The next morning, I woke up to the sound of someone yelling about waffles.

For several long seconds, I stayed completely still beneath my blankets with my eyes closed, trying to decide whether I had imagined it. My bedroom was quiet except for the faint hum of the heater and the voices drifting up from downstairs, but I could already tell from the amount of noise coming from the kitchen that everyone in my family was awake. That was unfortunate, because everyone in my family being awake meant everyone in my family knew I was home, and everyone in my family knowing I was home meant there was absolutely no chance I would make it downstairs without being interrogated about Riley.

"Hudson, those are mine!"

"They were on the plate!"

"Because I put them there!"

"You can't claim waffles by putting them on a plate!"

"That is literally how plates work!"

I recognized Brooklyn and Hudson immediately, and a second later, Harper's voice joined them as she told both of them to stop yelling because some people were trying to enjoy their morning. Brooklyn reminded her that she had already been awake for three hours, Harper said that didn't mean she wanted to listen to them, and Hudson apparently used the distraction to steal another waffle because Brooklyn started yelling again.

I groaned and buried my face deeper into my pillow.

Home.

Definitely home.

I had no idea what time I had fallen asleep the night before. After leaving Riley's house, I had walked home beneath a sky that looked too dark and too quiet for everything happening inside my head. My parents had still been awake when I arrived, but thankfully, neither of them asked many questions. Mom hugged me. Dad asked if I had eaten. I said yes. He asked if I was lying. I said no. He stared at me suspiciously for several seconds before accepting my answer, and then I went upstairs before either of them could ask anything else.

I had changed into pajamas, climbed beneath my blankets, and stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours.

I thought about Riley.

Of course I did.

There was hardly a moment anymore when I didn't think about Riley. He existed somewhere in the back of every thought I had, like a song playing from another room that I couldn't turn off. Even when I wasn't actively thinking about him, he was there.

When I brushed my teeth, I remembered how he used to make fun of me for walking around the house with my toothbrush hanging from my mouth. When I changed into pajamas, I remembered the time he told me one of my old shirts looked like something someone's grandmother would wear and then proceeded to steal it because he said it was comfortable. When I climbed into bed, I automatically looked at my phone because talking to Riley before I fell asleep had been as natural as closing my eyes.

Everything led back to him.

Everything.

I thought about the pumpkin patch and the way he had asked me for story after story. I thought about him offering me his apple cider without knowing he had done the same thing a hundred times before. I thought about the way he had carved Romeo and Juliet into his pumpkin simply because I had told him he had tried to do it once before. I thought about all the times he had smiled at me throughout the day and how, for a few seconds at a time, I had allowed myself to pretend nothing had changed.

Then I thought about the journal.

I thought about the goodbye note.

I thought about Riley asleep on the couch.

Good night, Romeo. I'll meet you in my dreams.

I didn't remember dreaming.

Maybe that was worse.

I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling.

I had wanted to dream about him. I had wanted to close my eyes and find the Riley I remembered waiting for me somewhere inside my own mind. I wanted to hear him call me Juliet again without having to explain why. I wanted him to look at me and know exactly who I was. I wanted to sit beside him and talk without having to tell him which version of himself I was talking about.

But I hadn't dreamed.

Or maybe I had and simply couldn't remember.

I almost laughed at the cruelty of that thought.

Now I was forgetting Riley too.

Not really, of course. I knew that. But sometimes the thought terrified me anyway. What if enough time passed that I forgot little things about him? What if I forgot the exact sound of his old laugh, even though the new Riley laughed exactly the same way? What if I forgot the way he used to say my name when he was annoyed or the expression he made whenever I stole food from his plate? What if I started confusing the Riley before the accident with the Riley after it?

What if one day, I couldn't remember him well enough for both of us?

The thought made something tighten painfully inside my chest.

I rolled onto my side and reached for my phone.

Ten thirty-seven.

I stared at the time.

I had slept late.

Really late.

