Before I Forget You

Who even knows whose bastard that is?

The day I decided to give my daughter away, my ex-husband laughed on the other end of the line. It was a cold, jagged sound.

Before I could get a word out, before I could defend her, he hung up. I could hear Kinsley giggling in the background just before the line went dead.

That was the moment.

I sat in my car. The sunset bled across the dashboard, staining everything red.

Then, the static came.

My brain went blank.

I forgot who I was. I forgot why hot tears were sliding down my face. I forgot... everything.

Twenty-eight.

I was only twenty-eight when the doctor handed me the death sentence. Alzheimer's.

And my daughter.

My little Callie.

She was currently standing at the preschool gate, waiting for a mother who had forgotten she existed, for three solid hours.

Chapter 1

I didn't get a chance to argue. To scream. To beg.

Kinsley's impatient voice murmured something on the other end. Beckett didn't hesitate.

Click.

The line went dead.

I dialed back immediately. My fingers shook.

Straight to voicemail.

He had blocked me.

I sat there, frozen. My chest felt hollowed out, as if someone had reached in and scooped out my lungs.

Focus.

Callie. She was getting out of school. I had to pick her up.

I started the car. I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. I pulled onto the road.

Halfway there, the world tilted.

I looked at the road signs. They were just shapes. I tried to think of the name of Callie's preschool, but the file in my brain was corrupted. Gone.

Panic spiked in my blood.

I grabbed my phone. I unlocked the screen.

Then, the static got louder.

I stared at the device in my hand. Why was I holding this? Why was I driving? Why was my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird? And why did I feel this crushing, suffocating grief?

I didn't know.

I just sat there.

Traffic flowed around me. The sun dipped below the horizon. The sky bruised purple, then faded to black.

Ringing.

The harsh sound shattered the trance.

I jumped. The vibration in my hand felt alien.

It was pitch black outside. The streetlights glared at me.

I answered.

"Callie's mom? What is wrong with you?"

The voice was unfamiliar. Sharp. Angry.

"Look at the time! I've been waiting here with her since the school closed! If I hadn't stayed behind... Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? She could have been kidnapped! What kind of mother are you?"

Snap.

The fog lifted. The connection re-established.

Callie.

I was driving to get Callie.

"I'm sorry," I gasped, the words tumbling out. "I'm coming. I'm coming right now."

I drove like a maniac. I didn't check the speedometer. I just needed to get to her.

I skidded to a halt in front of the preschool.

There she was.

Callie.

She stood by the gate, looking so small. She wasn't crying. She wasn't screaming. She just blinked those big, dark eyes at me.

I scrambled out of the car. I fell to my knees in front of her.

Tears spilled out of me, hot and fast.

"Don't cry, Mommy." Her voice was tiny. "Callie isn't scared. Callie is brave."

"I knew Mommy would come back."

She reached out. Her small hand brushed my cheek to wipe away the wetness.

Her skin was ice.

The cold burned me.

Three hours. She stood in the wind for three hours.

Guilt crashed into me like a freight train. Regret. Terror. Self-loathing.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to claw my own skin off. I wanted to slap myself until I felt something other than this shame.

I hugged her. I squeezed her so tight I was afraid I'd break her.

"I'm so sorry," I choked out to Ms. Thompson. I bowed my head, over and over.

"This cannot happen again," Ms. Thompson hissed, her eyes hard. There was a threat in her tone. Child Protective Services.

"It won't," I lied.

I took Callie's freezing hand and led her to the car.

But I knew the truth.

I didn't have many "agains" left.

Chapter 2

It started a month ago.

One minute, I was driving to work. The next, I woke up in my bed. Twenty-four hours had vanished. Gone.

Panic didn't just rise; it swallowed me whole.

My boss didn't care about my "memory lapses." After I missed work two more times following the warning because I forgot I even had a job, he fired me.

So I went to the hospital.

I sat on the crinkly paper of the exam table, swinging my legs, trying to laugh it off. "Maybe I'm just getting old, right? Premature senility?"

Dr. Smith didn't smile.

He ran tests. Endless, exhausting tests.

When he finally walked back in, he held a piece of paper that would end my life.

Alzheimer's.

I stared at the word until it blurred.

"Doctor," my voice sounded tinny, like it was coming from a radio in another room. "I'm twenty-eight. That's a grandma disease."

Dr. Smith sighed. It was a heavy, pitying sound. "Early-onset familial Alzheimer's. It's rare in someone your age, Aria, but... the scans don't lie."

His mouth kept moving. He talked about genetics. Head trauma. Something about probabilities.

