After the incident with Brynn, I couldn't bear to face Carter.

I holed myself up in our bedroom, pushing my face into the mattress so he wouldn't hear my sobs. I laid there all day, sleeping on and off, not leaving even to eat. Around mid-afternoon, I heard the door open, but Carter didn't say a word. Once sure he was gone, I peeked from under the covers and found a tray filled with my favorite foods. I let it sit there until everything was cold.

That night, Carter didn't try to get in bed, saving me a very awkward conversation. He only came in once, presumably to grab clothes, which tempted me to break the ice and talk.

Instead, I burrowed deeper and pretended to be asleep — fake snoring and all.

Waking up today, I'm tempted to stay curled up in bed, especially when I hear sounds of Brynn crying somewhere in the apartment. But I can't afford to not be productive, regardless of how I feel. If I'm going to avoid my husband and child, the least I can do is work on remembering them.

Carter must've had the same idea; when I roll out of bed, I find a piece of paper on the bedside table under the calculator phone from last night. The note reads, "Amber's Spots," followed by a list of different locations around the city and their relevance to me. I skim over it in hopes that a name will ring a bell, but I come up blank. Eager to get out of the apartment, I bypass a shower and head out in the clothes I'm already wearing.

I creep down the hall, praying not to run into anyone. Luckily, the apartment is silent when I walk down the stairs. My stomach growls as I pass the kitchen, but I beeline for the elevator instead. The first stop on the list is a place called Big Ben's Diner, so I assume I can grab something there.

When the doors close behind me, I'm met with my new reflection again. Mirrors line the walls of the car, and I check myself out from all angles. I lift a hand, and my reflection follows. I stick my tongue out; mirror me does, too. The mature features aren't as jarring this time; I can see me in the face that stares back.

I zip up my coat just as the elevator stops and opens on the lobby level. People float in and out the revolving door, letting a steady stream of cold air filter through the entryway. As I pass the front desk, I'm met with happy smiles. I stare blankly before remembering I'm supposed to know these people, then throw them a halfhearted wave.

Once outside, I pull the paper out again, then groan. Carter didn't include any directions on the list, meaning I have no idea how to get anywhere.

Does he expect me to ask people on the street? I don't see how. Everyone rushes right past me, eager to get to wherever they're going. No one smiles — hell, no one makes eye contact. After the umpteenth failed attempt to get help, I decide to head back inside. Maybe someone at the front desk—

"So, where we off to?" a voice booms behind me.

Flinching, I turn and find the tallest man I have ever seen standing on the sidewalk. He's got a good amount of weight on him, but his arms are thick with corded muscle. A pair of dark shades hide his eyes, but the smile he's wearing seems genuine enough. I glance at our surroundings to see who he's talking to, but no one stops to answer him.

Here we go. "Let me guess. I should know who you are."

If it offends him, he has a funny way of showing. The guy laughs, loud and full, his bravado startling a few strangers passing by. "Wow, he warned me you'd forgotten some things, but I didn't think that included me."

"You talked to Carter?" I ask, happy to not have to explain my "condition."

"The big man writes my checks. You think I'm standing out here in the cold for my health?" Another booming laugh. When I don't return his enthusiasm, he cuts me a break. "Name's Charlie. He asked me to take you around town, show you your old stomping grounds. Something about jogging your memory?"

Looks like Carter thought of everything today, including transportation. "How do I know you're not some crazy guy off the street waiting to kidnap fine ladies such as myself?"

"Valid point," he admits, his smile amused. He digs around in his pocket and pulls out a set of car keys. He hits a button, and the taillights of a limo I somehow missed light up behind him. The license plate reads: HAYS MBL

"Is that mine?" I gawk at the sleek exterior of the car. My only experience with limos is from the other side of a movie screen. Chloe and I planned to rent one for prom this year, but it seems I missed that chance by a decade or so.

"You usually save it for special nights out with the hubby, but he insisted. It's all yours, kid."

"Well shit, let's get the hell out of here!" I shout, rushing over to the car. Charlie opens my door and I slide in happily, thankful to be out of the cold. The interior is just as luxurious, with a fully stocked bar and plush leather seats that hug my every curve. I stretch my legs out fully and lounge back, ready to ride in style.

I watch through the open divider as Charlie climbs into the driver's seat. He buckles up before adjusting his rearview mirror. "Where to first?"

"A place called Big Ben's? Carter didn't write down street addresses."

"No need. I know the place."

He puts the divider up for me before slowly pulling into traffic.

I watch the streets as they pass by and try imagining myself walking them. According to Carter, we've lived on the Upper West Side for two years now, yet I don't recognize the neighborhood at all. I try to picture him and me with Brynn at Central Park, only a few blocks away. I picture grabbing a quick coffee from the stand on the corner, or going out for a date night at one of the many fancy restaurants. Every picture feels forced — false. It doesn't seem like a life I've lived, whether I remember it or not.

Frustrated, I take out my phone and open the call icon from before. It's been twenty four hours since I left Mark a message. The logical part of me reasons that he's an adult now. Who knows what responsibilities he might be busy with. He'll call. Don't worry.

