Reborn In a Murderer’s Embrace

“Did Carter send them to you?” I whispered, my eyes urgently seeking the truth in Colin’s gaze.

He dodged the question. “Phoebe, how’s Grandma doing?”

He was changing the subject.

I knew Colin was a vault of secrets. My drive to get close to him was fueled by the desire to uncover the mysteries that clung to him like shadows.

Otherwise, Finn wouldn’t be watching Colin like a hawk.

The more I got to know him, the more I realized that it wasn’t just Colin with secrets; even within Foebe Larson, there were layers yet to be peeled back.

And now, I was beginning to question even myself.

What was hidden in the memories I couldn’t quite recall? Why did Dexter say I had a mental illness? What kind of illness was it? Was my rebirth as Foebe Larson truly a coincidence?

The more I thought about it, the more chilling the possibilities seemed.

After escorting Colin back to his room, where the nurse scolded him and reattached his IV, I made sure he was in good condition to get out of bed before taking his hand and leading him to Grandma Quella’s room.

“Grandma, have some water.” Dexter had been tending to her the whole time I was gone.

I frowned, a bit irritated. Before this, Dexter was the type who couldn’t even look after himself, let alone anyone else, always waited on hand and foot. And now, here he was, playing the devoted caretaker.

“Mr. Fitzgerald, that’s my grandma you’re fussing over. You can go now.” I walked over and snatched the water glass from his hands.

Dexter looked down, silent.

Grandma was awake, propped up against her pillows, and seemed quite taken with Dexter. “Foebe, dear, don’t be so harsh with Dexter. He’s been a sweetheart. When’l fell ill, it was all Dexter looking after me. If he hadn’t found me in time, I wouldn’t be here to see you.”

I paused, frowning at Dexter.

He had been worming his way into Grandma Quella’s good graces well before this. What was he really up to?

At the door, Colin watched Dexter with a sharp gaze, likely recognizing a rival in the art of pretense.

“Phoebe.” Colin whispered my name.

I reached out, took his hand, and turned to introduce him to Grandma. “Grandma, this is my

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husband. Caleb Langley. You can call him Colin.”

Grandma glanced at Colin, visibly displeased. “You’ve been married this long and haven’t visited? It’s been all Dexter here, running around taking care of things.”

“Grandma, Caleb’s been ill. He can hardly take care of himself, let alone bother you,” Dexter said softly, his voice dripping with an undertone of provocation.

Dexter knew me well. I cared deeply about what my family thought.

But that was the me before his ‘murder.‘

Or rather, the me after the car accident at eighteen, when I lost a crucial chunk of my memory.

Back then, I was drowning in the grief of my parents‘ deaths, engulfed by a darkness that seemed to smother me. I was barely functional, needing a place that felt like a warm harbor, a home.

So even at eighteen, I was grateful when Hailey took me in, giving me a sense of family because I couldn’t live independently.

I had forgotten so much, yet I never doubted myself. My memories didn’t just vanish; they seemed erased.

Quella looked at Caleb reluctantly, lamenting that someone with a mental illness couldn’t provide a better life for her granddaughter. “What a tragedy…” Property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

But it was her own granddaughter, Coraline, who was supposed to marry Caleb.

“Foebe, dear, has Coraline said she’d visit me?” Grandma cared deeply for Coraline.

At first, I worried that Grandma Quella would instantly spot that I wasn’t the real Foebe, but it seemed my fears were unfounded. She didn’t seem to care much for Foebe; her concern lay more with her biological granddaughter, Coraline.

“Grandma, she’s not going to visit you,” I said, shattering her illusion.

Grandma sighed, a look of resignation on her face. “Oh well, let it be.”

Dexter glanced at the time. “Grandma, I should head back to my room. Call me if you need anything.”