The memory, if that’s what it was, slipped away like water through her fingers, leaving only an uneasy feelingin its wake. “Just stress,” she muttered, reaching for the bottle of aspirin in her desk drawer. The quarterly reports were due, and she’d been working extra hours. That’s all it was.
She pushed away the nagging sensation that had been growing stronger lately. The feeling that something was trying to surface in her mind. Her computer screen showed 2:30 in the afternoon. In a few hours Nia would be home from school, filling their small house with stories about her day. Roshelle focused on that thought, on the solid reality of her present life, letting it anchor her against the strange tide of unease.
The headache gradually subsided, but the echo of that half-remembered moment lingered like a shadow at the edge of her vision. She immersed herself in spreadsheets and client emails, determined to keep her mind occupied with the concrete details of her daily routine. Yet somewhere in the back of her mind, a door that had been locked for 25 years had begun to crack open, letting in whispers of a past she had taught herself to forget.
