Page 111 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

“The word I’d use to describe my marriage is ‘boring.’”

My Angry Birds level was absurdly high.

You didn’t achieve that without profound, soul-crushing boredom.

“I was talking about your accident,” she clarified, her voice sharpening. “And the amnesia.”

I shook my head and turned to face her.

“Felicity talks too much.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t blame her. My tears are a potent weapon.”

Her gaze sobered, the mischief draining just enough from her face for something more searching to take its place. “So it’s true? You really don’t remember the last three years?”

I gave her a thin, knowing smile. “Why? Did we have some tearful reconciliation during the years I’m missing?”

She nodded. There was a sly little glint in her eye. “Yes, actually. And I believe the word ‘love’ was thrown around here and there.”

I straightened, my expression flat. “I’ve decided the last three years were one prolonged head injury. I’ve finally recovered, so I’d appreciate it if you forgot everything I did or said during that unfortunate period.”

She shook her head, a smirk tugging at her mouth. “Well, it’s good to see you alive. And your personality, regrettably, intact.”

She turned toward the door.

“Mother.”

She pivoted back, a perfect, practiced smile already in place. “Yes, daughter?”

I mirrored her smile, sweet and lethal. “Leave the key.”

Her smile vanished.

With a dramatic roll of her eyes, she dug into her purse and slapped a single key onto the counter. “There. Happy?”

She turned again, a little quicker this time.

“And all the backups you made.”

She stopped.

Her eyes narrowed. Then, with the reluctant resignation of someone being forced to surrender classified information, she fished two more keys from the depths of her purse.

“I don’t have any more.”

I kept my smile in place. “The one in your hair, too.”

She stared at me. Then, with an exasperated huff, she reached up and unpinned the final key from her bun.

“Of course.” She dropped it onto the counter with the others. “I can never hide anything from you, can I?”

You hid yourself from me for more than half my life.

She turned to leave. I let her hand settle on the cool metal of the doorknob before I spoke.

“About Cassian.”

She paused, turning only halfway. “What about him?”