The wind screams through the broken window of my old apartment, papers swirling like ghosts. I shouldn’t be here—this place was sold months after they locked me away. But I had to see it. Had to prove I lived here before they called me crazy.\n\nMy fingers tremble as I pry up the loose floorboard beneath the bed. Dust coats the metal box inside. My breath catches. Inside: ultrasound photos, a tiny hospital bracelet engraved with 'Skylar Rose,' and a note in my handwriting—'They’re lying. She’s alive. Don’t trust Dr. Vance.'\n\nA floorboard creaks behind me.\n\nI freeze.\n\nSomeone’s been living here since I left. Fresh clothes hang in the closet. A man’s coat. Familiar cologne.\n\nAaron’s cologne.\n\nHe knows I was here. Or worse—he never left.