I didn't tell anyone about my memory. As selfish as it seemed or as rude as it seemed, I wanted to keep it to myself. I knew I should tell people about it, but I didn't want to. I knew it could help Daniel and the others help me get my memory back, but I wasn't sure what to make of it. I wanted to keep it to myself, for now, to inspect it privately and tell them about it the next chance I got—after I understood it myself, of course.
The one memory became my lifeline at night when the pain of not having my memories overtook me. Whenever I tried to sleep, I was so overwhelmed by pain that I couldn't help but scream and cry.
I didn't sleep much.
But when I did finally need sleep, I allowed this memory to fill my mind, taking away some of the bitter pain clouding my soul and mind.
It was my memory, my secret.