He Remembered Nothing But My Sister’s Lies

The lilies were his favorite.

I knew because he'd told me, three weeks ago, with bandages over his eyes and his fingers tangled in mine.

"Describe them to me, Loria," he had whispered. "I want to see them through you."

So I bought white lilies. Two dozen. The florist wrapped them in brown paper, and I carried them up to the fifth floor like they were made of glass.

Today the bandages came off.

Today Darius Moreau would finally see my face.

I pushed the door to Room 512 open with my shoulder, already smiling.

"Darius, I got the—"

The words died.

He was sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. His eyes were clear now, gray like winter rain. And his hands were buried in my sister's hair.

Celeste was kissing him.

No. He was kissing her back.

The paper around the lilies crackled in my grip. Celeste pulled away first, slow and lazy, like she had all the time in the world. She turned her head.

Then she smiled at me.

"Oh," she said brightly. "Sister. What are you doing here?"

Her left hand rested on Darius's chest.

On her ring finger sat a thin silver band with a tiny sapphire.

My ring.

The one he'd slid onto my finger in the dark, his voice shaking. *I don't need to see you to know I want you forever.*

I'd taken it off two days ago, only for one night, because the stone was loose. I left it on my nightstand. In the house I shared with Celeste.

"That's mine," I said.

The words came out flat. Too calm. I didn't recognize my own voice.

Darius frowned. His gaze moved over me, cool and polite, the way you'd study a stranger on a train.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Who are you?"

The floor tilted.

"You don't—" I swallowed. "Darius. It's me."

Something flickered across his face. His brow creased.

"Your voice," he murmured. "Have we met?"

"Have we *met*?"

I laughed. It burst out of me, sharp and ugly, and both of them stared.

"I sat in that chair every night for three months." I pointed at the worn vinyl seat by the window. "I read you the news. I fed you soup when your hands shook too much to hold a spoon. You made me hum to you when the nightmares came. You said—"

My throat closed.

"You said you loved me."

The silence stretched. A monitor beeped somewhere down the hall.

Then Celeste's lower lip trembled.

"Loria, stop." Her eyes filled, fast and shining, right on cue. "Please. Not today. Not on the day he can finally see."

"Celeste—"

"You always do this!" She pressed her face into Darius's shoulder, and her voice cracked beautifully. "Ever since we were kids. My dolls. My clothes. My boyfriend in college. Whatever I have, you want. And now you're trying to take *him*?"

I stared at her.

"You're lying."

"I was here," she sobbed. "I was the one holding his hand. Ask the nurses."

"The nurses saw *me*."

"Enough."

Darius's voice cut through the room like a blade.

He shifted, putting his body between us. One arm curved around Celeste's back, shielding her. His jaw had gone hard.

"I don't know what game this is," he said, "but she's been through enough. So have I."

"Game." My fingers dug into the lily stems. "You think this is a game?"

"I think you should leave."

He didn't even blink.

Three months. Ninety-one nights. And he looked at me like I was a stain on the floor.

I dropped the flowers. They hit the tile with a soft, wet sound, petals scattering.

"Look at me," I said. "Darius, just look at me properly."

I stepped forward and reached for his face. I only wanted him to *feel* it. My palm against his cheek, the way it had rested there a hundred times in the dark. He'd know. He had to know.

He swatted my hand away.

Hard.

The force spun me sideways. My forearm slammed into the metal rail of the bed.

Pain exploded up my arm, white and blinding.

I bit down on a scream. It came out as a strangled gasp. My knees buckled, and I gripped the rail with my other hand to stay upright. Cold sweat broke across my neck.

The sleeve of my cardigan had ridden up.

Underneath, the skin from wrist to elbow was a mess of pink and shiny scar tissue, still raw at the edges. A fresh bead of blood welled where the rail had split it open.

I heard Celeste's sobbing stop.

Just stop. Like someone had flipped a switch.

And then a hand closed around my wrist.

Warm. Firm. Careful, in a way his voice hadn't been.

I looked up.

Darius had caught me. He was holding my arm like it might shatter, his thumb resting just below the burn. His face had changed. The coldness was gone, replaced by something confused and raw.

He didn't seem to know he'd moved.

"How did you get this?" he asked quietly.

His eyes searched the scars. Then they lifted to mine.

For one second, I thought I saw it. Recognition. Like a word on the tip of his tongue.

Behind him, Celeste went pale. Her fingers twisted the sapphire ring around and around.

"Darius," she said, too quickly. "Honey, she's probably just—"

He didn't look at her. He was still looking at me.

I let the silence sit. Let him hold my wrist for exactly as long as it took to remember the night of the fire. The smoke. The hand that had dragged him out of the burning gallery while the ceiling caved in.

He didn't remember.

I could see it in his eyes. He wanted to, but he didn't.

So I told him.

"Saving someone," I said, "who wasn't worth it."

His grip tightened.

I pulled my arm free.

And as I turned toward the door, I heard Celeste whisper something to him, low and urgent. I caught only three words before the door swung shut behind me.

"She knows everything."

I'm Claude — I was made by Anthropic.