In the emergency room, the air was thick with tension and antiseptic.


    My hands were sped together tightly as I silently prayed for Grandma Que. Though she wasn’t my


    actual grandmother, I couldn’t ignore the fact that she had raised Foebe Larson, the girl whose identity I


    had inadvertently assumed.


    The doctor emerged midway through the ordeal, a solemn look on his face as he prepared us for the


    worst and asked me to sign some documents. My heart raced, fear gnawing at me from


    the inside.


    “There’s no immediate danger to her life now,” the doctor finally said after what felt like an eternity.


    “We’ve moved her to a regr room for observation. Given her age and the 99% blockage in her


    cerebral artery, surgery isn’t advisable. Just make sure she gets plenty of care. It was a sudden heart


    attack this time. She’s lucky to have pulled through.”


    I nodded, my thanks a mere whisper, and took my vigil beside the hospital bed.


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    “Your grandmother is going to be okay.” Dexter murmured, trying to soothe me.


    I was in no mood for his presence. “Dexter, how is this any of your business? She’s my grandmother,


    not yours. You can leave now.”


    “Phoebe—” He persisted stubbornly, his voice hoarse with emotion, as if he was desperate to exin.


    “ver stopped loving you


    I frowned, his words stirring a wave of nausea. “Get out.”


    “I read your journal. You think I don’t love you, that I despise you, that I don’t trust you.” With his gaze


    lowered, Dexter continued speaking, seemingly more to himself than to me. He was convinced I was


    Phoebe Caldwell, and he was hell–bent on making amends.


    Pathetic.


    “I do love you, Phoebe, more than anyone else. I just… couldn’t believe that you could love me back.”


    Dexter’s voice broke as he reached for my wrist. “You were so against the arranged marriage, so


    unwilling to marry me. It was you who had a teenage crush on someone else, you who never had a


    ce for me in your eyes. I couldn’t trust it, couldn’t ept that you might love me. I thought…”


    “That Phoebe Caldwell had an ulterior motive?” I scoffed, pulling my hand away. “Dexter, you’re full of


    yourself. If Phoebe Caldwell ever loved you, that would be the saddest thing of all


    Dexter hung his head, weighed down by a guilt that seemed to drain his strength. “I just


    He wanted to exin, but his exnations were weak and futile.


    “Foebe… Coraline.” Grandma Que mumbled in her delirium, calling out the names of Foebe Larson


    and Coraline Larson.


    There had been a mix–up, a chance that Coraline’s biological parents had intentionally switched her


    and Coraline. But Coraline’s real parents had died when Foebe was still a teenager, and the Larson


    family chose not to pursue the matter further. Instead, they doted on Coraline, the girl they had raised,


    while treating Foebe like a wild country girl, fearing she might tarnish the Larson family name.


    In the end. Coraline was Grandma Que’s blood granddaughter, so it made sense for Grandmal


    Que to be concerned about her. Yet, no matter how much she longed for her, Coraline would


    nevere to see her.


    “Phoebe, when you came to live with us at eighteen, you were badly hurt. You spent seven days in a


    coma at the hospital. When you woke up, it was like you had forgotten so much. You asked me if I had


    saved you. I was selfish then, I let you believe I did. I admit fault for that.” Dexter whispered, recounting


    the past.


    “My mother said your mental health was unstable, but the amnesia made you forget your own


    psychological issues – a blessing in disguise. But I always felt… you were pretending. Pretending to


    forget the tragedy of your parents‘ death and everything that happened to the Fitzgerald family.”


    I was getting tired of his ramblings, but when he mentioned a sickness; I stiffened and turned to face


    him. “What do you mean? Phoebe Caldwell had a mental illness?”


    “You’ve forgotten…” He looked up at me, his eyes searching. “As a child, you were locked in a pitch–


    ck basement at the orphanage for a very long time. When your parents found you, you were semi–


    conscious. For years after, you received psychological counseling as a result