104 Sundays of Lies

My world reset every Sunday, leaving me a blank slate for my loving fiancé, Ethan, and my best friend, Maria, to carefully guide.

Every week, Ethan would patiently show me home videos of our happy life, our engagement, and explain my amnesia, reassuring me of his devotion after my rock-climbing accident.

But a crude tattoo mysteriously appearing on my ankle, spelling "HE'S LYING," hinted at a truth my conscious mind couldn' t hold.

Then I found a hidden note: "THE PILLS ARE SLEEPING DRAFTS. DON' T TAKE THEM."