It's too bad I never listen to logical me. She's so smart.

Tapping his contact, I wait with bated breath as it rings four times, then cuts to voicemail again.

"Hey, this is Mark. You know what to do when that phone go-" Beep.

I sigh. "Mark, it's me again. Sorry about the craziness before. I'm sure it freaked you out." I pause for a beat. "If you've listened to it, that is.

"Anyway, I'm okay. Things are just a mess right now. I'd love to hear your voice." My own tapers off when the lump in my throat makes it hard to talk. It isn't like Mark to ignore my calls. Then again, it wasn't like him to kick me out of his car. It wasn't like us to fight.

"Call me back," I finish softly before ending the call.

As a last ditch attempt, I check the call history to see when's the last time we talked. Just as I'm about to scroll down, a name near the top of the list makes me pause. The call is dated from two nights ago, coming from someone named Callie.

Callie. The name tickles the back of my memory. I've heard that name before, but for the life of me, I can't remember where. Coming up blank, I give in and listen to the message, hoping to gain some context to help it click.

"Shit's about to hit the fan for you, babycakes. I'll be in touch. Keep it together the best you can. It's a big one."

Click.

Well... that gave me nothing.

Before I can investigate further, the car stops. I check the window and see we're parked by a curb. Seconds later, Charlie opens my door. I curse under my breath as I climb out, both from being interrupted and the frigid air that slaps me across the face. It makes me wish I hadn't taken that August heat for granted.

"Go on in and grab us seats at the bar. I gotta park this monster in the lot 'round back," Charlie instructs, sliding back behind the wheel.

Once inside, I realize the diner is smaller than it looks. The tables, mostly booths, are packed tight in the squished space. It's not well lit, adding a grimey atmosphere. The '50s style bar sits to my left, and I grab two stools closest to the door. The leather seats are split in some places and the jagged edges scratch at my legs.

I'm not there two seconds before a stocky man no taller than me comes from a back room, presumably the kitchen. Ignoring the customers closest to him, he comes straight over to me.

"Aye, if it isn't my most favorite customer," he says in a strong, New York accent. I can't help but compare him to Danny Devito. "Haven't seen you the last few days. Been sick or somethin'?"

His question catches me off guard. "Or something."

It's not too far off. I'd definitely describe what I'm going through as a sickness.

"Where's the little one today?"

It takes me a minute to realize he means Brynn. I glance at the empty stool next to me as if I'll find her nursing a fresh cup of coffee.

"Home. Um, she was sick too."

"Ah, well, give the little rugrat a kiss from old Benny, ya hear me?"

"Roger that," I reply, shifting uncomfortably. I pick up a menu just to give my hands something to do. Benny seems nice, but it's weird talking to a total stranger who knows so much about me.

"Why ya botherin' with that old thing?" Before I can protest, he plucks the menu from me on his way to the kitchen. "I saw Charlie pull up. Ya orders are already on the stove." He winks before disappearing through the swinging door.

"Something's peeking through." Charlie trudges through the door, then plops down on the stool to my left. "These are our usual seats."

I look down at my stool through new eyes. Even something as small as choosing the right chair has to be progress, right?

"Pippin' hot and ready to eat!" Benny says enthusiastically as he comes back from the kitchen. The plates in his hands are stacked high with pancakes, scrambled eggs, and crispy fried bacon. My stomach growls as soon as the aroma hits my nose.

"How you doin', Benny?" Charlie asks, flipping up his shades so they rest on his forehead.

"You know me, just takin' it a day at a time. How's the family?" Benny grabs two mugs off the back counter and fills them both to the brim with coffee. I take mine and let the mug warm my fingers before taking a tentative sip.

"Wife's good. Kids even better. Growin' too fast for their own damn good."

"So it goes, my friend," Benny says with a shrug, flipping a dish towel over his shoulder. He retreats back to the kitchen, leaving Charlie and me alone to eat.

I wolf down the food, each bite better than the last. I can tell why this is my favorite breakfast joint. A day of fasting has taken its toll, and I can't get the meal down fast enough.

"That's the same too," Charlie points out before sipping his coffee.

I evaluate myself, taking note of the syrup stain on my sweatshirt, then the bacon grease congealing on my pant leg. My cheeks grow hot as I reach for a napkin.

"No point in being embarrassed," he says, watching as I try to clean myself up. "Seen you eat like that almost every morning."

I study Charlie's profile as he pulls out a newspaper and pen. "How long have you worked for us?" I ask, genuinely curious.

He takes another sip from his coffee, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Must be almost a year now. Amazing how time flies, huh?"

I roll my eyes. "Ain't that the truth."

"Well, truth be told, I wasn't too enthused to be working for you."

"You weren't?"

"Nope. In fact, I was wholeheartedly against it. It took Gail two days to convince me to even show up to the interview," he takes in my confused look before clarifying, "Gail's my wife."

But that's not what's confusing. "Why didn't you like us? Did we do something wrong?"

