"What you are describing, Mrs Wolfe, is called selective dissociative amnesia," the doctor said gently.
Kira and Jessica were sitting side by side in the quiet doctor’s office at Aethelwulf Centralis. The room smelled faintly of peppermint and antiseptic. Soft morning light filtered through the half-closed blinds, casting gentle stripes across the wooden desk.
She had just finished recounting the flashes—the hands on her throat, the shove on the balcony, the smell of kerosene. Talking about it felt like pulling shards of glass out of her chest.
The doctor, an older human woman with kind eyes and silver threads in her dark hair, had listened without interrupting. When Kira finally fell silent, the doctor leaned forward slightly and told her what her condition was.
Kira’s brows furrowed in confusion at the clinical words. "Selective?"
"Yes," the doctor said, leaning back in her chair. "It happens when the mind protects itself from pain that is too much to bear. It’s a survival mechanism. You may remember some details of the events — the fear, the smoke, the feeling of hands around your throat, the falling sensation — but important parts stay hidden. Most often, the identity of the person who caused the harm, or the full emotions connected to it, becomes locked away. It’s common in children who suffer at the hands of a parent."
Kira felt a chill crawl up her spine. "But why? If he was trying to kill me, why wouldn’t I want to remember his face so I could run away?"
"Because you were a child," the doctor replied. "A child depends on their parent for everything—food, shelter, a sense of belonging. To accept that the person who is supposed to protect you is the one trying to end you... that is too much for a young brain to handle. It’s called a ’betrayal trauma.’ To stay alive, your mind hid his face so you could continue to live in his house, eat his food, and survive. It preserved the relationship to preserve your life, even if that relationship was a lie."
Kira let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. She glanced at Jessica, who reached over and squeezed her hand once, warm and steady. It made sense. All those years she had blamed herself, thought she was a curse, and tried to earn Rolf’s love—it was all because her mind had protected her from the truth that he was her monster.
***
After they left the doctor’s office, the two friends walked slowly along one of the town’s paths lined with tall trees. The neutral ground was alive with the sounds of people and the hum of life. But Kira was all caught up in her own head.
"I think I have a lead, Jess," Kira said, stopping by a tree.
"A lead on what?"
"Sometime ago, at the mall, a woman stopped and stared at me. She looked horrified. She called me Claire, and I’m just getting to find out that my mother’s name was Claire. I think she might be a lead. Someone who actually knew my mother."
"So, what happened? Did you get any information about this woman that would be a great start?" Jessica asked.

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