For the first time since arriving at Wilson House, Ruth woke up without immediately wondering where she was.
The enormous mural above her bed still looked unfamiliar. The expensive curtains, the ornate furniture, and the luxurious walk-in closet still appeared to belong to another woman—a woman who happened to share her face and name.
But the voices outside her bedroom felt different that morning.
Warm.
Lively.
Almost like family.
Almost.
She remained under the thick sheets for another few moments, staring at the painted stars across the ceiling while trying to make sense of the events from the previous day.
She had parents.
Not biological parents, apparently, but the people who had raised her after her mother and father died when she was seven.
Daddy and Mommy.
The words felt peculiar inside her mind.
They were intimate names. Names spoken by children who ran home after scraping their knees, who cried into familiar arms after nightmares, and who knew exactly where they belonged.
Yet Ruth could not connect those names to a single memory.
She remembered the tears in Lady Hamilton's eyes when she called her darling.
She remembered the way Lord Hamilton's voice had broken when he called her Princess.
More than anything, she remembered how badly she wanted to recognize them.
But wanting and remembering were two entirely different things.
A knock sounded against the door.
"Come in."
The door opened only slightly before Matthew's head appeared through the gap.
"Are you decent?"
Ruth pulled the blanket higher over her chest.
"That depends. Are you asking as my brother-in-law or as a shameless intruder?"
Matthew grinned and pushed the door open.
"My innocent eyes remain protected, then."
He entered carrying a tray filled with toasted bread, fruit, tea, and what appeared to be a bowl of warm porridge.
Ruth's eyes narrowed.
"What is that?"
"Breakfast."
"That gray thing?"
"Oatmeal."
"It looks like something scraped from a wet pavement."
Matthew placed the tray on the bedside table.
"You used to eat it every morning."
Ruth recoiled in horror.
"I did?"
"With berries. No sugar."
"What kind of tragedy happened to me?"
Matthew laughed as he pulled the curtains apart.
Morning light flooded the bedroom.
"You were extremely conscious of your figure."
"I still have a figure."
"You also believed one slice of bread could ruin it."
Ruth looked down at herself underneath the blanket, then back at the tray.
"I refuse to be oppressed by my former self."
She grabbed the toast and took an exaggerated bite.
Matthew shook his head.
"You truly have changed."
The amusement in his voice faded slightly.
Ruth noticed.
"Is that bad?"
"No."
His answer came immediately.
He turned toward her and smiled.
"It's simply different."
There was no disappointment in his expression. No expectation that she should behave more elegantly, speak more carefully, or resemble the woman everyone remembered.
That was why being with Matthew felt easy.
He knew the old Ruth, but he never made the present Ruth feel like an inadequate replacement.
She patted the space beside her.
"Sit."
Matthew took the armchair instead.
"I value my life too much. My brother might murder me if he finds me sitting on his dearest wife's bed."
Ruth rolled her eyes.
"Your brother seems to want to murder everyone."
"Only on Tuesdays."
"It's Wednesday."
"Then you're safe."
She laughed, nearly choking on her toast.
Matthew quickly handed her the tea.
"Careful."
"You are trying to kill me with dry bread."
"I was trying to feed you."
"You failed."
"Spectacularly, apparently."
Another knock interrupted them.
Before either could answer, Lady Hamilton stepped inside.
She carried a folded dress over one arm, while Lord Hamilton followed closely behind her.
"My darling, you are awake."
Ruth instinctively straightened.
"Good morning."
Lady Hamilton's smile dimmed for only the briefest moment before she walked closer.
She placed the dress carefully across the foot of the bed.
"I thought you might like to wear this today. It was always one of your favorites."
The dress was pale blue, simple but refined, with a fitted waist and delicate embroidery along the sleeves.
Ruth reached out and ran her fingers across the fabric.
"It's beautiful."
"You wore it during our last family luncheon."
Ruth searched her face.
"Was I happy?"
Lady Hamilton sat beside her.
"Very."
The answer was gentle, but Ruth still felt the familiar ache of hearing about moments she could not reclaim.
Lord Hamilton stepped forward and placed a small velvet box beside the dress.
"And this belongs with it, Princess."
Ruth looked at him.
There it was again.
That name.
Something tugged faintly inside her chest.
She opened the box and found a delicate silver bracelet with a tiny crown charm hanging from it.
Ruth touched the charm.
A sensation flickered through her.
A large hand fastening something around a much smaller wrist.
A child's laughter.
A man saying—
There. A crown for my princess.
The image disappeared before she could grasp it.
Ruth's breath caught.
"Princess?"
Lord Hamilton immediately leaned closer.