I didn't hear a word. A high-pitched ringing screamed in my ears.

"How long?" I interrupted, gripping the edge of the table until my knuckles turned white. "How long do I have before I..." Before I forget Callie?

He hesitated. "With the speed of your progression... less than six months of lucidity."

I walked out of the clinic. The world spun. The pavement seemed to tilt under my feet.

Why?

Why me?

I didn't care about dying. If I just ceased to exist, fine.

But Callie.

She was five. She was helpless.

I collapsed on the hospital steps. I buried my face in my knees and screamed, a silent, guttural sound that tore at my throat.

I sat there until the streetlights flickered on. The darkness settled over me, heavy and cold.

I had to accept it.

And I had to make a choice.

...

There was only one option.

Her father.

Beckett.

I dialed his number. My hands shook so hard I almost dropped the phone.

He answered, but his voice was like broken glass. Cold. Sharp. He barely let me speak. He laughed at mea cruel, mocking soundand then hung up.

That night, I watched Callie sleep. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. She looked so peaceful.

I couldn't drag her into this mess. Not yet.

I called Grayson.

"I need a favor," I whispered, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. "Can you watch her for a few days?"

"Of course, Aria. Is everything okay?"

"Yes," I lied.

I booked the first flight out.

I landed in Beckett's city at dawn.

Five years. I hadn't stepped foot on this pavement in five years. The air smelled different hereindustrial, expensive, cold.

I didn't have time for nostalgia. My brain was a ticking time bomb.

I went straight to the Beckett Group headquarters.

He was the CEO now. Powerful. Untouchable.

"I'm sorry, Miss," the receptionist said, eyeing my wrinkled clothes with disdain. "Mr. Beckett doesn't see anyone without an appointment."

I begged. I pleaded. I made a scene.

Finally, a security guard took pity on me. Or maybe he just wanted me to leave.

"It's Wednesday," he muttered. "He's not here. On Wednesdays, he's at the private villa. With his girlfriend."

Girlfriend.

The word was a punch to the gut. I remembered the giggle on the phone. Kinsley.

It took me hours to find the address.

When I finally stood in front of the massive oak door, my legs gave out. I had to lean against the frame to stop from falling.

I raised my hand to knock.

My fingers trembled.

It had been so long.

And despite the cruelty, despite the hate in his voice, despite the fact that he belonged to someone else now...

God, I missed him.

Chapter 3

The breakup had been a nuclear detonation.

It left nothing behind. No hoodies, no toothbrushes, no photos. For five years, the only way I saw his face was through pixelated screenshots of business articles on my phone screen.

I was drowning in the memory of him when the heavy oak door swung open.

A blast of air conditioning hit me. Then, him.

"How did you find this place?"

His voice was absolute zero.

My stomach dropped. I couldn't rat out the security guard.

I stammered a lie. Something incoherent.

He didn't even blink. He didn't care about the hole in my story. He just stared. His eyes raked over me, analyzing, dissecting.

I managed a glance upward.

This wasn't the boy who used to kneel on the floor, clinging to my waist, begging me not to leave.

This was a stranger.

His eyes held nothing but the cold, terrifying distance you give a trespasser.

My throat closed up. I tried to speak, but the words turned to ash in my mouth.

Click. Click. Click.

The sharp sound of stilettos on marble.

A pair of blood-red heels stepped into my peripheral vision.

Kinsley wrapped an arm around Beckett's bicep. She was radiant, glowing with the kind of confidence that comes from being chosen.

"Beckett, babe? Is this her? The ex who walked out on you?"

He didn't answer her. He didn't look at her. He kept his eyes on me.

"Do you need something?" he asked, his voice flat. "If not, get the hell off my property."

Callie.

The name flashed in my mind like a warning light.

I ignored the acid in his tone. I ignored the way Kinsley leaned into him. I reached into my bag with shaking hands.

"This is the paternity test." I thrust the envelope toward him. "I did it a long time ago. She's your daughter, Beckett. I... I can't take care of her anymore. Personal reasons. I need you to take her."

He barely glanced at the paper.

A smile touched his lips. It wasn't happy. It was cruel.

"How do I know you didn't print this off the internet?"

The air left my lungs.

He saw the color drain from my face. His smile widened, sharp as a knife's edge.

He pulled Kinsley tighter against his side. His fingers splayed across her waist, a possessive, deliberate display. He nuzzled her hair, eyes still locked on mine, daring me to react.

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat.

I pulled out the photo.

"Just look," I pleaded, my voice cracking. "Look at her nose. Look at her mouth. She is your carbon copy."

