My family gathers around the large oak table in our beautifully renovated home。 I’ve put on a dress and lit candles， and there’s a wonderful aroma coming from the dinner you’ve so lovingly prepared。 I feel your hand squeeze mine as you top up my glass and ask about my day as a doctor in our small town。 It’s the perfect domestic scene， except for one tiny fact: I think my husband is dead， and you are just another patient of mine…

I had no choice but to let you in。 If I laugh at your jokes and run my fingers through your hair， maybe I can delete the photos on your phone and find the truth about the night I can’t remember， just before my husband left on the trip he never returned from。 Perhaps my son and I will have a chance at a normal life again。

But as I carefully piece together the shards of what really happened that fateful night， only one thing can possibly be true: everyone is lying， even me…