He chuckles at that, but there isn't much humor to it. "Had an incident a while back, but not with you. I was driving this one family around, not for too long either. Maybe a month or so. Seemed fine enough. It wasn't my first time chauffeuring, and I'd only ever had positive experiences.

"So one night, the oldest son wants me to take him out. It's pretty late, but they're one of those families that lets the kids do what they want. I don't question it. He's about seventeen, so I figure he's old enough to go out alone. He has me pull up to a parking lot, nothing special about it. Hops out and walks around the building, but it's not my business where he goes. Sittin' there for about thirty minutes, forty-five tops."

Charlie downs the last of his coffee, and I take the opportunity to grab a piece of bacon from my plate. I nibble at it nervously when he continues.

"Kid comes back, asks me to drive him home. I do as he tells me and I go back to Jersey, thinking nothing of it. Come in the next day and the parents wanna have a word with me. Say they've found some stuff in the back of the car."

He stops to give me a look, and I quickly catch his drift. My mind flashes back briefly to the baggie I found in Mark's bag.

"I swore up and down it wasn't mine. Even told 'em I took their boy out the night before. Didn't matter. The father called me every word in the book, and I mean every word. Long story short, I was done driving folks around that thought so little of me. New Yorkers can be awful anyway, but throw money into the mix? It's a whole different ball game.

"And just when I'm about to quit, I get an offer. New parents, recently moved to the area. Pay is good, hours are good — almost too good to be true. But I still couldn't forget the way that man talked to me. I don't have much in this world, but I got my family and my dignity. At the end of the day, those are the only two things that matter."

Benny interrupts us mid-story. "I packed up a little something for the family. Tell Carter he still owes me money from last week's game," he shoots me a quick wink as he collects the empty plates from the bartop, "and give love to both your families for me, ya hear?"

"Sure thing, Benny," Charlie assures, sliding a stack of bills across the counter before leading me out.

Back on the sidewalk, I stamp my feet in an effort to keep warm. Food is usually all I need to change my mood, but I can't shake off my disappointment. From the interaction with Benny, I can tell this is a place I come a lot, maybe even every morning, but my memory is still blank. It's frustrating to walk through a life that's supposed to be mine without any recollection of it. It makes me feel stupid, something I've never been a fan of.

"I'll go grab the car. Shouldn't be long."

"Wait, you didn't finish the story," I say, catching him before he goes. "What made you change your mind?"

He's so tall, I have to crane my neck to meet his eyes, but something about him makes me feel comfortable. I'm struck with the realization he reminds me of Dad — a happier, lighter version. The thought is followed by a wave of guilt; I haven't asked Carter once about their new numbers and why I don't have them.

Charlie smiles down at me. "I met you guys. From the minute I walked in for the interview, I could just tell the type of people you were. Warm. Genuine. Watching you as a family, the way you two are with that baby girl of yours, I knew I wanted to be around something like that. Greatest decision I ever made."

He gives my shoulder a quick squeeze before he goes, leaving me with my thoughts. Being away from Carter helped me forget the complexities of our relationship, but hearing Charlie call us a family brings it rushing back. Truthfully, it all feels like a rug about to be pulled out from under me. We're married, I understand that's a fact, but the deeper feelings behind it still seem like a lie.

Charlie and I spend the afternoon working our way down the list, but it's the same everywhere we go. It takes us all over Manhattan, each place a different chapter of my new life. Nothing clicks at the cafe where I worked on cases until the early hours of the morning. Same goes for the dive bar downtown, a hole in the wall Carter and I frequented before Brynn was born. There are people, too: a bartender, a barista, a sales associate who smiles too much. Each is a distinct relationship I'm meant to remember. Every time I don't, my heart sinks lower in my chest.

The last stop brings us back near the apartment, right as the sun starts to set. Charlie and I sit perched on a bench near the edge of Central Park. His presence is comforting in the frigid evening, and I'm grateful to have company to share this moment with. Being alone with my thoughts at this point is too depressing.

"Don't go moping about this, kid. You just gotta give it time."

"Time." I never gave the concept much thought before. I wasn't the person who had her whole life figured out. Whenever people asked about my plans for the future, I struggled to give a straight answer. The part of adulthood I anticipated most was the journey through it, not the destination. Now, all of that has been taken away from me. I'm trapped in a life without knowing if it's the one I want.

"Thank you for today," I say, my gaze focused straight ahead. Desperate for a bright side, I try to enjoy the sunset, but the air is biting worse by the second. I don't know how long I should sit here before giving up, but it's looking like it'll be sooner rather than later.

"Of course. I'd do anything for either one of you," he says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders to warm me up. "Listen, you got a life ahead of you still, you hear me? Don't take that for granted. Most people forget their twenties, anyway, so cherish your thirties that much more. And hey, of all the lives you could've woken up in, this is a pretty good one."

He shakes with soft laughter, and I can't help but crack a smile. It's been easy to focus on the bad because there's so much of it, but it doesn't hurt to acknowledge the good parts, too. I spent the whole day riding around in a limo, for God's sake.

Instinctively, I lay my head on his shoulder and realize the day wasn't a total bust. I may not have found my memories, but at least I found a friend in Charlie.