My Missing Day

Some memories fade. Mine were taken.

Everyone remembers the fire.

Except me.

Two doors down, a house burned. My husband remembers it. My cousin remembers it. Even the girl who lived there remembers me-giving clothes, running errands, laughing like I was part of that day.

But I don't. Not the fire. Not the smoke. Not the fear.

Every time I try to remember, my head pounds. Every question I ask gets dodged. Every detail I probe disappears.

The truth is worse than forgetting.

The fire wasn't the beginning.
It was the cover-up.

And someone-my own mother-has been carefully shaping what I can and cannot remember for years.

Now, the pieces are resurfacing.
And when they do... nothing in my life will feel safe, real, or mine again.

Some memories were never meant to be found.
But I'm going to find mine, no matter the cost.