Chapter 76: Louis Starts Counting

Freya's strange comment remained in Louis's mind long after dinner. Around chapter seventy-five. It was too specific to be an ordinary figure of speech.

It joined several other statements he had quietly collected: "I'm the one here now." "I thought your bankruptcy was the biggest problem in this story." References to how events were supposed to happen, usually corrected before he could question them.

Louis had originally attributed the changes in Freya to shock, maturity, or hidden abilities. But the more time passed, the less those explanations covered.

She knew things she shouldn't know, yet sometimes failed to remember basic details from her own life. She could cook, write professionally, design efficiently, repair computer problems, and negotiate contracts despite having shown little interest in any of those things during their marriage.

Most importantly, she occasionally spoke about her past self as though discussing another person.

Louis didn't believe in supernatural explanations. He believed in evidence.

So he began counting.

He reviewed the date Freya changed: the morning after she drank heavily following his bankruptcy. Before that night, she had demanded divorce. The next day, she cleaned the entire apartment, refused his money, and announced she would support herself—and possibly him.

There had been no gradual transition.

At breakfast, Louis watched her prepare toast while reading comments on her phone.

"Why are you staring at me?" she asked.

"I'm not."

"You are."

He looked down at his coffee.

Freya narrowed her eyes but continued eating.

Later, Louis asked casually, "Do you remember our second anniversary dinner?"

Freya froze for half a second.

The inherited memory surfaced slowly. A hotel restaurant. She had spent most of the evening on her phone and left early to shop with friends.

"Yes," she said cautiously.

"Where was it?"

She named the hotel.

Correct.

"Why?"

"No reason."

Freya became suspicious immediately. "Are you testing my memory?"

Louis looked at her. "Should I be?"

"No."

Her answer came too quickly.

Freya escaped to her room and closed the door.

Her heart was beating faster. Louis was noticing too much.

She had always known this might happen. The original Freya and she were fundamentally different people. Memories could cover facts, but they couldn't recreate habits, skills, instincts, or personality.

For months, Louis had accepted the transformation because their previous relationship was distant enough that he didn't know every detail about her.

Now they were close.

Close enough for him to notice contradictions.

Freya sat at her desk and stared at her private notebook.

Should she tell him?

The idea seemed insane. "Hello, your wife died spiritually and I'm a web novelist from another world who woke up in her body after reading about your bankruptcy."

Even by novel standards, it sounded ridiculous.

Outside the room, Louis looked toward her closed door.

He didn't know the answer yet.

But for the first time, he was certain there was an answer Freya had been hiding from him since the day everything changed.

Freya decided not to tell him that night. Not because she believed he would hurt her, but because saying the truth aloud might change the fragile life she had built. Louis had started trusting her as Freya Stone. She didn't know what would happen if he learned that, in the most impossible sense, she wasn't the woman he had married.

The next move would have to be careful. Too many people were now connected to the investigation, and a careless question could warn the person they were actually searching for. For the moment, patience remained their strongest advantage.