Chapter 84 Thank You, Cherry. For Everything
"Yes," the man replied with a curt nod, sliding his credit card toward her.
"That will be $3.90," she said. She processed the card, the machine emitting a cheerful beep, and tucked the items into a plastic bag. "Have a nice day."
"You too," he muttered, already cracking a tab on a soda as he disappeared through the automatic doors.
The hours blurred. A sea of faces, a mountain of groceries, and the steady chime of the scanner. By 2:00 PM, her legs ached, and her mind was a dull hum. She clocked out, the relief of finishing her shift washing over her like a cool wave.
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The Bloom residence was quiet when she returned. The house smelled faintly of Cherry’s cinnamon candles. Maggie climbed the stairs, her footsteps heavy on the carpeted risers. She reached the guestroom, dropped her bag on the floral duvet, and realized how parched she was.
She turned back toward the hallway, heading for the stairs to get a glass of water. Her mind was drifting— thinking about her shift, about a specific customer’s rude comment— when her foot caught on the edge of the top step.
Time seemed to stutter.
"Oh—!"
The world tilted. Maggie’s hands flew out to grab the railing, but she missed. She tumbled, a chaotic blur of limbs and pain as she hit the stairs once, twice, before sliding the rest of the way to the hardwood floor at the landing.
"Ahhh..." she breathed out, a sharp, ragged sound. She lay there for a moment, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
Slowly, she pushed herself up to her feet, wincing as her ankle throbbed. But as she stood, the physical pain was eclipsed by something far more jarring.
A wave of déjà vu crashed over her, so violent it made her dizzy. It wasn’t just a feeling; it was a sensory explosion. She felt the ghost of a shove against her shoulder blades. She saw a flicker of a different hallway, darker and colder. The sensation of falling wasn’t new— it was a frantic, terrifying repetition.
Hours later
The kitchen was warm, filled with the rhythmic thwack-thwack of a knife against a cutting board. Cherry was prepping onions, her eyes squinting against the sting, while Maggie stood by the sink, rinsing plates.
Cherry paused, her knife hovering over a red onion. She glanced down at Maggie’s feet. "I noticed you’ve been limping since I got home. What happened?"
Maggie didn’t look up from the soapy water. "I fell."
"Fell?" Cherry dropped the knife and turned fully, her brow furrowed in genuine concern. "Are you okay? Did you hit your head? Do we need to go to the clinic?"
"I’m fine. Thank you, Cherry," Maggie responded, her voice tight. She kept her focus on the plate in her hand, scrubbing a spot that was already clean.
"Are you sure? You look... pale. More than usual."
Maggie finally looked up, her eyes wide and unsettled. "If I was not okay, I’d tell you."
Cherry held her gaze for a beat, then nodded slowly. "Okay. I believe you."
The silence stretched for a moment, punctuated only by the sound of running water. Then, Maggie spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Something happened when I fell. It wasn’t just the trip. It was as if it had happened before. Like a memory from the past." She gripped the edge of the sink, her knuckles turning white. "I saw someone. Or rather, I heard someone. A man. He was standing over me while I was on the floor, and he said... 'You should have stayed quiet.'"
Cherry’s breath hitched. "What? Are you sure?"
"Yes," Maggie nodded fervently. "The memory is a fragment— like a shattered mirror. Nothing else is clear. I can’t see his face. But it happened. I’m certain of it."
Cherry didn’t hesitate. She wiped her hands on her apron and grabbed her phone from the counter. Her fingers flew across the screen as she typed.
"I’m looking this up on Gemini," Cherry murmured, as she scanned the screen, her eyes moving rapidly. "Listen to this: 'A near-experience or physical sensation that mirrors a past traumatic incident can act as a somatic trigger for someone with amnesia. This sensory input can unlock 'islands' of memory, often beginning with fragments of the event itself. This can be the start of a person recovering their lost memories.'"
Cherry looked up, her face lit with a mixture of awe and hope. She read the words aloud to Maggie, whose hands had stopped shaking.
"Does it say if I’ll get it all back?" Maggie asked, her voice trembling with a mix of hope and fear.
Cherry turned back to the phone. "I’ll ask. 'If someone unlocks a fragment, will they regain their full memory? How long does it take?'"
She waited a beat, then read the response: "Recovery is highly individual. While unlocking one memory can lead to a 'floodgate' effect, things are never certain. Some regain everything within a week of the first trigger; for others, it takes months or even years of piecing fragments together. Some memories may never come back and remain permanently suppressed as a defense mechanism."
Cherry lowered the phone and stepped toward Maggie, offering a small, encouraging smile. "Maggie, this is progress. Real progress. It’s scary, I know, but your brain is trying to talk to you. This might be the start of you getting yourself back."
Maggie looked at the sink, then back at Cherry. For the first time that day, the smile she gave actually reached her eyes. "Thank you, Cherry. For everything."
“Don’t mention it,” Cherry said, picking the knife back up, her eyes stinging from the sharp bite of the onions. “Now, help me finish these before I start crying for real.”