"Beckett, please. Callie is your daughter."

He turned his head away. He wouldn't even grant the image a second of his time.

"Five years ago, when I begged for a family, you looked me in the eye and told me the kid wasn't mine," he spat. The ice in his voice cracked, revealing pure, molten rage.

"And now? What, you're bored of playing single mom? You want to unload your burden on me and claim she's mine?"

He stepped back, hand on the door handle.

"Aria, do you really think I'm that stupid?"

SLAM.

The heavy wood swung shut.

I didn't move fast enough.

The rough edge of the door caught my wrist.

It scraped the skin raw. A jagged patch of skin tore away.

"Ah!"

Tears exploded in my eyes. The pain was sharp, stinging, immediate. I clutched my arm to my chest, gasping for air.

I sank to the ground on his doorstep.

I didn't know what to do. I didn't know where to go.

Buzz. Buzz.

My phone vibrated against the concrete.

Grayson.

I answered, pressing the phone to my ear with my good hand.

"Aria? When are you coming back?" His voice was low, worried. "Callie isn't saying anything, but I know her. She's terrified you aren't coming back."

"She's being so good. It's heartbreaking."

I squeezed my eyes shut. A tear leaked out.

"Okay," I whispered. "I know. I'll finish up here. I'm coming home."

Chapter 4

I video-called Callie immediately.

Her face filled the screen. Her eyes were swollen, red-rimmed circles of grief. But she forced a wobbly smile.

"I'm okay, Mommy," she chirped, her voice trembling. "I'm a big girl. I'm not scared. Don't worry about me."

My wrist had gone numb. The throbbing was a distant dullness now.

But watching her? That tore me open.

Grayson snatched the phone from Callie's hands. His face appeared, sharp and angry. His eyes instantly zeroed in on my arm.

"Aria." His voice was thick with anxiety. "Who did that to your wrist?"

I shook my head, hiding the injury off-screen.

"Where are you?" he demanded. "I'm coming to get you."

"No," I whispered.

"Why are you doing this?" He leaned closer to the camera, his gaze piercing. "Why are you handing custody to him? What aren't you telling me?"

Panic flared in my chest. Grayson was too smart. He was seeing through the cracks.

I looked up.

Beckett was there.

He stood a few feet away, watching me. His expression was a terrifying void.

How much had he heard?

I jabbed the 'End Call' button. The screen went black.

"Why are you here?" I breathed.

Beckett took a slow, predatory step forward.

"Grayson," he drawled, the name tasting like poison in his mouth. "He certainly cares about you. I bet he wouldn't mind playing daddy to the brat. What do you think?"

He stopped inches from me. He towered over me, blocking out the light.

"Or maybe," he lowered his voice to a dangerous whisper, "he is the father?"

My blood ran cold.

Five years ago, to make Beckett let me go, I had looked him in the eye and lied. I told him the baby wasn't his.

He had guessed everyone. Including his best friend, Grayson.

That lie had nuked their brotherhood. It turned them into enemies. For years, Beckett had tried to crush Grayson's business into the dirt because of me.

I couldn't let Grayson take the fall again.

"Callie is yours," I said, my voice shaking. "I lied to you back then. I was terrified you'd take her away from me. She was all I had."

Beckett laughed. It was a dry, hollow sound.

"And now?" He tilted his head. "Now she's just baggage? You want to dump her on me, just like you dumped me, so you can run off into the sunset with Grayson?"

His words pinned me to the spot.

I had to do this. I had to make him hate me enough to take her.

"Grayson and I are just friends," I said flatly. I forced my eyes to stay dry. "As for Callie... I'm done. I can't do the single mom thing anymore. She's your daughter. If you don't want her, I'll put her in the system. Foster care. Orphanage. Whatever."

I stared at the ground. I couldn't look at him.

Beckett's breathing hitched. His hands curled into fists at his sides.

"Aria," he ground out through clenched teeth. "Good. Great."

"You don't deserve to be a mother."

I didn't defend myself. I couldn't.

I pulled the custody agreement from my bag and held it out.

"Sign it."

He snatched the papers.

He braced the folder against the wall and signed. His pen tore through the paper.

My eyes snagged on his wrist.

A jagged, thick scar ran across the veins. A souvenir from "that year."

I looked away. My stomach lurched.

He finished. He didn't hand the papers back.

He threw them in my face.

The sharp edges sliced my cheek before fluttering to the ground.

"Get out," he said. One word. Absolute ice.

I bent down, gathered the papers, and whispered, "I'll bring her in a week