"What is it?"
She stared at the bracelet.
"I think…"
Everyone fell silent.
Matthew rose from his chair.
Ruth closed her eyes, trying to summon the image again.
A little girl.
A bracelet.
A voice.
But the harder she reached for it, the farther it disappeared.
Her shoulders fell.
"It's gone."
Lord Hamilton sat on her other side.
"That's all right."
"I almost saw something."
His expression brightened with hope.
"You don't have to force it."
He took the bracelet and held it up.
"I gave this to you on your eighth birthday. You had been living with us for nearly a year, but you still insisted on sleeping with a photograph of your parents underneath your pillow."
Ruth's chest tightened.
"I found you crying one night," he continued. "You told me you were afraid that loving us would mean you were forgetting them."
Ruth lowered her gaze.
"What did you say?"
Lord Hamilton smiled.
"I told you the heart was big enough to love the family you lost and the family who found you."
The room became painfully quiet.
Ruth looked at him.
She wanted to remember that moment.
She wanted to remember being seven. Eight. Fifteen. Twenty.
She wanted to know how it felt to call this man Daddy without hesitation.
Instead, she held out her wrist.
"Will you put it on me?"
Lord Hamilton blinked rapidly.
Then he took her hand and fastened the bracelet with trembling fingers.
"There you are, Princess."
Ruth watched the crown charm settle against her skin.
"Thank you…"
The final word lodged inside her throat.
Lord Hamilton waited without demanding it.
"Daddy," she whispered.
The older man closed his eyes.
Lady Hamilton covered her mouth as tears filled her eyes.
"Oh, darling."
She wrapped her arms around Ruth, and this time Ruth returned the embrace.
It was still not a memory.
But it was a beginning.
Matthew quietly turned away, giving the family a moment of privacy.
When his eyes moved toward the open doorway, however, his expression changed.
Marcus stood there.
He had likely been there long enough to hear everything.
His face revealed nothing.
Only his eyes betrayed him.
They were fixed on Ruth's arms wrapped around Lady Hamilton.
Then they moved to the hand Lord Hamilton was still holding.
His wife was slowly accepting the people from her past.
Everyone except him.
Matthew excused himself and joined his brother in the corridor.
"You could come inside."
Marcus's gaze remained on Ruth.
"She's comfortable."
"That doesn't mean you aren't welcome."
Marcus finally looked at him.
"Doesn't it?"
Matthew sighed.
"Give her time."
"Everyone keeps saying that."
"Because she needs it."
Marcus's jaw tightened.
"I have already lost three months with her."
"She lost twenty-five years."
The answer silenced him.
Matthew lowered his voice.
"She is trying, Marcus."
"Not with me."
The bitterness escaped before he could conceal it.
Matthew looked back into the bedroom.
Ruth was smiling faintly as Lady Hamilton described the dress she had brought.
"No," he admitted. "Not with you."
Marcus's expression darkened.
"Thank you for stating the obvious."
"I'm not trying to hurt you."
"Neither am I."
Matthew understood immediately.
"You want to make her remember again."
"She has begun responding to objects from her childhood."
"That doesn't mean you should overwhelm her."
Marcus folded his arms across his chest.
"The doctors said familiar people, places, and experiences might stimulate memory."
"They also said she must not be pressured."
"I am not pressuring her."
Matthew gave him a long look.
"You made her watch ten years' worth of videos in the middle of the night."
"She needed to see the truth."
"You showed her photographs of a marriage she cannot remember and kissed her without her permission."
"She is my wife."
"To you."
The answer landed harder than Matthew intended.
Marcus went perfectly still.
Matthew immediately regretted the phrasing, but he did not take it back.
"To Ruth, you are still a man she met recently," he continued more gently. "A man everyone insists she loved. You cannot expect her to feel everything simply because you do."
Marcus looked through the doorway again.
Ruth suddenly laughed at something Lord Hamilton said.
The sound pierced him.
That laugh had once belonged to their private world.
Now he stood outside the room like an unwanted visitor.
"I know her," Marcus said quietly.
"I know."
"I know what makes her laugh. I know when she's lying. I know how she curls her toes when she's nervous and how she pretends to read when she's angry because she wants someone to ask what's wrong."
Matthew's expression softened.
Marcus continued, his gaze never leaving Ruth.
"I remember every ridiculous song she sang outside my window. Every note she slipped into my books. Every expression she made whenever I ignored her."
"And she remembers none of it."
Marcus finally looked away.
"That is precisely why I need to help her."
Matthew studied his brother's determined expression.
He knew that look.
Marcus had already made up his mind.