Chapter 2

Mike stopped short in the doorway of the living room.

The house was... clean. Spotless, even.

Sunlight, something he hadn' t realized he' d missed in here, streamed through the freshly washed windows, illuminating dust-free surfaces.

He saw Sarah emerge from the bedroom, hesitant, wearing his old grey undershirt and black PT shorts.

His eyes flickered over her. She looked... different. Cleaner. Younger, almost.

A strange discomfort settled in his gut. He pushed it away.

"What's all this?" he asked, his voice still cold, gesturing vaguely at the transformed room.

Sarah flinched, clutching the hem of his too-large shirt.

"I... I cleaned," she said softly. "I wanted to... make things nice."

She was afraid he' d leave again, retreat further into his anger.

She took a tentative step towards him.

"Mike, I know I' ve made a mess of things. A huge mess. But I' m not that person anymore. The fog... it' s gone. I remember everything."

He stared at her, his expression unreadable for a moment.

Then his eyes narrowed. "Your appearance has changed, I'll give you that."

He walked past her, into the kitchen, and opened the refrigerator. It was clean too, and surprisingly stocked with fresh groceries he didn't remember buying.

He turned back to her. "Don't think a clean house and a shower are going to change my mind, Sarah."

His voice was flat, devoid of hope. "Get out of my clothes. And stay out of my bedroom."

Hurt flashed in her eyes. She reached out, her fingers brushing his arm.

"Please, Mike. Just listen to me. I can explain. The TBI..."

He flinched away from her touch as if burned.

"TBI this, TBI that. I'm tired of the excuses, Sarah. You' ve always got an explanation, a reason. You' re just... you."

He meant it as an insult, a summary of all her perceived flaws.

She recoiled, her hand dropping to her side.

His words, his deep-seated mistrust, were like a physical barrier between them.

She knew her behavior post-TBI had been erratic, but she hadn't understood the extent until her mind cleared.

And she hadn't understood how much Brenda had been poisoning things.

Her stomach growled, a loud, embarrassing rumble in the tense silence.

She flushed, mortified. She hadn't eaten all day.

Mike' s lips twisted into a cynical sneer.

"Hungry? Need money for food now that you've spent the day cleaning instead of... whatever it is you usually do?"

It was a cruel jab, referencing the times during her TBI when she' d forgotten to eat, or spent grocery money on nonsensical things, sometimes at Brenda' s "suggestion."

"No, I..." she started, but he was already turning away.

"I have to get back to the base. We'll talk about the papers tonight."

The door slammed again, leaving her alone in the suddenly too-clean, too-empty house.

Tears pricked her eyes. This was harder than she thought. He was so deeply entrenched in his negative perception of her.

She felt a pang of regret. If only she had "woken up" sooner, before he' d reached this point of utter disgust.

A knock on the door made her jump.

Brenda Hayes stood on the doorstep, a sickly sweet smile plastered on her face.

"Sarah, honey, I just came to check on you. Mike looked so upset at the PX. Are you alright?"

Brenda' s eyes scanned Sarah' s appearance, lingering on Mike' s clothes. A flicker of something ugly – jealousy? – crossed her face before the concerned mask was back in place.

"Oh, you poor thing. Still wearing his old things? Doesn't he buy you anything nice anymore?"

Sarah, her mind now sharp, saw through Brenda's feigned concern.

This woman was no friend. She was a viper.

Sarah stepped aside, a cold smile touching her own lips. "Come in, Brenda. If you' re so concerned."

Brenda sauntered in, her eyes immediately cataloging the clean house.

"Well, look at you. Playing Suzy Homemaker today?"

Sarah ignored the barb. "You know, Brenda, my memory has been surprisingly good lately."

Brenda' s smile faltered slightly. "Oh? That' s... nice."

"Yes," Sarah continued, her voice dangerously soft. "I remember all sorts of things. Like all those times you 'helped' me. Loaning me money I don't recall asking for, for things I don't remember needing."

She remembered Brenda encouraging her to buy expensive, useless items, "suggesting" she invest in shady schemes.

Sarah crossed her arms. "I also remember you telling Mike how 'flighty' and 'irresponsible' I was becoming. Funny how often you were around right before I did something 'foolish'."

Brenda' s face paled. "I... I was just trying to be a good friend, Sarah. You were going through a lot."

"Were you, Brenda?" Sarah' s voice was like ice. "Or were you trying to make sure Mike got tired of me?"

She took a step closer. "You always did have a thing for him, didn't you? Even back in high school."

Brenda' s composure cracked. "You' re delusional! Just like always!"

"Am I?" Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Get out of my house, Brenda. And stay away from me and my husband."

For the first time, Brenda looked genuinely unnerved. She saw a new strength in Sarah, a clarity that hadn't been there before.

She backed away, stammering, "You'll regret this, Sarah. Mike will see you for what you are."

"He already thinks he does," Sarah said quietly as Brenda practically fled. "My job is to show him the truth."

But as the door closed on Brenda' s retreating figure, a sudden, cold wave of unease washed over Sarah.

Brenda wouldn't give up that easily.

A moment later, a loud, official-sounding knock echoed through the house.

Sarah opened it to find a stern-faced man in a civilian business suit.

"Sarah Miller?"

"Yes?"

"I'm here from Consolidated Credit. We need to discuss your outstanding debts. Several accounts are severely delinquent. We're talking thousands of dollars, ma'am. If arrangements aren't made immediately, we'll have to pursue legal action."

Sarah stared at him, her blood running cold. Thousands?

Brenda's "helpful suggestions" had been more damaging than she'd ever imagined.