Your father’s garage.
The tattoo.
But each time he got close to remembering everything, his family tightened control around him.
Doctors changed. Caregivers replaced.
Information disappeared.
“I tried to run once,” he admitted. “Maybe twice.”
“And?”
“They found me.”
Eventually they told him I had moved on.
That I had married someone else.
“So I stopped fighting,” he said quietly.
Silence filled the kitchen.
I looked down at the old scar on his arm.
“Your mother still thinks she controls you.”
He nodded.
“She does.”
But something had changed recently.
His father died.
And with him went the last piece of control keeping Gabriel trapped inside the identity his mother had built for him.
Elias.
That’s when Gabriel found the documents.
Medical records.
Old correspondence.
Evidence.
And he came here.
To me.
Because he needed someone who remembered who he used to be.
The next morning we were standing at the mailbox when a sleek black sedan pulled up.
Camille stepped out.
Gabriel’s mother.
Her smile was polished and perfect, just like it had always been.
“Elias,” she said loudly. “I just came to check on you.”
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