Away From the Dark (The Light #2)(6)

For the first time since I could recall, I knew the woman in the mirror. I knew me.

The colorful paper taped to my childhood desk hadn’t read Sara.

The S was still there, but the rest of the name was different.

I knew my own soft blue eyes and blonde hair.

I recalled its length and the way it used to flow over my shoulders.

Though I met my own gaze for only a millisecond, I also saw my own panic—not only that, I felt it. In the pit of my stomach I knew that what I’d just experienced hadn’t been a nightmare. It was my reality—my past, the one I’d thought was forever gone.

At the realization, my muscles lost their ability to grip. Water splashed about the vanity and onto the mirror as the cup I’d held fell to the base of the sink. No longer capable of supporting my weight, my knees buckled and I slid to the floor.

“Oh my God! Is this real? It can’t be.” I spoke to the empty bathroom. “Jacob? The accident. It didn’t happen. Did it?” I longed for him to make it right, to take it all away.

Acid bubbled from the depths of my stomach. The dinner I’d eaten long ago refused to stay down. My nightgown clung to my moistened skin and I lunged for the toilet. Like an old film reel, the scenes continued to play behind my tear-dampened eyes: the accident, my awakening, my crash course as an Assemblyman’s wife, our temporary banishment, my reminders . . . nearly a year of my life—of Sara’s life. Everything within me ached as my body convulsed. Over and over I heaved, purging all I’d known, been told to believe, told to remember—all the lies.

When the running water finally registered, I stood, rinsed my mouth, and splashed my face again. This time, as I stared at the woman in the mirror—at myself—the terror I’d seen was gone, replaced by betrayal. Hurt and anguish washed over me, crashing down, drenching my body, soul, and mind.

I tried to fight it, to argue with myself. If only Jacob were here to help me understand.

Turning off the water, I slid back down the wall and settled on the cool tile. Hugging my knees to my chest, with tears coating my cheeks, I re-created the timeline that was supposed to remain forever lost.

For the first time in nearly a year, I could answer Jacob’s question—I knew.

“I am Stella Montgomery!” My verbal declaration reverberated against the walls as my heart ached.

It had to be real.

Lies! I’d been fed lie after lie. And like the ice chips after my awakening, I’d accepted each and every one.

Sobs replaced my voice as I fought to make sense of what had happened. Nothing made sense. All the people I held dear—my husband, friends, sisters, and brothers—were all a sham.

Lifting my left hand, through blurry vision, I stared at the simple gold band. I wasn’t Sara Adams, nor was I married. My chest ached as my heart begged me to be wrong, to believe the life I’d lived was mine, but I couldn’t.

I am Stella Montgomery, an investigative journalist for WCJB in Detroit.

I knew that was true.

I had a career and a life, with a real family and friends. I recalled blue eyes—piercing blue eyes. I had a boyfriend named Dylan, Dylan Richards, who was a detective.

My breathing hitched at my internal monologue warning me not to question. It wasn’t my place. As a woman, I needed to accept. I should pray to Father Gabriel and confess to Jacob.

The hell with that!

Questioning was what I did—what I had done. It was part of my job. No wonder this had been so difficult.

Holding the walls for support, I walked back to our bedroom.

Our bedroom.

Again I hugged myself as my now-empty stomach twisted. Jacob and I weren’t really married. I wasn’t against premarital sex; memories of me with Dylan confirmed that. But as I stared at the bed where I’d made love with my husband, a new question surfaced.

Have I been raped?

I shook my head. No. Despite the lies at every turn, my heart confirmed that I hadn’t. Never had Jacob forced himself on me, but then again, were the lies he’d fed me any better?

Had he? Did he know the truth?

I couldn’t think about that . . .

Shit! The nausea. What if I’m pregnant with his child?

I didn’t even know his name. Mine wasn’t Sara; maybe his wasn’t Jacob. I couldn’t have the baby of a man whose name I didn’t know. Pulling my robe tightly around me, I looked at the clock—nearly four in the morning.

With the whirlwind in my head, I knew I’d never be able to fall back to sleep. Instead I slowly walked through our quiet apartment, taking in everything anew as I passed down the short hallway, through the living room, and into the kitchen. With the drapes opened, even at this early hour, the summer’s perpetual sunlight allowed me to see our world. Everything around me was my past, the only one I’d thought I’d ever have, the one Jacob and I had created together, the one that only a few hours ago had held the potential for a promising future.

No longer.

Deceit tarnished everything, everywhere I looked.

My hands trembled as I stood and turned slowly, mindlessly, around and around. Everything was wrong. I was surrounded by lies.

How had it happened? Why had it happened? Who had done this to me?

I grasped at a shred of hope.

Perhaps Jacob was disillusioned too. Maybe he believed we were truly married. Could we both be victims?

I wandered to the table and sat, not sure which of my thoughts to believe.