“Well, I guess this proves who I am. So can you tell me what happened the day I disappeared?”
He clears his throat. “I came home from the hospital, and the front door was wide open. It was around seven, and already dark outside. Your purse and phone were sitting on the console table, but you were gone.”
“Was there a sign of a struggle, anything out of place?” Ed asks.
Julian shakes his head. “No, and none of the neighbors saw anything. Of course, our house is pretty secluded. But the detective on the case questioned everyone in the area, and there were no witnesses. It was like you simply vanished.”
It makes no sense to me. “Maybe I let someone in, and they kidnapped me? Then I got away? I still don’t understand why I don’t remember, though.”
“We’ve been trying to figure out what happened for two years. But there is something you should know.” He sighs. “You were on medication for depression and anxiety.”
“What?” I say.
“I don’t want to overwhelm you with too much at once, but you didn’t have the easiest childhood. There was a lot of . . . trauma.”
Trauma? That’s the first thing I’m hearing that makes sense to me. I can feel it in my body, and I know I’ve been through something terrible. It also explains the things that come back to me and scare me so. “Tell me. I need to know. You don’t have to sugarcoat it for me.”
Julian pauses a moment, looking at each of us. “Your parents were killed in a car accident when you were twelve. You had no other family, and so you were put into foster care. You were moved around quite a bit, and unfortunately you suffered abuse in some of the homes. You were working on it in therapy when I met you.”
“Is that why I . . .” I look down at my wrists.
“It’s not an easy question to answer, but you battled depression as a result of your past. I thought you had it under control, but after Valentina was born, it got a hold of you again. That’s when you—” He stopped and expelled a deep breath. “Do you really want to get into that right now?”
I’m relieved that he’s given me an out. I’d rather hear about this one-on-one. “No, I’d rather not, actually. Maybe I can speak to my therapist about it all . . . assuming he or she is still available?”
“Yes. I was also going to suggest that you try to do some hypnosis work to try and recover your memories. It’s worked for you before,” he tells me. “You had suppressed certain childhood memories—understandably, of course.”
The thought fills me with equal parts hope and dread. Recovering my past, being a real person and filling in all the blanks, is something I’d started to lose hope of ever happening. But I’m filled with dread as I realize that those memories will come with untold measures of grief over those I’ve lost and what I’ve endured.
“Why did she have plastic surgery?” Gigi asks. “Was she in an accident?”
He nods. “A car crash. She drove into a concrete wall. Her face was badly damaged.”
I am stunned into silence. The picture that’s forming in my mind of Cassandra, of me, is scaring me. “How did it happen?”
Julian hesitates. “We have time to go into all of it.”
I feel sick to my stomach. “Did I do it on purpose? Are you saying that I hurt myself more than once?” I push my sleeves up and expose my arms, challenging him.
“Yes, but we got you help.”
“What in the world did you see in me?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Julian looks taken aback. “What do you mean?”
I stand up, my face warm from the anger surging through me. “I sound like a basket case. Depressed, anxious, unstable. Two suicide attempts! Did I have any redeeming qualities?”
“Addy!” Gigi interjects.
I look at her. “Well, seriously. What am I supposed to think?”
“Of course you have redeeming qualities. You’re the most loving and tender person I’ve ever met. You care deeply about others. You’re a wonderful mother, and you take amazing care of me and our daughter,” Julian says.
I don’t know whether or not I believe him. “What do I like to do? Do I have any hobbies?”
He nods. “You love to cook, and read, and you’re a terrific photographer. But you know that already.” He rises, taking a tentative step toward me, and extends his hand. “Could I just give you a hug?”
His eyes are so plaintive that I can’t say no. I move toward him and let him put his arms around me. His touch is gentle, and as the scent of sandalwood wafts over me, a feeling of familiarity stuns me. I close my eyes. I know this cologne. I have another flash of kissing someone, his hands tangled in my hair, and mine running through his blond locks. I’m dizzy again, feeling a buzzing in my ears. It’s too much information at once. I pull away and fall back onto the chair, putting my head between my knees.