We talked about my mother.
The accident.
Sex.
The man I used to be.
The man I believed Reid deserved.
The man I was becoming.
She asked me once whether I thought memory was the only proof a life had happened.
I said no.
Then spent a week deciding whether I believed myself.
No new memories came.
At first, each quiet week disappointed me.
Then the disappointment softened.
I still wanted what was missing.
I simply stopped making the present wait outside until the past returned.
The scans remained stable.
Dr. Whitcomb reduced appointments to every other week.
Maeve moved to one home visit.
Priya assigned exercises I could complete without threatening her professionally.
The crew vehicle arrived near the end of October.
Dark blue.
Reinforced cargo partition.
Automatic emergency alert.
Cameras.
Restraints bolted through the frame.
Two front seats and a second row.
I helped design the storage from the office.
I did not drive it.
Not yet.
Reid took me through the controls with the engine off.
That was enough.
