Prologue
/Nicholas/
A year later...
London... The gray, dreary city welcomed me as it always does. Raindrops drummed against my umbrella, an icy wind bit at my face, and the sour expression on my brother’s face only fueled the anger and frustration simmering inside me. One glance at Thomas was enough to confirm we were at another dead end. Another failure, another setback, another defeat. My personal catastrophe.
It’s been a long time since I remembered everything, but my attempts to reclaim my old life have come to nothing. And with each passing day, things only get worse.
Guilt gnaws at me from the inside, doubts torment my soul, and memories have turned me into an unhinged mess, lashing out at anyone who crosses my path. Is it even worth talking about? Every now and then, thoughts of ending this miserable existence creep into my mind. Only one thing holds me back—the desperate need to find Sasha and hold my child in my arms. “God, I can’t go a single day without thinking about them! Not an hour passes without me asking myself: ‘Who did Alya give birth to?’, ‘How is she managing on her own?’, ‘What does my child look like?’ And ‘Are they okay?’ Or maybe they’re better off without me?” My life has plunged into complete darkness, split into ‘before’ and ‘after’ meeting Sasha.
“You’re late!” my brother scolded as he opened the car door for me.
“What does it matter? You didn’t find out anything anyway!” I shot back in frustration, sliding into the front seat after folding my umbrella and tossing it onto the floor mat. I slammed the door shut with a huff and pulled my phone from my coat pocket. Turning it on, I saw a dozen missed calls and texts. “To hell with everyone!” I muttered to myself, switching it off again and shoving it back into my pocket. “I’ll deal with work later.”
Meanwhile, Thomas walked around to the driver’s side and settled behind the wheel. Since the accident, I rarely drive. For now, I prefer having someone else take the wheel. It’s purely for the safety of others—and myself. Every time I sit behind the steering wheel, I still see that concrete wall I crashed into. “Even though it’s been a year...”
“Look, I’ve apologized a hundred times for what I did. Can you stop rubbing it in every chance you get?” Deep down, I knew he had a point, but I still couldn’t forgive him. Though, to his credit, Thomas has been trying to help me search for Alexandra and my child. “Damn it! It’s so hard to think about them and not know if they’re okay!”
“Sorry. You know I’ve been a mess lately...” In the first few months after regaining my memory, I was more confident in myself and my abilities. I genuinely believed I could track down Alya in a matter of days and convince her to come back to me. Unfortunately, life is unpredictable—I not only failed to uncover her whereabouts, but it feels like I’ve lost her for good. Alexandra Voropayeva—gone. Literally. According to the information Thomas and Theo managed to gather, it’s as if she no longer exists. No records, no reports, no trace of her—not even a death certificate. It’s like she never was. Slowly, my hope of finding her fades and dies. And it’s driving me insane. “I think she just doesn’t want me to find them.”
“Well... bro... I’d feel the same if I were in her shoes. You know that.” Thomas’s words didn’t help, even if they were true. “Your wedding to Margot was splashed across every media outlet imaginable. Do you think she didn’t come across some magazine or news clip?”
“You know I had no choice!” I snapped. I’m well aware that my problems are the result of my own reckless decisions, but how long does he have to keep dragging me through the mud? “I don’t think I need to remind you ‘why’ or ‘for what’ I married Margarita,” I said, shooting him a reproachful look before turning away. I couldn’t take it anymore.
The entire drive to the hotel passed in silence. Thomas focused on the road while I leaned back in the passenger seat, staring out the window at the city. People, buildings, and streets drifted by, one blending into the next. I didn’t try to take them in or commit them to memory; I just gazed at a world drowning in raindrops. Just like my soul, submerged in an ocean of bitter tears.
“Enough moping, Nick! Beating yourself up won’t help you find them!” Tom said, echoing my own thoughts.
