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“No, Penny,” I say evenly. “You were not.”
She clutches the sides of her head and screws her eyes shut as if she’s trying to lock the world out. Her beautiful face contorts with anguish.
I gently touch her arm the way I’d approach a frightened animal. “Penny—”
“Stop calling me that,” she whispers. “That’s not my name.”
Intense confusion washes over me like a tidal wave. I search her eyes, looking for the happy, confident, playful woman who was here just a few minutes ago. “What’s going on?”
She jumps off the bench and begins to pace frantically in a small circle. Round and round. When I can’t stand to watch anymore, I grab her and pull her to me, holding her arms at her sides.
“Penny, tell me what’s wrong.”
Her eyes are manic, shifting back and forth in their sockets. “I’m not Penny. I’m Brianna. Can’t you see me? I’m Brianna.” She lets out a sob that makes my heart drop. “I don’t want to be the other one anymore. You promised we’d be together forever. We promised eternity. But now you keep saying someday. We’re married, for God’s sake!” The despair in her voice escalates with every word.
I drop her arms as if they’d just burst into flames. I feel like I’ve been thrust into a Twilight Zone episode. “What the hell are you even saying?” I demand. “Why are you acting like this?”
“I’m not acting like anything. I just want you to believe me.” Frustration pitches her voice even higher.
Deep in my heart, where grief still lingers and ignores logic, I want to believe her. But what she’s saying is impossible. I’d be crazy to even consider such a thing could be true.
“You are not Brianna.”
She stares at me defiantly. “Yes, I am. You know I am. You can feel it. You’ve always felt it.”
I slam my fist onto the workbench, sending the antique silverware flying. She’s tearing me apart, slicing open old wounds, twisting reality and fantasy into a pretzel. Pain shoots through my chest like shrapnel. I can’t breathe.
“Why are you doing this?” Desperation thickens my voice. “Why are you trying to hurt me? You know you’re ripping my fucking heart out acting like this.”
Tears shimmer in her eyes. “I’d never hurt you. I love you, Alex. I just want our life back,” she chokes out on a sob, swiping her tears with her palms. “I don’t want to wait anymore. I—”
I put my hands up between us and step back. “I don’t know what’s happening to you. I thought things were good between us. I thought we were on the same page. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. But you have to stop with this Brianna shit. It’s killing me.”
“I can’t stop,” she persists tearfully. “Don’t you remember? You asked me to come back. You wished for it! Why do you think I’m here? I exist for you. To love you. To finish our life together like we were supposed to.”
Her teary eyes stay riveted on mine, and my blood goes ice cold as realization floods through my veins. She’s telling the truth. Or at least, her truth. She believes every word she’s saying. It’s undeniable, clear as crystal, in the heartbreaking sincerity of her voice. In the quiver of her chin. In her shaky breaths. In every tear that’s spilling down her cheeks.
Penny. Doesn’t. Lie.
Penny always tells me the truth, even if it’s largely unbelievable, like her memory pictures. I promised her a long time ago I would always believe her. And while I know what she’s saying can’t be true, I believe that she believes it.
My heart feels like it’s being obliterated in a trash compactor. I can only think of one logical explanation for Penny’s strange behavior over the years. Her mother even hinted at it when Penny was little. She must have a mild mental illness, something that makes her believe in fantasies and dreams. Something that made her want to be the love of my life. Not as herself, but as someone who was here first.
I may have even unknowingly contributed to it. I built up a fairy tale in her mind by sharing so much of my life with Brianna. Penny has always had such an open, vivid imagination—especially when she was younger. Maybe she subconsciously inserted herself in the role of my wife, envisioning herself as Bri, and brainwashed herself into truly believing she was her. Tonight we were closer emotionally and physically than we’ve ever been. I’m no doctor, but it seems like the emotional overload of it all triggered her, causing her to spiral.
And now I don’t know what’s real. I don’t know if she knows what’s real. I’m terrified of harming her even more than I may already have.
Swallowing hard over the knot in my throat, I say, “I think we should go inside and call your mother, Penny. I’m really worried about you, and I don’t know what to do to help you. You’re not thinking straight. Maybe if you talk to your mom, or go home for a few days, you’ll feel better.”
