Maya sat on the museum bench, her hands trembling around the locket. Her breath was uneven, caught between disbelief and revelation.
"You were there?" she asked again, staring at J—no, Jordan. The name finally returned to her mind like a flash of lightning through darkness.
"I was eleven," he said quietly. "I saw what they did to your brother… and how they turned it on you. Your father, your stepmother—they knew the truth. But they couldn't risk it coming out."
Maya's chest tightened. Images flashed through her mind like broken glass: her father's cold gaze, the forced therapy sessions, the pills that dulled her memory, the isolation.
"You tried to tell someone," Jordan added. "But the system believed them. They made sure of it."
Maya gripped the edges of the bench, fury mixing with sorrow. "Why didn't you stop them?"
"I was a scared kid. Just like you. But I kept watching… because I knew someday you'd remember. Someday you'd need the truth."
Maya's voice cracked. "I needed you then."
"I know."
Tears fell, but they weren't just from pain. They were awakening. Like the fire that took her brother had finally burned through the fog in her heart.
"You've spent your life in silence," Jordan said, stepping closer, kneeling in front of her. "But your voice—it's back now. And it's powerful."
Maya looked at him.
For the first time, she didn't see the stranger who had been watching her.
She saw the boy who never forgot her.
The one who kept her story alive when she couldn't.
And for the first time in a long time…
She felt safe.