Then again, considering I had fallen asleep on Riley's bedroom floor the night before last, spent the next day at a pumpkin patch, carved pumpkins for two hours, walked home, and stayed awake thinking about every terrible thing that had happened recently, maybe ten thirty-seven wasn't unreasonable.

I checked my messages.

Nothing from Riley.

Of course there wasn't.

He still didn't have his phone.

I knew that.

I had known that before I even opened my messages.

Still, disappointment settled inside me so quickly that it embarrassed me.

For years, waking up to a message from Riley had been normal. Sometimes it was a picture he had taken. Sometimes it was a stupid video he thought would make me laugh. Sometimes it was a complaint about something Lydia had done. Sometimes it was simply a message telling me he was awake, because apparently that was information he believed I needed to know.

Now there was nothing.

The silence felt louder than any message ever had.

I opened our conversation and scrolled up.

There were years inside my phone.

Thousands of messages.

Thousands.

It was strange to think that I could hand Riley my phone and give him access to entire pieces of his own life that he didn't remember living. He could read conversations he had written. He could see jokes he had made. He could watch videos of himself laughing beside me. He could scroll through proof that he had known me better than anyone else in the world.

But would it matter?

That was the question I hated asking myself.

Would any of it matter?

He could read every message we had ever sent and still not remember sending them. He could look at every picture and still not remember standing beside me. He could watch every video and still feel like he was watching a stranger who happened to have his face.

I scrolled until I found the message I had accidentally sent him days ago.

I just woke up and I think sleeping for seven hours somehow made me more tired. Explain that, Romeo.

I stared at it.

It felt like it had been sent by someone else.

A different Autumn.

An Autumn who had woken up and forgotten, just for three minutes, that her best friend didn't remember her.

Sometimes I wished I could have those three minutes back.

Not so I could delete the message before sending it.

Just so I could feel that way again.

For three minutes, Riley had still been Riley. For three minutes, I hadn't remembered the hospital room. For three minutes, I hadn't remembered the way he looked at me and asked who I was.

For three minutes, I had still been his Juliet.

Then reality had returned.

It always did.

I quickly closed the messages and dropped my phone beside me.

"Nope."

A loud crash came from downstairs.

"Hudson!"

"I'm okay!"

"I wasn't asking if you were okay! What did you break?"

"Nothing!"

"That sounded like something!"

"It was something, but it didn't break!"

I sighed.

There was absolutely no chance I was going back to sleep.

I slowly pushed the blankets away and sat up. My head felt heavy, and my hair was tangled around my shoulders. I stayed sitting on the edge of the bed for a moment, staring at the floor.

I didn't want to go downstairs.

It wasn't because I didn't want to see my family. I loved them. I loved the noise and the arguments and the way our house never seemed completely quiet.

I just didn't want the questions.

I didn't know how to answer them.

How is Riley?

I didn't know.

Is he getting better?

I didn't know.

Does he remember anything?

Maybe.

Does he remember you?

No.

That was the only answer I knew.

No.

He didn't remember me.

I hated how three words could hurt so much.

I hated how I had learned to say them casually. I could shrug and tell people Riley didn't remember me. I could smile sadly and explain the amnesia. I could talk about the doctors and the brain injury and the possibility that memories might return slowly.

I could say all of it without crying.

Most of the time.

But beneath every calm explanation was something ugly and desperate that I kept hidden.

He didn't remember me.

He didn't remember me.

He didn't remember me.

Sometimes I wanted to scream it.

Sometimes I wanted to grab Riley by the shoulders and beg him to try harder, even though I knew that wasn't fair. I wanted to ask him how he could forget me when I remembered everything. I wanted to ask him how his mind could erase fourteen years of us and leave me standing there with all of them.

I knew he hadn't chosen this.

I knew that.

But knowing something wasn't the same as not hurting because of it.

That was the part I never said aloud.

Sometimes I was angry.

Not at Riley.

Never really at Riley.

