Chapter 3: Riches and Revelations

Natalie took me home. After the doctors confirmed my memory loss might not come back, she gave me the cliff notes on my current situation.

She drove us back in her Subaru, rattling over a pothole as the skyline flickered past the window, Lizzo thumping from the speakers. The city lights blurred by, oddly familiar. Natalie filled me in, her words landing softly but carrying heavy truths.

I, Jessica Carter, fell in love my freshman year of college with a broke guy named Derek Pierce.

The way Natalie said "broke" sounded like a neon warning sign I should’ve noticed. She never sugarcoated anything.

I dated Derek for ten years, from eighteen to twenty-eight. Helped him start his business, weathered hard times, had kids for him, and took care of his parents.

She recited the facts with a matter-of-factness that barely hid the exhaustion underneath. Each detail felt like a stone in my gut.

Then this year, he sued me for divorce.

"Ahhhhh..."

I was shocked. What kind of tragic soap opera was this?

It sounded like something straight off Netflix, not my actual life. I waited for Natalie to laugh, but she just nodded, solemn.

After a long while, I asked, voice trembling, "So you’re saying I was someone else’s doormat for ten years, and at twenty-eight I got kicked out?"

Natalie nodded. "Yep. And you have two kids. Your son’s six, your daughter’s four. But since you stayed home and didn’t earn money, both kids chose their dad, so custody went to Derek."

She said it gently, but an edge crept in—anger at Derek, or maybe at a world that let this happen.

"...Ahhhh, the two kids I raised so painstakingly are gone..."

Even though I hadn't lived any of it, it sounded terrifying. Images flickered—birthday candles, scraped knees, sleepy hugs—all for children I couldn’t remember. My hands started to shake.

I was nearly scared to tears. My chest tightened, unsure if I’d cry or just stay numb.

Then Natalie laughed, patting my shoulder. "Don’t be too sad. At least you got money."

She pitched it like a vacation package. It was ridiculous, but I appreciated it. Sometimes you have to laugh to keep from falling apart.

Tears stung my eyes. I asked, careful, "How much?"

Natalie straightened up. "Jess, listen. You got 20% of Derek’s assets, 10% shares in three public companies, and two historic brownstones in Manhattan—worth about $27 million."

Her voice was so matter-of-fact, like she was reciting a grocery list. But the numbers made my head spin. I almost dropped my phone. Twenty-seven million? That was more than the Powerball last week.

"...."

Silence. I hesitated. "Natalie, you’re not lying to me, are you?"

She grinned. "If I’m lying, I’ll eat my shoe."

That was the Natalie I remembered—never one to mince words, never one to let me wallow.

That day, I stared blankly at the sky outside the window. The sunset painted the clouds orange and pink. I tried to imagine my life with $27 million, but the number was as abstract as the years I’d lost.

I’d forgotten a decade of memories. I didn’t know how I’d lived those years. But Natalie said I was rich, and when I was eighteen, my favorite thing was money.

I remembered saving up Dairy Queen tips in high school, dreaming of a shiny apartment downtown. Maybe some things never change.

So I thought, this isn’t bad at all.