The dream haunted me, lingered in my mind and tainted my waking hours. I scrutinized every interaction, searching for signs of deception. Every smile seemed forced. Every kind word was laced with sarcasm. I felt like I was living in a funhouse mirror version of my life, where nothing and no one were as they seemed.
The conspiracy surrounding my lost memories consumed me, and I became convinced that Dante, my supposed best friend, was the ringleader. I imagined him orchestrating this elaborate charade, manipulating everyone around me. Paranoia crept into my every thought, clouding my judgment and driving a wedge between me and those I once trusted. I isolated myself, afraid of what I might uncover if I stayed too close.
My days were spent in a fog of suspicion and uncertainty. Nights offered no respite as my dreams continued to torment me. In one vivid nightmare, I saw Dante’s face, contorted with merciless glee, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent. My family whispered things I couldn’t quite make out, their lips curling into sinister smiles. I woke up in a cold sweat, my heart pounding, the feeling of dread overwhelming.
Was I truly alone in this world, unable to trust anyone? The thought sent shivers down my spine. Yet, despite the growing fear and confusion, a part of me clung to the hope that there was a logical explanation. Perhaps I was overthinking things, letting my imagination run wild. But the dreams felt too real, too powerful to ignore. I knew I had to uncover the truth, no matter how terrifying it might be.
With no one to trust, I went to the one thing I could. My computers. There was something soothing about typing on the keys, listening to the clicky clacks as my mind focused on the screen before me, the ones and zeros of the dark web welcoming me home. For as long as I could remember, I enjoyed the solitude of the internet. The dark web, with its anonymous corners and hidden secrets, became my sanctuary.
I delved deeper into its depths, searching for answers, for some explanation of the dreams and the conspiracy I felt enveloping me. I became a ghost in my own life, spending my days in front of the computer screen, my nights haunted by vivid nightmares. The line between reality and paranoia blurred as I questioned everything and everyone. I was convinced that the truth lay buried in the digital underworld, and I was determined to unearth it.
As I navigated the treacherous paths of the dark web, I encountered a myriad of conspiracies and secrets. I felt like an archaeologist uncovering ancient artifacts, each discovery leading me closer to the truth I sought. But the further I ventured, the more I realized some secrets were better left buried. I found myself entangled in a web of deceit where nothing and no one could be trusted. Every step I took, I questioned my sanity and the true nature of my quest.
Was I truly alone in this quest for truth, or was someone watching and orchestrating my every move? The thought sent a chill down my spine, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being played, manipulated like a puppet on a string. Yet, despite the growing paranoia, I couldn’t turn back. I had to know, had to uncover the truth, no matter how dark and twisted it may be. My fingers danced across the keyboard, clicking and clacking, as I delved deeper into the heart of the conspiracy, hoping to find answers, but fearing that I might uncover something far more sinister when another memory resurfaced.
The rain hammered against the windowpanes, a furious tattoo against the muted city lights blurring below. My chest, a leaden weight, pulsed with grief so raw it clawed at my throat. The stale air of our cramped apartment clung to me, thick and oppressive, mirroring the suffocating emptiness since he’d been gone.
My dad. The thought itself tasted like ash. A primal need, a desperate hunger to hear his voice one last time, choked me. I yearned for the sound of his gravelly chuckle, the comforting weight of his hand on my shoulder. I wanted to unravel every unspoken word, every hesitant glance, every silent understanding that had passed between us.
Dad always had the answers, hadn’t he?
My dad was a fortress of stoic strength. A man carved from granite and shadow. His words, though few, resonated with a power that cracked through my defenses even as I stubbornly erected them against him. They were the low hum of a powerful engine, perfectly calibrated, expressing more in their precision than a thousand flowery pronouncements. Even my adolescent rebellion couldn’t extinguish the ember of his presence that always burned just down the hall.
Then, nothing.
Almost as if a void ripped into the fabric of my existence. My world fractured into jagged shards of unbearable loss. The cold, slick emptiness of his loss consumed me. Self-loathing, a venomous serpent, coiled around my heart. I hated myself for the chasm between us, for the unspoken words left rotting in the fertile soil of resentment. I built a wall, brick by agonizing brick, around my grief, a fortress designed to protect me from the searing agony.
Until Danika.
My beautiful little girl.
Her presence shattered the illusion, and the truth slammed into me, a physical blow throwing me to my knees. My dad hadn’t wanted to change me. He wanted to be with me. His sacrifices, his stoicism, his fierce, unspoken love—it all unfolded before me, a heartbreaking panorama of a father who loved fiercely in the only way he knew how.
A love so profound it twisted into a painful misunderstanding.
He never hated me.
He loved all of me, even the parts of me that terrified him, the parts I myself had buried. That love, that agonizing, beautiful, incandescent truth flooded me. Tears, hot and relentless, streamed down my face. The rain outside seemed to weep with me.
I wanted to scream, to claw back the lost years, to beg for forgiveness he’d never needed.
Then a sound.
A movement behind me. A slow smile, hesitant and fragile, bloomed on my lips as she quietly approached. Without a word, I scooped her up, cradling her against me. Her small sigh, as her head rested on my shoulder, cracked my soul open anew. But this time, the pain wasn’t solely grief. It was a symphony of love, loss and the desperate, aching hope of healing. Together, under the relentless assault of the storm, we stood. Her small body nestled against mine.
“Let me tell you about the greatest man I ever knew,” I whispered, my voice thick with unshed tears, and I poured forth the story of my dad, every detail, every memory—a desperate act of devotion to the man I finally understood and to the love that had almost broken me.
Chapter Sixteen
Dante
I was losing him.
After everything we’d been through, the thought of Danny never being in my life shattered my heart. He was the love of my life. The man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for him, but he didn’t know that. He didn’t know anything. All because those around us thought it would be better to let his mind rest and heal on its own. I wanted so much to tell him the truth. To tell him about us, our life together, our daughter who I desperately missed so much. I wanted to tell Danny what he did to save our little girl, and that she was out there and she needed us both.
“It’s going to be okay, Dante,” Stella said, leaning over the kitchen island. “The doctor said when his memories returned, they would be confusing for him. We just need to give his mind time.”
“That’s just it, Stella. He doesn’t have time. I don’t have time. The longer it takes means more time away from our daughter. She is out there alone, away from the both of us. She needs us. Maybe I should just leave. Since that dream, he’s been more agitated when I’m around. He won’t even look at me anymore.”
