Chapter48 I remember everything they wanted me to forget
There was a letter under my door this morning.
No stamp. No sender.
Just my name — written in the handwriting they used for my medication labels.
Clean. Professional.
Like my pain needed to be filed and documented.
I opened it.
Four words:
> "You are not her."
No signature. No threat.
Just a truth they assumed would destroy me.
---
I folded the letter.
Not because I wanted to keep it.
But because I needed proof — that someone out there still thought I was breakable.
They didn't understand.
I don't break anymore.
I bend quietly and sharpen in silence.
---
Later that day, I walked past the room they used for evaluations.
Where they measured my responses like blood pressure.
I stopped at the doorway.
The doctor inside looked up.
His name tag had the word "Behavioral" under his title —
as if behavior was the only thing worth diagnosing.
> "Can I help you?" he asked.
> "No," I said, smiling.
"Just wanted to see the cage from the outside."
---
He looked confused.
But I was already walking away.
---
That night, I stood at the mirror again.
Only this time, I could see myself.
Not the girl they created.
Not the sister they buried.
Not the patient they documented.
Me.
And my reflection blinked first.
---
> "I'm not your ghost," I whispered to no one.
"I'm the girl who came back without permission."