Chapter 212: Chapter 212 You Had A Mysterious Boyfriend
Author
The next morning, Nancy pulled into the visitor parking lot and killed the engine.
She sat there for a second, hands still on the wheel, staring at the old brick buildings through the windshield.
Nothing. Not a single flicker of recognition.
She grabbed her bag and walked toward the quad. The air smelled like cut grass and whatever cheap coffee was brewing in the student center.
A group of girls walked past her, laughing about something, their voices bouncing off the old stone walls. Nancy felt like a ghost. Like she was watching a movie of someone else’s life.
She pulled out her phone and pulled up the campus forum. Someone had tagged her in a post from nine years ago. The Freshman Honors List. She zoomed in on the photo.
A girl with sharp cheekbones and clear eyes stared back at her. No makeup. A cheap dorm-room backdrop behind her. She was wearing a T-shirt Nancy did not remember owning.
That was her. Apparently.
She shoved the phone back in her pocket and kept walking.
"Nancy?"
She turned.
A woman was jogging toward her, a messenger bag bouncing against her hip. She had glasses and a messy bun and a smile that looked like it was about to split her face in half.
"Oh my God. It is you. I thought I was seeing things."
Nancy just blinked at her.
The woman’s smile faltered. "Wait. You remember me, right? It’s Wendy. We were roommates sophomore year. I sat next to you in like every single English class we took. Please tell me you remember."
Nancy felt a small pang of guilt. "I’m sorry. I don’t."
Wendy’s face dropped. "What? No. Seriously?"
"I was in a car accident. I lost a lot of my memory." Nancy said it flatly. She had said it so many times now it just came out automatic.
Wendy stared at her for a long second. Then she grabbed Nancy’s arm. "Okay. We are getting coffee. You can explain everything. I’m not letting you disappear again."
They ended up in the campus center cafe, sitting at a sticky table by the window. The place smelled like burnt espresso and stale muffins. Somewhere in the back, a blender was screaming.
"I had no idea," Wendy said, stirring her iced coffee. "We all thought you just... moved to Boston and ghosted us. I sent you like ten texts after you left. You never replied. We figured you just wanted a fresh start."
Nancy shook her head. "I didn’t get any of them."
"That is so messed up." Wendy leaned back in her chair. "I mean ... okay, sorry. That is terrible. I just... I can’t believe you forgot everything. You were like, the star of our class. The professor’s pet. Top of every single grade curve."
Nancy felt a strange weight in her chest. "Really?"
"Really. You were gorgeous and smart and honestly kind of annoying about it." Wendy grinned. "I mean that as a compliment. We were all a little jealous of you, to be honest."
She paused. Her grin faded.
"And then you just... disappeared. And people started talking."
Nancy raised an eyebrow. "Talking about what?"
Wendy hesitated. "You know how this campus is. Word travels fast. Someone started a rumor that you were being kept by some rich older guy. That’s why you dropped out. That’s why you left."
Nancy did not flinch. "Let them think what they want. I don’t care."
"Well, I care." Wendy’s jaw tightened. "You were my friend. And I’m not gonna let some stupid rumor hang over you now that you’re back."
Nancy gave her a small smile. "You don’t have to fight my battles, Wendy."
"Too late. Already decided." Wendy pulled out her phone. "Give me your Instagram. We are not losing touch again."
Nancy pulled out her phone and handed it over. Wendy typed her handle in and handed it back.
"Good. Now I really have to go teach — office hours in ten — but I am going to text you later. "
Wendy squeezed her arm one more time, then grabbed her bag and disappeared out the door.
Nancy sat there for a minute, alone with her cold coffee and the hum of the blender.
She finished her coffee, walked back to her car, and drove home.
At a red light, her phone buzzed.
A text from Wendy.
Nancy’s phone buzzed again. She glanced at the screen while she waited at the red light.
Wendy: [Hey, I just remembered something random. You had a boyfriend in college. Like, a mysterious one. None of us ever met him. You always said it was "complicated."]
Wendy:[ I think his last name was Wolfe. Does that ring a bell?]
Nancy’s heart stopped.
Wolfe.
The man in her dreams. The one with Yardley’s face. The one she woke up reaching for in the dark.
Could it be the same person?
She ran through what she knew about Yardley. Never married. Single father. A six-year-old son.
She gave birth when she was twenty-one.
The math worked.
The light turned green. Nancy did not go home. She cranked the wheel and headed straight for Orion’s elementary school.
She pulled up his contact.
[Hey, Orion. Quick question — when’s your birthday?]
Her phone buzzed.
[March seventh! Are you gonna celebrate with me next time, Nancy?]
Nancy forced herself to breathe. Her hands were ice cold on the steering wheel.
March seventh.
Six years ago, on March seventh, she had given birth.
She got out of the car.
"Orion!"
Her voice came out shaky.
Orion spun around. His whole face lit up. He practically bounced toward her. "Nancy! What are you doing here?"
The driver who came to pick him up hesitated when he saw her. He recognized her. The young master’s girlfriend. He hung back.
"I came to see you." Nancy crouched down, studying his face. Really studying it.
Did he look like her?
Maybe. Around the eyes. The shape of his mouth.
She reached out. "Orion, hold still. You have something in your hair."
She plucked a single strand, quick and careful, and palmed it.
Then she ruffled his hair with her other hand. "There. All good."
Orion did not notice a thing. He was too busy grinning at her.
But before he could soak it in, she straightened up. "Orion, I have to run. But I will see you soon, okay?"
His face dropped. "You’re leaving already?"
Then he perked up. "Okay. But next time, you have to come over for dinner, Miss Nancy."
Dad, I just set you up. You’re welcome.
Nancy smiled faintly. "Deal."
She walked back to her car. She carefully wrapped the strand of dark hair in a clean tissue and placed it in the center console.
Then she pulled up her GPS and drove.
Twenty minutes later, she walked into a private DNA testing center. The reception area was clean and quiet. Fluorescent lights. A faint smell of antiseptic.
Her hands were shaking.
She slid both samples across the counter and filled out the paperwork.
"How fast can I get the results?"
The receptionist glanced at the computer screen. "Standard turnaround is three to five business days. You’re looking at sometime early next week."
Almost a week.
She could wait.