But I was angry at his brain. I was angry at the accident. I was angry at the hospital. I was angry at every photograph that remembered something he didn't. I was angry at myself for confessing my love to him that night. I was angry at him for what I had read in the journal, and then I hated myself for being angry at someone who had been hurting badly enough to believe leaving was his only option.

I was angry at everything.

Mostly, though, I was sad.

So painfully, deeply sad that sometimes I thought it had become part of me.

I stood up before I could think anymore.

The second my feet touched the floor, footsteps raced down the hallway, and my bedroom door flew open without warning.

Hudson appeared.

I screamed.

He screamed.

"What is wrong with you?" I shouted.

"What is wrong with you?"

"You opened my door!" I shouted.

"You screamed!"

"Because you opened my door!"

Hudson stared at me for several seconds before apparently deciding I was the unreasonable one.

"Mom said breakfast."

"You could knock." I folded my arms.

"I did."

"No, you didn't."

"I thought about knocking."

"That doesn't count."

"It should."

"Get out."

He started backing toward the hallway.

"Also, everyone wants to know what happened yesterday."

I froze.

Hudson smiled.

I narrowed my eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't."

"Hudson."

He shrugged. "Mom and Dad were talking."

"About?"

"You."

"Why?"

"Because you were gone all day."

"They knew where I was."

"And then you stayed there really late."

"They knew where I was."

"And Dad said something about Kai texting him."

I stared at him.

Hudson smiled wider.

"What did he say?" I asked.

"I don't know."

"You absolutely know."

"I forgot."

The word hit me harder than it should have.

Hudson didn't notice. Of course he didn't. He was already halfway down the hallway.

"You're terrible," I called after him.

"Breakfast!"

He disappeared down the stairs.

I stood there for a second longer.

I forgot.

Such normal words.

People said them every day.

I had probably said them thousands of times.

Now I hated them.

I quickly changed into sweatpants and an oversized sweater, brushed my teeth, attempted to do something with my hair, failed, and eventually pulled it into a messy bun. The entire time, I could hear my family downstairs laughing, arguing, talking, and waiting.

I knew they were waiting.

My family was terrible at pretending not to be curious. My parents tried. Harper sometimes tried. Brooklyn had never tried anything in her life. Hudson was incapable of subtlety.

I took a deep breath before leaving my bedroom.

The second I reached the bottom of the stairs, everyone looked at me.

I stopped.

Mom was standing near the stove. Dad sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. Harper was leaning against the counter. Brooklyn sat at the table. Hudson was eating a waffle.

Every single one of them stared at me.

"No."

I turned around.

"Autumn," Mom called.

"I'm going back upstairs."

"You just got down here."

"And I already regret it."

Brooklyn jumped out of her chair. "How was the pumpkin patch?"

Harper immediately followed. "Did Riley remember anything?"

Hudson spoke around a mouthful of waffle. "Did you kiss?"

I spun around. "What?"

Dad slowly lowered his coffee. Mom looked at Hudson. Harper stared at him. Brooklyn's mouth fell open.

Hudson stopped chewing. "What?"

"Why would you ask that?" I demanded.

He swallowed. "I don't know."

"Yes, you do."

"You like him."

My entire family went silent.

I stared at my brother. Hudson stared back.

"You're twelve."

"And?"

"Why do you know anything?"

"I have eyes."

Brooklyn burst out laughing.

"Hudson," Mom said.

"What? She does."

"I'm going upstairs."

"No!" Brooklyn grabbed my arm before I could escape. "You're staying."

"Let go of me." I tried to pull my arm away from her.

"Not until you answer questions."

"I'm not answering anything."

Harper walked over and took my other arm.

I stared at her. "Seriously?"

"Sorry."

"You're not sorry."

"No."

"You're both terrible."

"We're worried about you," Harper said.

"You don't look worried."

"We can be worried and nosy."

Brooklyn nodded. "Multitasking."

Dad pointed toward an empty chair. "Sit down, Autumn."

I looked at him.

He lifted his coffee. "I made waffles."

