Chapter 7: Motel Sightings

During the day, I wandered the streets.

I walked past the old playground where Rachel used to rehearse her lines, the bakery that always gave me free cookies, the church with the broken bell. I didn’t go inside anywhere, just drifted.

At night, as soon as it got dark, I returned to the hotel to sleep.

The neon sign outside flickered red and gold, painting strange patterns on the wall above my bed. I kept the curtains shut tight.

I stayed in the hotel for a week, but my mom still hadn’t told me to come home.

Each day I checked my phone, hoping for a message. My hope faded with every passing night.

I had run out of money.

I counted my change twice, even dug through my bag for spare coins, but it wasn’t enough for another night.

I sent my mom a message on Facebook Messenger—

I typed and retyped the same words, erasing most of them. In the end, I just wrote: “Mom, can I come home now?”

Only to find that she had blocked me.

Her profile picture disappeared, and my messages wouldn’t send. It felt colder than any slap.

At noon, I sat in the hotel lobby, lost in thought.

The TV played a rerun of Jeopardy, and the receptionist ignored me, scrolling on her phone. I watched the sunlight creep across the linoleum floor.

From a distance, I saw a handsome man and a beautiful woman standing by the indoor garden entrance.

They looked like a magazine ad—his suit perfect, her dress shimmering under the fluorescent lights.

The man stood tall, his back to me, so I could only see his broad, straight shoulders.

He leaned in as the woman laughed, her hand brushing his arm.

The woman had a graceful figure, wearing an elegant long dress, her face upturned in a smile at the man.

She looked like Rachel, but I couldn’t be sure from here.

But I could only see half of her profile.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture achingly familiar.

Was it really them, or just my brain playing tricks again? Everything felt fuzzy around the edges. I blinked, rubbing my temples as a headache pressed behind my eyes.

But these days, I always had headaches, and everything seemed shrouded in a fog.

It was like my brain was wrapped in cotton. Nothing felt real.

It only made the scene before me feel more dreamlike.

The colors bled together, and my heart pounded faster.

I picked up my phone and took a picture of that beautiful moment.

I wanted to remember it, just in case it was important.

But I actually forgot to turn off the flash, and the shutter sound was at its loudest.

The bright pop startled everyone nearby, and I fumbled to silence it, cheeks burning.

They both noticed me immediately.

Jason’s head snapped around, and Rachel’s smile vanished. I shrank into the lobby chair, clutching my phone.

The man’s jaw tightened.

He looked like he was about to march over and demand an explanation.

The look he gave me was anything but friendly.

I wanted to melt into the plastic upholstery, or run out the sliding doors.

I watched as the two of them walked toward me, my heart pounding with anxiety.

Rachel’s heels clicked sharply. Jason’s hands were shoved deep in his pockets, his face thunderous.

Until Jason Grant and Rachel stood over me, looking down.

I couldn’t meet their eyes. My phone slipped from my hands onto the table with a clatter.

"Melissa, why are you here?" Jason Grant’s voice was as cold as ever.

He sounded like he was scolding a trespasser, not someone he used to know.

I looked at Rachel, too scared to speak.

She folded her arms, expression unreadable, but I saw her mouth twitch with annoyance.

Jason Grant stretched out his hand.

He didn’t ask twice. The gesture was sharp, impatient.

"Hand over your phone."

His words brooked no argument. My hands trembled as I obeyed.

I timidly handed it to him.

I wanted to explain, but the words got stuck in my throat.

Strangely, he knew my password.

I watched as he entered the six digits, his fingers moving without hesitation.

Even I didn’t know what those six digits meant.

I’d set it a year ago, but couldn’t remember why. It was a mystery even to me.

I had tried all my family members’ birthdays, but none matched.

It bothered me that he could unlock my secrets so easily.

Jason Grant found the photo, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

He held up the phone, showing the blurry image of him and Rachel. His lips thinned in anger.

"Why did you secretly take a picture? Melissa, what are you trying to do to Rachel? Are you still trying to hurt her?"

His voice was low, accusing. The words cut through me like ice.

I shook my head frantically, so anxious I nearly burst into tears.

My mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out at first.

"No, I didn’t."

It came out barely above a whisper, and I squeezed my hands together to keep from shaking.

If I could just make them understand, maybe I could finally go home.

I knew my sister was better than me.

She always won. There was never any contest between us.

I was so mediocre, I never thought of competing with her for anything.

I’d never even thought I was worthy of her shadow.

But my mom said I once showed up at my sister’s new TV show press event in formal attire.

She never let me forget it—how I “ruined everything” with my presence.

Some reporters said that I looked similar to my sister, but our personalities were completely different.

They compared us in headlines and Instagram captions. I never asked for any of it.

My sister was poised and elegant.

She moved like she was born for the camera, every gesture polished.

I was quirky, open, and kind.

They said I had a wider acting range.

An old theater coach once told me I was “a natural.” Rachel never forgave me for that.

So the female lead role my sister had landed suddenly changed hands.

I didn’t want it, but the director gave it to me. Rachel cried all night.

In the end, I didn’t get to act either.

There was too much drama. The production was canceled, and no one won.

But my sister lost her chance to become a star.

She blamed me, and maybe she was right.

So my sister hated me, hated that I stole everyone’s attention, hated that I couldn’t stand to see her succeed.

I would’ve done anything to change it.

No matter how I explained, no one believed me.

They looked through me, not at me. My words never stuck.

During that time, everyone targeted me. My family took turns expressing their disappointment.

My dad stopped talking to me. My mom started sleeping in Rachel’s room. Even my grandma called to scold me.

That suffocating feeling—

It settled in my chest and never left, no matter how many times I tried to run from it.

It was like a nightmare.

Every day I woke up hoping things would be different, and every day they weren’t.

I never wanted to go through it again.

"Please believe me, I didn’t." I clung helplessly to Jason Grant’s sleeve, begging him in despair.

Tears slid down my cheeks as I squeezed his hand, desperate for understanding.

He frowned and said:

He leaned in, voice barely above a whisper, the accusation burning in his eyes.

"Melissa, are you still pretending? You never lost your memory, did you?"

My world tilted. If he was right, then everything—the memories, the pain, the years—meant nothing. Or maybe, they meant everything.