Her Forgotten Name | Part I

Her Forgotten Name | Part I: Waking Up as a Stranger

The first thing she noticed was the silence. Cold, sterile silence. Then came the light—bright, too bright. Her eyelids fluttered open and she was greeted by a white ceiling with flickering fluorescent bulbs. A hospital?

She tried to sit up, but her arms felt weak. Machines beeped faintly beside her. An IV line ran to her wrist. Her heart rate increased. Why was she here?

A nurse appeared. "You're awake," she said with relief. "Do you know your name?"

She opened her mouth. Nothing came out. A wave of panic surged through her chest. Her name. What was her name?

"I... I don’t know," she whispered. Her voice was unfamiliar even to herself. Like she was hearing it for the first time.

Try to Remember More

Doctors came and went, talking in careful, quiet voices. “Retrograde amnesia,” one of them told her. “It’s common after trauma. Your memory may return slowly.”

They handed her a purse retrieved from the site of a car accident. Inside was a cracked phone, smeared lipstick, and a driver’s license: **Lillian Rae**. She stared at the picture. It was her. But it didn’t feel like her.

They called her Lillian. She nodded. But the name felt like a coat she had borrowed. It didn’t fit right.

The following days were a haze. Friends visited. Or so they said. They told stories about shared memories, birthday trips, broken relationships. She smiled, nodded, thanked them. But she remembered none of it.

At night, she would lie awake in her hospital bed, staring at the ceiling. There was a pressure behind her eyes, like something inside was trying to escape. Images flickered at the edge of her mind—shadows, a burning door, a scream that echoed endlessly.

One evening, she was handed her belongings. She was being discharged. "Take your time," the nurse said gently. "Your apartment’s been cleaned. Your friend, Camilla, left keys and groceries."

She nodded. Still silent. Still feeling like a ghost wearing someone else's skin.

Enter Her Forgotten Life

The apartment was... unfamiliar. Modern. White. Impersonal. There were photographs on the wall of her with others—laughing at parties, standing on beaches—but she didn’t recognize a single face. Not even her own.

Her fingers trembled as she touched a framed picture. In it, she was holding a man’s hand. The image was warm, full of love. But it meant nothing. No flicker of memory. Only a tightness in her chest.

That night, she dreamt of fire. Screams. A woman yelling her name—only it wasn’t Lillian. It was something else. She woke up gasping.

In the morning, she explored the apartment again. She noticed a locked drawer in the study. Inside the top drawer of the desk, she found a strange key. It didn’t match any doors in the house. It had an engraving: **M.L.**

Who was M.L.?

Later that day, her phone buzzed. A number she didn’t recognize. She hesitated and picked up.

“You’re not supposed to be alive,” the voice on the other end whispered. Then hung up.

Unlock the First Memory

Her blood ran cold. Her hands trembled. She stared at the screen, hoping the call was just a glitch. But deep down, she knew better.

She wasn’t just someone who forgot. She was someone meant to forget. Someone had erased her... and they weren’t finished yet.

To be continued...

→ Read Part II: Her Forgotten Name | The Memory Key