I narrowed my eyes. "Is that a bribe?"

"Yes."

"At least you're honest."

I reluctantly walked toward the table and sat down. Mom placed a plate in front of me, and I looked from the waffles to my family.

Every single person was still watching me.

"This is disturbing."

"What?" Brooklyn asked.

"All of you."

"We love you."

"That doesn't make it less disturbing."

Mom sat beside me. "How was yesterday?"

I looked down at my plate. "It was good."

Brooklyn leaned forward. "That's it?"

"Yes."

"You were gone for twelve hours."

"I don't think it was twelve."

Dad looked at his phone. "It was approximately eleven."

"Thank you, Dad."

"You're welcome."

"I wasn't actually thanking you."

"I know."

Harper sat across from me. "How was Riley?"

I stopped cutting my waffle.

There it was. The question. Three words. So simple.

How was Riley?

I didn't know how to explain that Riley had been wonderful and terrible and familiar and strange all at once.

"He was okay."

Harper's expression softened. "Just okay?"

I shrugged. "He had fun."

"At the pumpkin patch?"

"Yeah."

"Did anything happen?"

I thought about the smell of pumpkin spice and vanilla. The vacuum cleaner. The pumpkin fact. The way he held my hand. The journals. The goodbye notes.

My chest tightened. "A few things."

Everyone looked at me.

"What things?" Mom asked gently.

I hesitated.

I couldn't tell them about the journal. Not yet. It wasn't my secret. It wasn't my truth to give away.

That belonged to Riley.

"He remembered little things."

Mom's eyes widened. "He did?"

"I don't know if they were actual memories."

"What happened?" Harper asked.

I smiled faintly. "He knew Milo was afraid of the vacuum cleaner."

Brooklyn stared at me. "That's what he remembered?"

"Apparently."

Hudson laughed. "Imagine losing all your memories and the first thing your brain gives back is that your brother is afraid of a vacuum."

"Hudson," Mom said.

"What? That's funny."

I tried not to smile. "It was a little funny."

"What else?" Dad asked.

"He remembered pumpkins are fruit."

Brooklyn blinked. "Wow."

"Life-changing."

"Truly."

I laughed softly. "And the smell of his house seemed familiar."

Mom's expression changed. "What?"

"The first time he walked inside after leaving the hospital, he smiled."

"Because of the smell?"

I nodded. "Pumpkin spice and vanilla."

Mom smiled sadly. "That's something."

"Yeah." I looked down at my waffles. "It is."

Harper watched me carefully. "You don't seem happy."

I looked up. "What?"

"You're telling us he might be remembering things."

"I am happy."

"You don't look happy."

"Harper."

"I'm not trying to upset you." She said.

"Then don't." The words came out sharper than I meant them to. Everyone went quiet. I immediately felt guilty.

"Sorry."

Harper shook her head. "It's okay."

"No. I'm sorry."

She smiled faintly. "I know."

I pushed a piece of waffle around my plate.

"I am happy," I said quietly. "I'm really happy."

"But?" Mom asked.

I looked at her. Of course she knew there was a but. There was always a but.

"But I don't know what any of it means."

No one interrupted me.

"He knows Milo is afraid of the vacuum. He knows pumpkins are fruit. He recognized the smell of his house." I swallowed. "But he doesn't know me."

My voice broke. I hated it.

I looked down. The room became so quiet that I could hear the clock on the wall.

"Autumn," Dad said softly.

"I know." I shook my head. "I know it takes time. I know the doctors said his memories might come back slowly. I know I'm supposed to be patient. I know I should be grateful that there are little things coming back at all."

"No one said you have to be patient all the time," Mom said.

I looked at her. She reached across the table and touched my hand. "You're allowed to be tired."

My eyes burned. "I am tired." The words came out before I could stop them. "I'm so tired."

Brooklyn's expression softened. Harper looked down. Hudson stopped eating.

I stared at my plate. "I miss him."

No one spoke.

