Chapter 4
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Charley’s gaze stayed locked on Nolan, his expression tense and guarded, as if ready for a fight.
His words were aimed at me, sharp and biting. “I’ve told you–I’m not your brother. Stop calling me that!”
I walked past him, straight up to Nolan.
At first glance, he looked just as composed as when he’d left the house earlier. Impeccably dressed, calm.
But his shoes were soaked through, and there were streaks of mud on the cuffs of his black pants.
The night I fell into the river, when a passerby pulled me out, I looked just like that–wet, filthy, cold.
Maybe… Nolan had gone to the riverbank too.
But in the end, he came back.
He went to the mall. He bought the fish he promised me.
I reached out and took the bag from his hand.
Then I looked at him and said quietly, “Let’s go home, Nolan.”
A flicker passed through his eyes–something barely visible, but there. A tremble beneath the surface.
Before he could say anything, Charley exploded.
“Erma, are you out of your mind?”
I looked at him, confused. “He’s my brother. You know that, don’t you?”
His face went dark with anger, lips pressed in a hard line. But for a long second, he couldn’t say a word.
As I took Nolan’s arm and turned to leave, Charley caught up and blocked our path, fuming.
“You’ve been gone all afternoon.
“Erma, don’t tell me you’re seriously going home with this man?
“He’s a complete stranger! Are you crazy? You’re not even thinking about your safety!”
My throat üightened. I couldn’t get a word out.
He sounded so concerned–like he wasn’t the same person who, just hours ago, seemed almost thrilled at the idea of me losing my memory, eager to sever all ties.
As he saw me silent, his temper slipped further out of control.
He reached out and grabbed Nolan by the collar.
“This is kidnapping! I could call the police right now!”
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Nolan didn’t flinch.
He met Charley’s glare without so much as blinking and replied evenly, “She’s an adult.”
Charley’s fury only deepened. His grip tightened.
I panicked, terrified he might shove Nolan.
He looked so deathly pale, so fragile–like even a gust of wind could knock him over.
I shoved Charley hard. “Let go of him!”
By now, people around us had started to stare.
Charley had always cared about appearances. After a few tense seconds, jaw tight with frustration, he finally let go- reluctantly, and with no small amount of bitterness.
Charley kept his eyes locked on Nolan, a mocking smile tugging at his lips.
“She says you’re her brother? Great.
“Then tell me this–do you even know her name?”
“Erma,” I answered without hesitation.
Charley’s expression twisted in anger. “I was asking him! Who said you could answer?
“Keep pretending, Erma!
“You and I both know–he doesn’t even know your name!”
I stayed calm. “You should really get your head checked.”
Then Nolan and I turned and walked away.
Behind us, Charley let out a bitter, scornful laugh, his voice echoing after us.
“You think pretending you’ve lost your memory erases what you did? That it’ll wipe away the fact you killed Mom and Dad? That you can just keep living in peace, like none of it ever happened?”
I instinctively quickened my pace.
Eventually, I stopped listening altogether.
By the time we left the mall, I was practically running.
We got to the curb and caught a cab home.
Well–not home. His home.
1 sat in the backseat, my mind filled with words I’d heard over and over again for years.
“Erma, you killed them…” “Why are you still alive…” “It should’ve been you…”
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Beside me, a tissue appeared–wordlessly offered.
That was when I realized I was crying.
I took it, and through tear–blurred vision, turned to look at the man next to me.
“I regret it too,” I said.
He was quiet for a moment before replying, gently, “Yeah.”
I almost laughed.
“Yeah“? What was that supposed to mean?
He didn’t know what I meant. How could he? He was just a stranger–someone I’d only met that day.
And yet, the tears wouldn’t stop.
That simple “Yeah” sounded exactly like something Charley might’ve said.
It felt like–after seven years–he was finally willing to listen.
I wiped at my face clumsily, soaking the tissue through.
Without a word, Nolan handed me another.
He didn’t ask why I was crying. Didn’t ask if I remembered. Didn’t ask whether I was faking or not.
He didn’t ask anything.
He just sat there–silent.
And I cried until I was too tired to keep going. Eventually, I leaned back against the seat and drifted off to sleep.
In my dream, my mother gently stroked my head and said, “Erma, don’t cry. Let Mom go teach your brother a lesson, okay?”
