The Stranger in the Mirror(41)

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t like the way you looked in pictures. You would say you looked ugly or fat. After a while you started throwing pictures away, even defacing some.”

I feel my insides curl. The woman he’s describing sounds insane.

“Defacing?”

“Putting an X on your face.”

What the hell? “So there is no wedding album? No other photos?”

He stands up and goes upstairs, returning a few minutes later. He hands me a framed eleven-by-thirteen photo of the two of us standing together, his arm around me. “This was the only one I got to in time. I had it framed and hid it. I’ve had it on my dresser since you’ve been gone.” He hands it to me as he sits down beside me.

I look at the photo again, zeroing in on the pearl necklace. I remember that necklace. My mother’s. It was the only thing I had left of hers. My hand goes to my neck.

“The pearls. My mother’s?”

He gives me an encouraging smile. “Yes. You’re remembering.”

I don’t have a visual memory, but now, looking at the pearls, I remember that I wore my mother’s pearls to my wedding. I look at him. “The psychiatrists told me that if I could find my way back home, being in familiar surroundings might help me remember. I thought they were just giving me false hope, but maybe they were right.”

Feeling the excitement build in me, I screw up the courage to ask him the one question I still desperately need an answer to. “Julian, why did I try to kill myself?”

He sighs. “Are you sure you want to get into that right now? Maybe try to acclimate to everything first?”

I shake my head. “I need to know.”

He crosses one leg over the other and presses his lips together. “You’ve had your ups and downs over the years. As I told you, when we met, you were in therapy. You were in an abusive marriage.”

I look at him in astonishment. “What? I was married before?”





??35??

Addison




Julian’s expression is somber. “Yes, you were married for five years. Your husband was not a good man, Cassandra. He was mentally and physically abusive.” He gives me a long look, and I see pity in his eyes. “It happens sometimes. You’d been abused in foster care, and it was what you knew. But you got better. By the time you and I got married, you had put all of that behind you and wanted to start fresh.”

A feeling of panic washes over me. I’m not sure I really want to know all the answers just yet. I press on anyway. “Where is my ex-husband?” I suddenly wonder if this ex-husband had something to do with my memory loss. Maybe he came after me.

He waves a hand. “He left town years ago, thankfully. I have no idea where he is now, but I’m just grateful he got out of your life and left you alone.”

I had a husband before Julian? It seems impossible, as if I’m listening to a story of someone else’s life. Is my ex-husband the violent faceless person who comes into my mind in flashes that feel like a vicious invasion?

“We wanted to start a family, but your medical history was an impediment. You’d had several miscarriages during your first marriage, and it was determined that you had an incompetent uterus.” He leans in and gives me a sympathetic look. “Are you sure you want to hear all of this now?”

My nails are digging into my hands, and I lick my upper lip, tasting the salty perspiration that has formed there. The word incompetent rings in my head like a braying taunt. An incompetent brain. An incompetent uterus. Can my body do anything right? “Yes, go on.”

“That’s why we hired a surrogate to carry Valentina.”

I lean back. I think of Gabriel’s insistence that I ask for a DNA test. “It was my egg, right? Not the surrogate’s?”

His eyes widen in surprise, and he cocks his head. “Yes. We used your egg and my sperm. But you were very jealous of the woman who carried her. Began to believe I was in love with her. That we were plotting against you. That’s when you started on medication.”

My mind is going in a million different directions, and I can’t keep up with the images bombarding me. I’m imagining another husband somewhere, a blank face, a woman carrying my child. It’s too much. I put a hand up. “Please, stop. You’re right. I need some time to process this.” I put my head in my hands, trying to stem the nausea I feel. After a few deep breaths I look at Julian again. “Does the surrogate have contact with Valentina?”

He raises his chin and gives me a look that scares me. “No.”

“Where is she?”

He stands and walks to the window. “This isn’t doing you any good right now. Let’s take things one step at a time.” He turns to look at me. “I’m going to ask Valentina’s nanny Lucy to keep her a few days more. I think it’s too soon to bring her home. You need a little more time.”

I look down at my hands, clasped together in my lap. Without raising my eyes, I say, “What happened to the surrogate, Julian?”

He continues to stare out the window. “When you’re ready. I promise I’ll tell you everything when you’re ready.”

I think about this. “What if I’m never ready?”

He walks back to where I’m sitting and stoops in front of me, placing a hand on my knee. “I think it would be better if you could try to remember on your own rather than my telling you everything. Sometimes hypnosis helps. When you feel ready, we can try that.”