome, I had to admit. Tall, dark hair, dressed in expensive casual clothes.

With him was a woman.

She was striking. Chic black dress, sunglasses perched on her head, an air of effortless European style.

This must be Isabella Rossi. Bella.

Ethan turned, his eyes landing on me.

He didn't smile. His expression was cold, almost hostile.

"Amy," he said, his voice flat.

He clearly expected a reaction from me, some sign of the devotion Chloe described.

I just looked at him. A stranger.

"Hello," I said, my voice polite, detached.

His brow furrowed slightly. Puzzled.

Bella looked me up and down, a small, knowing smirk on her lips.

"Amelia, isn't it?" she said, her voice smooth, with a faint Italian accent. "Ethan has told me so much about you."

The way she said it felt condescending.

"It's Amy," I corrected, still polite.

Ethan stepped forward, a proprietary hand on Bella's arm.

"We're sourcing ingredients for Cole's Provisions," he announced, as if I cared. "Bella is bringing some incredible new ideas from Tuscany."

He emphasized "Bella," then looked at me, a challenging glint in his eyes.

I just nodded. "That's nice."

What else was I supposed to say to these people I didn't know, who apparently knew a version of me I couldn't remember?

My phone buzzed. A reminder. Doctor's appointment. Follow-up for the concussion.

"Excuse me," I said. "I have to go."

I turned and walked away.

I didn't look back, but I could feel Ethan's eyes on me.

He must have been surprised.

The old Amy, Chloe said, would have lingered, tried to talk to him, her heart aching.

This new Amy just felt... nothing. Relief, even, to be walking away.

Later that afternoon, I went to a quiet park to read.

I needed the peace.

"Fancy meeting you here."

I looked up. Isabella Rossi.

She was dressed in yoga pants and a tank top, looking like she'd just finished a run.

Coincidence? Or was she following me?

"Hello again," I said, my voice neutral.

This felt strange. Uncomfortable.