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墨書 Inktalez
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"Nothing," he replied too quickly. "I was just thinking about how amazing you are." He leaned down and kissed my forehead. "Go take a shower and relax. I'll take Lily back to her own bed."
As Mark picked up the sleeping Lily, she mumbled something in her dreams. I leaned closer to hear, but only caught fragmented phrases: "...different...eyes...mom's secret..."
My heart raced. What secret? What could I possibly have as a secret that I didn't even know about?
Mark seemed oblivious to my unease, or perhaps he chose to ignore it. He gently carried Lily out of the room, leaving me standing alone in the center of the bedroom, surrounded by countless questions.
In the shower, the hot water washed over my weary body but couldn't cleanse the anxiety from my mind. I closed my eyes, trying to sort through my thoughts. Lily's dream, my headaches, those occasional memory blanks, and the strange feeling of being watched lately—was there some connection between them?
As I dried off and put on my pajamas, the mirror in the bedroom caught my attention. I approached it and examined myself closely: damp brown hair clung to my cheeks, dark circles under my eyes were evident, and my lips were tightly pressed—a clear sign of work-related stress. But as I leaned in closer, I noticed something odd: a nearly imperceptible speck in the iris of my left eye that I had never seen before.
Just as I was about to inspect it further, Mark returned to the bedroom.
"Lily is settled," he said. "Has your pain medication kicked in yet?"
I nodded, shifting my gaze from the mirror. "Much better, thanks." I crawled into bed as Mark lay down beside me and turned off the bedside lamp.
In the darkness, his hand found mine, warm and reassuring. "Tomorrow is your big day—the showcase, right? Don't worry; everything will go smoothly."
"I hope so," I replied softly, then hesitated for a moment. "Mark, have you noticed anything... unusual about Lily's recent drawings?"
The bed shifted slightly; Mark seemed to turn toward me in the dark. "What do you mean?"
"I mean... are there any particular characters or scenes that seem special?"
A brief silence followed.
"I haven't really paid attention," Mark finally answered calmly. "She has always loved drawing our family and her giraffe toy. Why?"
"Nothing," I said quickly. "Maybe I'm just overthinking it."
Mark gently squeezed my hand. "Don't worry too much, dear. You need your rest. Tomorrow is an important day."
"Yeah," I responded, feeling myself being pulled toward the edge of sleep. But just as consciousness began to blur, a thought flashed clearly through my mind:
If your perfect life were just a carefully constructed lie, would you want to know the truth?
I woke up in an unfamiliar room.
After a moment of panic, I recognized it as our bedroom—the furniture we had carefully chosen five years ago, photos from our honeymoon in New Zealand hanging on the walls, and the curtains that were a birthday gift I had given Mark last year. Everything felt so familiar, yet why did I feel like I was in a strange place at that first moment of morning sunlight?
Mark was already up; only the warmth of his body remained on his side of the bed. The clock read 7:15—half an hour later than my usual wake-up time. I sat up abruptly; today was the showcase for the memory restoration project—I couldn't be late.
As I descended the stairs, the aroma of scrambled eggs and coffee mingled together, guiding me to the kitchen. Mark stood by the stove, while Lily sat at the breakfast table, intently doodling on a piece of paper. Seeing her golden head and serious expression eased my anxiety from the night before.
"Good morning, my little artist," I said with a smile as I kissed her forehead. "What are you so engrossed in drawing?"
Lily looked up, her blue eyes—an inheritance from Mark—sparkling with excitement. "Mommy!" she exclaimed joyfully, then covered her drawing with her arms. "It's a secret; it's not finished yet."
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