Aria's POV
I called Sophie three times before my hands stopped shaking enough to hold the phone steady.
"Please pick up," I whispered into the empty kitchen. "Please, please, please."
Lily was singing to her dolls in the living room, totally unaware that her mother was falling apart six feet away.
"Aria?" Sophie's voice burst through the speaker, sharp with worry. "What's wrong? You sound like you're dying."
"I need you." My voice cracked. "Can you come over? Right now?"
"I'm already grabbing my keys."
That was Sophie. My best friend since Kira died. The only person who knew all my lies and loved me anyway. The nurse who worked double shifts at the hospital but always found time when I needed her.
Fifteen minutes later, she burst through my door like a storm, her black hair still in a messy bun from work. She took one look at my face and pulled me into a hug so tight I could barely breathe.
"Talk to me," she said.
I gave her the postcard.
Sophie stared at it for a long moment. Then she looked at the photo on my phone. Her face went pale.
"No," she said flatly. "Absolutely not. This is not happening."
"That's her handwriting, Sophie. Nobody else writes like that."
"Aria, honey." Sophie grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to meet her eyes. "Kira is dead. We went to her funeral together. You held my hand while they buried her."
"Then explain this!" I shoved the phone at her again. "That's today's newspaper! That's her scar!"
Sophie studied the shot more carefully, her nurse brain clicking into analytical mode. "Could be faked. Could be someone who looks like her. Could be—"
"Marcus," I finished bitterly. "You think it's Marcus."
"Don't you?" Sophie's eyes blazed with protective rage. "That guy has the custody hearing in two weeks. He's been trying to show you're unstable for years. What better way than to make you think your dead best friend is alive?"
The words hit me like cold water. Because she was right. It made horrible, perfect sense.
Marcus was a master at playing mind games. During our marriage, he'd told me I was forgetting things, losing time, going crazy. He'd hidden my car keys and then looked concerned when I couldn't find them. He'd told me about talks we never had until I doubted my own memory.
This was exactly something he would do.
"I'm going to the police," Sophie declared. "This is abuse. Stalking. They'll—"
"No!" I grabbed her arm. "No cops. If I go to them talking about notes from my dead friend, Marcus will use it in court. He'll say I'm crazy. He'll take Lily."
Sophie's face softened with pain because she knew I was right. The custody arrangement was already humiliating—supervised visits only, based on Marcus's claims about my "mental health issues." One bad move and I'd lose my daughter forever.
"Then what do we do?" Sophie asked quietly.
"I don't know." I sank into a chair, suddenly tired. "I just... I don't know."
"Mommy?" Lily emerged in the doorway, clutching her stuffed rabbit. "I'm hungry. Can Aunt Sophie stay for dinner?"
"Of course, princess." Sophie's whole face changed into a smile. "In fact, I'm making my famous spaghetti. Go wash your hands."
As Lily skipped away, Sophie grabbed my hand. "We're going to figure this out. Together. Like always."
We made dinner side by side, falling into our familiar routine. Sophie chopped veggies while I boiled pasta. She made Lily laugh with silly sounds. She didn't mention the postcard again until Lily was involved in her cartoon.
"Have you gotten any other weird messages?" Sophie asked in a low voice. "Anything strange happening lately?"
I thought back over the past few weeks. "My coffee was cold yesterday morning, but I could've sworn I just made it. And I keep feeling like someone's watching me at work. But that's probably just worry."
"Or Marcus has someone following you." Sophie's jaw clenched. "That man is a psychopath."
"He's Lily's father."
"He's a monster who put you in the hospital."
The memory flashed through my mind—Marcus's hand around my throat, his voice so calm as he explained why I earned it. I'd fallen down the stairs, he told the doctors. So awkward, his poor wife.
I pushed the thought away. "The custody case is in two weeks. I just need to hold it together until then."
"And if more letters show up? More photos?"
"Then I ignore them." I tried to sound strong. "I'm not letting him break me again."
But later that night, after Sophie left and Lily was asleep, I couldn't stop looking at the postcard. I'd hidden it in my nightstand drawer, but it called to me like a voice in the dark.
I pulled it out at midnight, following Kira's handwriting with one finger.
"I never left. Come find me."
What if Sophie was wrong? What if this wasn't Marcus?
What if Kira really was alive, and I was the only one who could save her?
My phone buzzed. Another message from the unknown number.
This time it was a video.
My finger hovered over the play button. Every rational part of my brain screamed not to watch it. This was a trap. A game. Marcus messing with my head.
But I pressed play anyway.
The video was dark and grainy. A figure moved in the shadows of what looked like a basement. As she stepped into the dim light, my heart stopped.
Kira.
Older, thinner, terrified. But unmistakably Kira.
She looked directly into the camera, her green eyes wide with fear.
"Aria," she whispered. "He's been lying to you. About everything. About the fire. About that night. About what you did."
My blood turned to ice.
"You were there," Kira continued, her voice shaking. "You were there when it happened, and he made you forget. But I remember everything."
The video cut to black.
A new message appeared:
"You have three days to find me. Or he'll make sure nobody ever does."
My phone slipped from my numb fingers.
What did she mean I was there? There where? The night of the fire?
But I wasn't there. I was home with Marcus. I remembered... didn't I?
Suddenly, I wasn't sure what I remembered anymore.