Chapter 6

"You were never his dependent, Maeve," Dr. Hayes said, sliding a thin manila folder across the quiet clinic desk.

I sat on the edge of the sofa, looking down at my own hands resting on my lap. My knuckles were calloused, my fingertips rough and marked with faint, faded scars.

They felt like stranger's hands.

"Then who was I before the crash?" I asked, my voice tight, hollowed out by the suffocating weight of three missing years.

Dr. Hayes opened the folder, revealing a single large, high-gloss photograph from four years ago.

In the picture, I stood in heavy canvas…