"I know he's alive," I continued. "I know he's right there. I know I can go to his house and talk to him and hear his voice. I know I should be grateful because he could have died, and I am grateful. I am so grateful."

My throat tightened. "But I miss him."

Mom squeezed my hand.

"He's sitting right in front of me, and I miss him."

My eyes filled with tears.

"I don't think anyone understands how horrible that feels."

I wiped my eyes angrily.

"I look at him, and it's Riley. It's his face. It's his voice. It's his laugh. He still does that stupid thing where one side of his mouth lifts before the other when he smiles. He still looks down when he's trying not to laugh. He still tilts his head when he thinks I'm lying."

My tears fell faster.

"But then he asks me something he should know."

My voice broke.

"He asks how we met."

I covered my mouth.

"He asks if I was there."

Mom's eyes filled with tears.

"Every time I tell him a story, he asks me if I was there."

I cried harder.

"And I was."

My voice barely came out.

"I was always there."

Harper looked away.

"I was there for everything, and he doesn't remember any of it."

I pressed my hands against my eyes.

"He doesn't remember me."

There it was. The truth. The horrible, ugly truth I carried everywhere.

"He doesn't remember me, and I don't know how to be okay with that."

Mom moved closer.

"I know it isn't his fault. I know he didn't choose to forget. I know I shouldn't be angry."

"You're allowed to be angry," Dad said.

I looked at him. "But at who?" My voice cracked. "Who am I supposed to be angry at?"

No one answered.

"The accident?"

My chest hurt.

"The doctors?"

I wiped my face.

"His brain?"

My breathing became uneven.

"Me?"

Mom shook her head. "No."

"But I told him I loved him."

My family went quiet.

I swallowed. "I told him I loved him, and then everything happened."

The journal flashed through my mind.

The goodbye note.

I'm sorry I couldn't love you the way you loved me.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

I couldn't tell them. Not yet.

"I just keep thinking that the last Riley who remembered me knew I loved him."

My voice trembled.

"And he didn't love me back."

The words hurt more aloud.

"Then he forgot me."

I laughed through my tears, but there was nothing funny about it.

"And now I'm sitting there telling this new Riley all our stories like some kind of tour guide through his own life."

Brooklyn was crying now.

I looked down. "I tell him stories, and he laughs. I tell him things he used to do, and he asks questions. Sometimes he says things that sound exactly like him, and for one second, I forget."

My chest tightened.

"Those are the worst moments."

Harper frowned. "Why?"

"Because they end."

I looked at her. "For one second, I think he's back."

My voice softened.

"Then he looks at me like he doesn't know why I'm staring at him."

A tear slid down my cheek.

"And I remember all over again."

No one spoke.

"I keep losing him."

The words were barely a whisper.

"Every day."

Mom moved her chair closer and wrapped her arms around me.

I cried into her shoulder. "I lost him when I got the phone call. Then I lost him when I walked into the hospital room. Then I lost him when he asked who I was." My hands clutched the back of her shirt. "And now I lose him every time he does something that reminds me of who he used to be."

My voice broke completely.

"I don't know how many times I can lose the same person."

Mom held me tighter.

The room stayed quiet.

Eventually, Harper spoke. "You don't have to do this alone."

I looked at her through my tears. "Yes, I do."

"No."

"You don't understand."

"You're right." She nodded. "We don't."

I stared at her.

"But we're trying."

That made me cry harder.

Brooklyn immediately got out of her chair.

"Oh no." I shook my head. "Don't."

Too late.

She wrapped her arms around me and Mom.

"Brooklyn."

"Be quiet."

"I'm eating."

"You're crying."

"I can do both."

Harper stood too.

"No." I pointed at her. "Don't you dare."

She hugged me anyway.

"This is terrible."

Hudson got out of his chair.

I stared at him. "If you hug me, I'm moving out."

He sat back down. "Okay."

I laughed. It came out broken and wet and embarrassing, but it was a laugh.

Mom smiled.

Dad reached across the table and stole a piece of my waffle.

