Her Stolen Memory

The cold stone pressed against my cheek like a death kiss.

I slowly opened my eyes, my head pounding like someone had taken a sledgehammer to my skull. Everything was blurry, just flickering candlelight dancing in the darkness. The air reeked of blood—thick, metallic, nauseating—mixed with the musty smell of decay that crawled up my nostrils.

'Where the hell am I?'

I tried to sit up, but something yanked hard at my wrists. Looking down, heavy iron chains bound my hands, the other end secured to a ring bolted into the stone wall. The metal scraped against rock with a bone-chilling screech.

"What the fuck..." I whispered, my voice echoing in this confined space.

I struggled to prop myself up, and that's when I saw what I was wearing—a tattered white wedding dress. What had once been pure silk was now stained with dark red blotches, torn in places to reveal my pale skin underneath. The hem was caked with dirt and blood.

'Wedding dress? Right, I was just at the church...'

Memory fragments suddenly flooded back: sunlight streaming through stained glass windows, the wedding march playing on the organ, Alessandro in his black tuxedo standing at the altar, his eyes full of love as he watched me walk down the aisle...

"Alessandro..." I whispered his name like a prayer. "Our wedding... why am I here?"

I shook the chains frantically, the metallic clanging echoing harshly in this dark space.

Looking around, I found myself in an ancient stone wine cellar. Thick stone walls were covered in moss, with old oak barrels stacked in the corners. A few candles were stuck in iron brackets on the walls, their weak flames barely illuminating this oppressive space.

My gaze stopped at a carving on the wall—an eagle clutching a serpent, surrounded by olive branches. That was... the Corleone family crest.

'No, this can't be right. The Corleones are Alessandro's enemies. How could I be on their territory?'

Even more chilling were the fingernail scratches clawed into the stone walls—deep and shallow gouges showing someone had been imprisoned here for a long time.

"Is anyone there?" I screamed at the top of my lungs. "Help! What is this place?"

My voice bounced around the cellar, answered only by dead silence.

I tried desperately to remember what had just happened, but beyond the beautiful wedding images, everything else was blank. Alessandro's smile, the priest's blessing, the guests' applause... these memories were so vivid, as if they'd happened just minutes ago.

But why was I here? Why was my wedding dress covered in blood? Where did these injuries come from?

I looked down at my body and found my arms and legs covered with unexplained bruises and scratches. Some had healed, leaving faint scars—clearly not fresh wounds.

'When did I get these injuries? Why can't I remember any of it?'

Just as I was sinking into despair, soft footsteps echoed from the staircase. Light, small steps—like a child's.

In the candlelight, a tiny figure appeared at the cellar entrance. It was a girl about five years old, with soft black curls and bright green eyes that sparkled in the dim light. She wore an elegant white dress, looking like a little angel.

What surprised me was how fearlessly she walked toward me, her small face full of worry and concern.

"Mama, you're finally awake!" Her sweet voice rang through the cellar. "I was so worried about you."

I stared wide-eyed, completely shocked by this unexpected address.

"Mama?" I managed to croak out. "Little angel, you've got the wrong person... I don't have any children."

The little girl tilted her head, confusion filling her bright green eyes.

"But Papa Matteo said you're sick and forgot lots of things." She said innocently. "He's upstairs crying, saying he misses you so much."

"Matteo? No... no, that's wrong. My husband is Alessandro..."

The girl stepped closer, her small hand gently touching my cheek. Her touch was so warm, so familiar, it made my heart skip a beat.

'Why? Why does this child's touch feel so strangely familiar?'

The moment her little hand pressed against my cheek, blurry images suddenly flashed through my mind:

Blood... blood everywhere...

A man roaring in anger, his voice filled with rage and pain...

I was screaming, the sound heart-wrenching...

Church bells mixed with gunshots...

And two male faces overlapping in my memory—one was Alessandro's gentle, handsome features, the other... the other was blurry but radiating danger...

"Ah!" I clutched my head in agony as memory fragments sliced through my brain like glass.

"Mama, are you okay?" The little girl was frightened by my reaction, tears welling up in her eyes.

I gasped for breath, trying to calm down. Looking at this child's worried expression, a strange protective instinct surged in my heart.

"What's... what's your name?" I asked weakly.

"Lucia." She wiped her tears. "My name is Lucia Corleone."

Corleone... that name again.

"Mama, why did you forget we're a family?" Lucia asked innocently. "Papa said you'll remember, as long as I spend more time with you."

'This child... why do I feel this strange familiarity when I look at her? But I clearly don't have children... I clearly just married Alessandro...'

My brain was in chaos. My memory told me one thing, but reality showed something completely different. Which one was real?

Lucia sat down beside me, her small hand grasping mine.

"Mama, your hands are so cold." She said worriedly. "Papa asked me to bring you some food."

She pulled bread and milk from a small basket behind her, carefully offering them to me.

"Papa said you need to eat slowly. You haven't eaten properly in a long time."

'Haven't eaten properly in a long time? I just had dinner at the wedding reception...'

But my stomach was indeed growling, hunger washing over me like a tide. I mechanically took the bread and bit into it. The taste of food was real, and so was the hunger.

"Lucia..." I said softly. "Can you tell me what date it is today?"

The little girl thought for a moment. "Today is September 15th."

"What year?"

"2024, of course." She answered matter-of-factly.

2024... If my memory was correct, my wedding should have been in 2019.

Five years... a complete five-year blank.

"Mama, you look very confused." Lucia gently stroked my hair. "Papa said you'll gradually remember. He said some things were too painful, so your brain chose to forget."

Things too painful? What could be so painful that I'd forget five years of my life?

I stared at this little angel who claimed to be my daughter.

'No, this is impossible. How could I have a five-year-old daughter?'

But deep inside, a voice was quietly telling me—maybe, just maybe, all of this was real.

Lucia stood up, preparing to leave. At the foot of the stairs, she looked back at me.

"Mama, Papa asked me to tell you he'll come down to see you tonight." Her voice was as light as a feather.

With that, her small figure disappeared up the stairs, leaving only the sound of light footsteps fading away.

I sat alone in this cold cellar, an inexplicable fear rising in my heart. I didn't know what I was more afraid of—remembering those forgotten things, or never remembering them at all.

But one thing I was certain of—tonight, when this man called Matteo appeared, I would learn what had really happened in these five years.