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I awake with a gasp and glance around. I'm in my room at Philippe's. I'm safe. This was just another nightmare, nothing more.
Is it possible those fragmented memories are real? Was my biological mother murdered? This dream, I've had it so often, but in a different manner. There's always been smoke and fire. But tonight, I dreamt of a gun.
My therapist told me memories can be suppressed or imagined. Children create stories in their heads to make sense of a reality they can’t comprehend. My adoptive parents never knew what had happened to my biological ones.
Perhaps this is just a story in my head, a murder I created to make myself feel better as to why she had to leave me, why I had to be adopted.
I bury my face in the pillow as fresh tears fall. There are so many unanswered questions and so much pain and uncertainty around her death. Where is my father? Where is the uncle who gave me up?
Perhaps some things are better left unknown.
Yet I can't silence the desperate longing inside, the need to uncover the truth not just for my own sake but for hers. If there is even the slightest chance that what I dreamt is true, she deserves justice.
Swiping the tears away, I rise with new conviction. I must find out what happened that night. Whatever darkness lurks in my past, I will confront it. I owe that much to the mother I lost.
The first rays of dawn glow through the curtains. A new day is dawning. And with it, new hope of finally learning the truth. I glance at the photo of my mother in my locket. I promise I will get the truth, for you.
Philippe stirs beside me, his arm draped lightly across my waist. I slip out from under it carefully, not wanting to wake him. He must have snuck in early to check up on me.
I like waking up next to him. I remind myself to make sure I tell him that.
Padding to the window, I gaze out at the beautiful garden. My mind races with questions about my mother's death. Who can I turn to for answers? The obvious choice is my uncle, the one who supposedly became my guardian after she died.
But can I find him? Perhaps at our house, if I can confront the unthinkable horror, I could search through my parents’ things. What if they have a way to contact him but never shared it with me?
"Good morning,amore mio," Philippe murmurs behind me. I turn to see him propped up on one elbow, hair endearingly mussed from sleep.
"Morning," I reply with a small smile.
He studies me with those piercing blue eyes. "You seem troubled. What is it?"
"You snuck in," I ignore the question.
"I missed you."
I hesitate. He's so wonderful, so honest. Philippe knows that I'm adopted, but not about the hazy circumstances that lead to it, and that makes me feel guilty.
"Just...thinking about my biological mother," I say finally. It's not a lie. "I'd like to get out today and clear my head."
Philippe frowns slightly but doesn’t pry further. "Of course. I'm happy to take you anywhere you want to go."
His easy acceptance soothes me. I sit on the edge of the bed, leaning over to kiss him. "Thank you for understanding," I whisper. "But I'd like to go alone. May I?"
"Ma dopo la sparatoria,"– But after the shooting – he frowns.
"Sarò al sicuro," – I'll be safe.
He caresses my cheek. "An entire guard unit will have to come with you, and I'd need you to wear a bulletproof vest at all times."
I smile with relief. "Thank you, my love."
"Principessa," he comes closer, taking me into his arms.
Philippe insists on picking out my security detail himself. I stand by him while he instructs a dozen men on the plan of action for the fourth time.
"Philippe," I mutter under my breath. "They've got the idea."
He looks at me. I can see the worry lines forming a permanent home between his eyes. "Trust me," I whisper while observing his men: loyal, brave, committed. "Trust them."
