Anna's new life began quietly, just as Tom had planned. With Mark's help, she was moved into a modest apartment—nothing extravagant, yet warm and inviting. The place felt safe, with its tight security system, passcode-protected entrance, and fingerprints already registered for Tom, Mark, and Anna. It wasn't home, not yet, but it was a cocoon where she could heal.
The day Anna was discharged from the hospital, Tom had insisted on accompanying her. Carrying a small bag of fresh fruits, he guided her gently into the apartment. She was still fragile, her body weakened but thankfully spared from any lasting injuries. What troubled him most wasn't her body—it was her mind.
The doctor's words rang in his head like a warning bell: Any attempt to force her memory back might shock her. It could be dangerous.
Tom knew what that meant. He couldn't risk getting too close. Not now. Not when every moment with her reminded him of everything they had lost.
Still, he stayed longer than he should have, helping her settle into the bedroom. He'd arranged for Lucy—a trusted doctor and friend—to stay with Anna for the next few days. Only after he was certain she would not be left unattended did he finally force himself to leave.
"Take care," he said, his voice tight, betraying the weight in his chest. He scribbled a number on a small note and handed it to her. "If there's any emergency, call this. No hesitation."
Anna nodded faintly, her eyelids heavy. Within minutes of his departure, she drifted into sleep, unaware of the turmoil lingering outside her door.
Walking away from the apartment was harder than Tom had expected. He wanted—needed—to turn back. Every step away from her felt like betrayal. But he forced himself forward, fists clenched, his silence swallowing the ache inside him.
Back at his own house—their house—Tom found himself surrounded by memories that had become knives to his heart. He lay in their room, eyes fixed on a framed photo of them smiling, alive, together. She didn't remember any of it now. The only thing she carried forward was emptiness, and it broke him.
The sound of a knock broke his thoughts. Mark stepped in, his expression unreadable at first. But when he saw Tom clutching that photograph, broken in silence, his heart twisted.
"Tom…" Mark began carefully, his tone weighted. "There's something you need to know. It's about JK."
Tom looked up slowly, dread tightening his jaw.
"The news has spread everywhere," Mark continued. "It's gone viral. The entire country is talking about JK's death—and they're after you, Tom."