Chapter 2

The hospital room was sterile, the beeping of machines a counterpoint to my racing heart.

Mark lay in the bed, bandages on his head, looking convincingly injured.

Eleanor and Jessica were there, playing their parts.

Jessica dabbed her eyes, leaning on Eleanor, who looked sternly at Mark, then at me with a flicker of her usual disdain.

Then, the doctors announced it.

"Mr. Reinhart's recovery is remarkable, but there's significant memory loss. He might not recognize anyone."

It was the perfect setup.

A few days later, "David" was scheduled to be discharged, though the world believed Mark was recovering from his "critical injuries" and David was dead.

The day arrived. I stood at the entrance of our large home, the one Mark had built with my family's money.

Emily clutched my hand, her small face anxious.

A car pulled up.

Jessica helped him out. Mark.

He looked around, a practiced confusion on his face.

His eyes met mine.

For a split second, I saw a flicker, a recognition he quickly masked with a bewildered stare.

"Clara?" he said, his voice carefully hesitant, addressing me as if I were David's wife.

No, he was "David" now. He was addressing me as his dead brother's widow.

This was it. The moment.

My second chance.

I felt the old fear, the memory of powerlessness, but I pushed it down.

I had to play my part too.

"David," I said, my voice trembling, but not with grief for Mark, rather with the weight of this charade. "You're alive."

Jessica rushed forward. "Oh, David, thank God! You don't remember anything?"

Mark, playing David, shook his head slowly. "It's all... a blank. The doctors said... Mark... my brother..."

Eleanor stepped in, her arm around "David." "Yes, son. Mark is gone. It was a terrible accident."

Her eyes dared me to contradict.

I wouldn't. Not yet.

"It's a miracle you survived, David," I said, forcing tears. "We thought we'd lost you both."

Emily looked from me to Mark, her brow furrowed. "Mommy, why is Uncle David here? Where's Daddy?"

Before Mark could answer, I knelt. "Sweetheart, Daddy... Daddy is in heaven now. This is Uncle David. He was hurt too, but he's okay."

The lie tasted like ash in my mouth.

Mark watched me, his expression unreadable beneath the facade of amnesia.

He was assessing me, I knew it. Checking if I bought the act.

I had to be convincing.

My survival, Emily' s survival, depended on it.

The game had begun.