I stared at him. "Did you just take my food?"

"You weren't eating it."

"I was having an emotional breakdown."

"It was getting cold."

"That is not an excuse."

"It seems reasonable."

"Give it back."

"I already ate it."

I stared at him.

My family laughed.

And somehow, I did too.

I sat there surrounded by them, trapped between Mom, Harper, and Brooklyn while my father stole my breakfast and Hudson continued eating like he hadn't started the entire interrogation.

For the first time that morning, I breathed.

Really breathed.

Eventually, my sisters let me go.

I wiped my face. "This family is exhausting."

Brooklyn sat down. "You love us."

"Unfortunately."

Hudson pointed his fork at me. "Riley used to say that."

I froze.

Everyone looked at him.

"What?"

Hudson shrugged. "He used to say that when you complained about us."

I stared at him. "He did."

Hudson nodded. "Yeah."

My heart hurt.

I looked down at my plate.

Another memory.

Except this one wasn't mine.

It belonged to Hudson.

I wondered how many pieces of Riley existed inside all of us.

Willow had memories. Kai had memories. Lydia had memories. Milo had memories. My parents had memories. Harper and Brooklyn had memories. Even Hudson had memories.

Maybe that was what loving someone meant.

Carrying pieces of them without realizing it.

Maybe I wasn't the only one remembering Riley. Maybe I was just the one who missed him differently.

I picked up my fork.

"Eat," Mom said.

"Yes, ma'am."

"And after breakfast, you're staying home for at least a few hours."

I looked at her. "What?"

"You've barely been here."

"I live here."

"Physically."

Brooklyn laughed. "Mom has a point."

"I don't like when you agree with her."

"I'm wise."

I smiled.

For the next half hour, I sat at the kitchen table with my family. They continued asking questions, and I answered the ones I could. I told them about the pumpkin patch. I told them about Milo choosing the smallest pumpkin. I told them about Riley asking me to tell him stories. I told them about the corn maze and how embarrassed he had been to learn that nine-year-old Riley had screamed about his dying Juliet.

I told them about the apple cider and the pumpkins and the little things Riley seemed to know without understanding how he knew them.

I didn't tell them about the journal. I didn't tell them about the goodbye notes. I didn't tell them the accident hadn't been an accident.

That truth stayed inside me.

Heavy. Waiting.

Just like it was waiting inside Riley.

Eventually, everyone started moving around again. Dad collected the plates. Mom started cleaning the kitchen. Hudson disappeared into the living room. Harper and Brooklyn began arguing over something neither of them would remember in an hour.

I stayed at the table.

My phone sat beside my hand.

Silent.

I looked at it and thought about Riley.

I wondered if he was awake. I wondered if he had told his family yet. I wondered if he had slept peacefully after I left. I wondered if he had dreamed.

My chest tightened.

Good night, Romeo. I'll meet you in my dreams.

I smiled sadly.

Maybe someday I wouldn't have to meet him there. Maybe someday he would remember enough that I could find pieces of my Romeo while we were both awake.

But deep down, beneath all the hope I tried so desperately to hold onto, there was a fear I never allowed myself to say aloud.

What if he didn't? What if this was Riley now? What if the boy who had known me better than anyone was gone, and I spent the rest of my life waiting for someone who was never coming home?

I looked toward the window. The morning sunlight streamed through the glass.

I thought about the boy at the pumpkin patch. The one who asked for another story. The one who offered me his cider. The one who carved Romeo and Juliet.

He wasn't my Riley. Not completely.

But he was still Riley.

Maybe that was what made everything so difficult.

I couldn't grieve him because he was alive. I couldn't move on because he was right there. I couldn't have him back because he didn't remember how to be the person I had lost.

So I existed somewhere in between.

Loving the boy he had been. Missing the boy who was gone. And slowly, terrifyingly, beginning to know the boy who had taken his place.

I didn't know which one hurt more.

I only knew that I loved Riley.

And somehow, loving him had become the most painful thing I had ever done.