“I know, bro. I know, and I understand perfectly, but there’s always that ‘but.’ I can’t forgive myself for letting her slip away,” I admitted. “Maybe if I knew where they were, if I knew Alya and the child were safe, I wouldn’t feel this anxious, this sick inside. The thought that she has to hide because of me—alone with a baby in her arms—terrifies me.” Emotions overpowered reason once again, and I slammed my fist against the door panel in anger, nearly breaking it. “Damn this messed-up world! Where could she be hiding? Without connections or money? Why haven’t we found her yet?”
“Nicholas, calm down! Your panic attacks and outbursts aren’t helping. Don’t make me call your therapist again,” Thomas said, shifting from a friendly tone to a more authoritative one. “And by the way, are you still taking your meds?”
“What, you think I’m crazy?” I shot back, feeling a rush of blood to my face. “I’m not swallowing that garbage anymore. I’ve had enough!” Maybe I should’ve lied, but he’d find out eventually. I stopped taking the pills two or three months ago. Those so-called harmless sedatives made me drowsy all the time. I was basically a vegetable: eat, sleep, sleep, eat.
“I didn’t say that. But you know the stress you’ve been through still affects your behavior. Your psychogenic amnesia wasn’t caused by the accident—it was your mental state. Post-traumatic stress disorder isn’t just for soldiers or victims of physical or sexual abuse; it can happen to anyone who’s experienced a severe emotional shock.”
“Good Lord, Thomas, you sound like Frederick. Cut it out. One shrink is enough,” I grumbled. I won’t deny that losing Alexandra was a blow, but not to the point of turning me into a complete nutcase. Of course, my love for her, this distance, and the uncertainty are killing me bit by bit, but they haven’t stripped away my ability to think straight.
“Maybe it’s not that simple, since you still refuse to talk about it properly,” Thomas said calmly, almost as if he was deliberately trying to rile me up further. “You know, someone with PTSD often avoids conversations tied to their trauma, denies their fears and emotions, and suppresses any feelings connected to the events that caused their breakdown.”
“Listen, maybe you should switch careers. Ever thought about it?” I snapped.
“See? Even now, you’re dodging the obvious by cracking jokes.”
“What am I denying? I talk about Alexandra all the time! I think about her constantly, I’m searching for her!” I protested, gesturing wildly in front of me.
“Nick, come on, you’re a grown man. Don’t make me spell out the obvious.”
“Meaning?” I asked, glaring at my brother. I knew even before landing in London that this weekend wouldn’t be the happiest of my life, but I didn’t expect this.
“Alya isn’t the cause of your trauma—it’s the breakup. The fact that she gave up, walked away, abandoned your love. You’re still angry with her.” He kept digging, not just into my mind but into my heart, as if he had nothing better to do.
“You’re wrong...” I said, though my voice lacked conviction, as if I was trying to convince myself more than him.
“I know I’m right. And you know it too.” Suddenly, Thomas pulled the car over, turned off the engine, and faced me. “Nick, you need to continue treatment. Otherwise, it’s only going to get worse. Just imagine what could happen when you finally find Sasha. You might lose it.”
“No, that’s not true. I’d never hurt her,” I said, irritated and angered by his words. I couldn’t understand why he doubted me.
“She’s tied to the awful event that triggered your breakdown. Seeing her could act as a catalyst for another episode. Of course, it wouldn’t be intentional—she’s not your enemy. But the risk is there. And you can’t put yourself, her, or especially your child in danger.” Thomas reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a familiar pack of antidepressants. “Here, take these.” He handed me the box, patted my shoulder, then turned and stepped out of the car.
Tom got out, but I stayed seated, motionless, clutching the pack of pills with dark thoughts swirling in my head. I replayed the last few months of my life, recalling every breakdown, every foul mood, every fleeting urge to end my suffering. Yes, I’ve thought about suicide. Even if just for a moment, the thought was there. Of course, it’s mostly tied to the nightmares that still haunt me.
“Damn it!” I cursed under my breath, mentally slapping myself. “Maybe I do need to call Dr. Nolan again. If I don’t want to lose my mind before I get the chance to hold my baby!”