The memory returns on a quiet Thursday evening, exactly one week after I found the red notebook.
I'm not doing anything special—just sitting on the balcony with Lucas, watching the city lights emerge one by one, the way we've done hundreds of times before. The ficus glows in the study behind us. Sophie and Kevin have gone home after another chaotic dinner. The penthouse is quiet except for the distant hum of traffic and the soft whisper of the smart home system.
I'm holding the notebook in my lap. I've been reading it obsessively since I found it, tracing the old Vivian's words like a map back to myself. Some of it is familiar now—the fragments have been filling in the gaps, connecting sensations to emotions, emotions to memories. But there's still one piece missing. One crucial piece.
The night I fell. The night everything changed.
