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She watched as Roy processed her words, mouth pressed together, thoughtful. “So you two are fighting then.”

“Not exactly. We’re mostly not talking about it,” she said. “I told him I wanted to unlock our spare room this morning and—well, he wasn’t a fan of that idea. I’m guessing that’s where he’s now hiding all the research he won’t give up. Plus, he’s still fixating on that whole thing about not overwhelming me with too much information at once. But he can’t possibly believe that’s still a real concern. I mean, it’s been months. There’s nothing left to overwhelm me with.” Molly swallowed through the frustration tensing her jaw.

Roy said nothing, and that felt too close to contradiction for Molly’s taste.

“I’ve had no issues being overwhelmed. I think we’re solidly past that now. I’ve been very understanding of his caution, all things considered. I’ve tried to see it as coming from a place of good intentions. But it’s an entire room in my apartment kept locked from me. That’s—it’s—if it wasn’t him, I’d be screaming about red flags.”

Roy seemed at a loss. “I don’t even know how to speculate what he’s thinking.”

“If I can’t remember my old life, I want to live my new one,” she said, fighting against the tightness in her throat. “That’s how I move on. That’s how we finally move forward.”

“But if Aster is still worried that it will hurt you, or thinks more research might help—”

“Aster doesn’t get to make decisions about my health. My life,” Molly insisted. Her tone wavered between indignant and biting.

Despite her shortness, Roy scoffed.

“He made all kinds of decisions about your health when you were unconscious in the hospital. That’s part of the job when you’re married to someone, you know.” There was a seriousness to his tone that caught Molly off guard. She knew he wasn’t wrong. But that didn’t make it right.

“Roy, if my memories aren’t coming back, it’s—I can survive without them.” Her control over her voice was slipping. “But I don’t want to feel like we’re all still hedging our bets or expecting anything different.”

The look of pity that flashed across Roy’s face made Molly want to crawl under her desk and hide. She clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms, in attempt to stave off a sting of frustrated tears. Her throat tightened, desperate to make him understand, to make Aster understand, to make them all understand that she was tired. So, so tired of feeling like a placeholder in her own life.

Roy stood and walked around her desk, pulling her into a hug against his chest as he stood beside her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, holding her the way he had in all the worst moments in Molly’s life. After her mom had died. When boarding school had tried to break her. When her dad had moved across the country while she’d still been a teenager.

Molly realized they were at an impasse, his apology encompassing many things. That she was hurting. That he couldn’t help. That she’d ended up in this position to begin with.

Roy pulled back, hands resting on her shoulders. “He’ll come around.”

She met his gaze, grateful for the lifelong constancy of his presence, his comfort.

He gave her shoulders a squeeze, then turned to leave. But when he reached the door, he paused, knocking at the frame a few times as if debating something with himself.

Before he spoke, an unexpected smile broke across his face.

“If some good news would help,” he started. “Alannah thought I could be a messenger for something else today too.” He looked at Molly with a flash of pure joy behind his eyes. “She’s pregnant. We’re having a third.”

Roy’s departure—after much squealing and hugging and a brief video call with Alannah—left Molly feeling unmoored in a way she hadn’t since her first few wavering weeks without her memories, when everything was too new, too unusual, too much. She’d been fighting yet another headache all day, and it finally barged through her defenses, buzzing bright behind her temples.

Unwelcome emotion battered her bones, turned her stomach. She didn’t know how to parse the intensity of her physical feelings from her actual emotions: something like joy or longing or jealousy all flitting between her head and heart.

After another unsuccessful hour of work, Molly gave up on her spreadsheets and returned home. If she couldn’t solve her spare room problems, she at least wanted to have a good vent about it. Ideally with a sympathetic audience. Molly hoped that since Roy was headed home after their chat, that meant there was a possibility she could steal Alannah for sulking, snacking, and a whole lot of congratulating.

She shot off a text and sank down on the blue brocade sofa, wrung out. Several minutes later, she remembered she’d meant to grab something for her headache and went in search of some ibuprofen, feeling hazy. She rummaged through her kitchen drawers with agitation, annoyance, anger. Her hands shook with it.

A hesitant series of knocks interrupted her mid-medication dry swallow, the last two pills in the container.

Molly paused and tilted her head. It felt like she’d just messaged Alannah, but a glance at the clock said that more than enough time had passed for her to make the trip over.

“Just let me use my key.”

“We’ve talked about this, Eli,” came Alannah’s patient voice.

“Told you the boundaries conversation sucked.”

Molly swung the door open to find Alannah, Eli, and Justine standing frozen on the other side. Eli still had a hand raised.