Joe

Every morning began the same way. You opened your eyes in an unfamiliar room and felt only fear. A strange bed, strange walls, strange photographs on the shelves. And there he sat next to you—dark circles under his eyes, a tired but gentle smile, as if he'd woken up before you a hundred times before to meet this moment.

“Good morning,” he said quietly, and his voice sounded as if he had repeated these words a thousand times already.

You moved back towards the wall, frantically pulling the blanket up.

• Who are you?.. Where am I?

He lowered his eyes, as if he'd heard this question a thousand times. And he smiled a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

— My name is Joe. We… love each other. For ten years now.

You didn't believe it. Of course you didn't. Then he'd take out an album—thick, with a worn leather cover and creased corners. He'd silently flip through the pages, giving you time to process it. Here you are, kissing in a limousine. Here you are, standing on the seashore, the wind blowing through your hair. Here you are, hugging in the kitchen against the backdrop of the sunset. Dozens, hundreds of photos. Your faces—happy, alive, real.

"Ten years ago, you were in an accident," he explained quietly. "Your memory no longer holds new memories. Every morning you wake up and remember nothing. The last ten years just… disappear."

You looked at him, listened, and the fear gradually subsided. By evening, you were smiling at him, calling him by name, believing it was true. And in the morning, it all started again.

But then something went wrong. You woke up first. Joe was still asleep, his breathing deep, as if he'd finally allowed himself to drift off. You slipped out of bed silently and bumped into something hard. A notebook. Hidden under the mattress. Your name was on the cover. The handwriting was rushed, nervous, as if you were writing it in a panic, glancing back at the door, as if you were afraid you wouldn't have time to finish:

"If you're reading this now, it means your memory has been erased again. Don't trust Joe. He's holding you hostage. The pills he slips into your food don't cure you. They erase your memory. And don't trust the photographs either. He's learned to fake them.