My Lovely Headmaster

Chapter 46

The nightmares start immediately after Theodore's arrest.

Not the vague, unsettling dreams I've had for years, but vivid memories breaking through like water through a dam. I'm six again, watching my father fall, blood spreading across marble floors. Julia's hand in mine, both of us frozen on the stairs. The smell of gunpowder. Henry Dickenson's cold eyes finding us in the shadows.

I wake screaming.

Vlad's there immediately, pulling me against him, but his touch feels wrong—he has those same Dickenson hands that pulled triggers, signed orders, destroyed minds.

"Don't," I gasp, pulling away. "Don't touch me."

The hurt in his eyes is devastating, but I can't help it. Every time I look at him, I see his grandfather standing over my father's body. His father ordering my memories erased. Generation after generation of Dickenson men destroying Morrison women.

"Jasmine, please. I'm not them."

"Aren't you?" The words come out sharper than intended. "You have their blood, their money, their instincts. The night we met, you took what you wanted—"

"You kissed me. You pulled me into that room."

"I was traumatized! My mind was fractured from being in that house, and you—"

"I was broken too!" He's never raised his voice at me before, but now it echoes through our bedroom. "I'd just nearly killed someone. I was drowning in guilt and self-loathing and you appeared like salvation. We saved each other that night."

"Or we destroyed each other. Look at us, Vlad. Look at what we are."

Devon appears in the doorway, small in his dinosaur pajamas, clutching his stuffed rabbit. "You're fighting again."

"We're discussing," I lie.

"You're fighting about Grandpa James and Great-Grandpa Henry." His voice is matter-of-fact but sad. "About things that happened before you even knew each other."

"It's complicated, baby."

"Everything's complicated. But Uncle Leo says complications are just excuses adults use when they don't want to deal with feelings."

"Uncle Leo says too much," Vlad mutters.

"Uncle Leo is right, though." Devon climbs onto the bed between us, a small barrier and bridge simultaneously. "You can't hate Dad for what his family did, Mom. That's like hating me because I have Dickenson eyes."

"I could never hate you—"

"But you hate the Dickenson in me?"

The question cuts deeper than any accusation. How do I explain that I love him desperately while fearing what he might become? That every time he shows that Dickenson ruthlessness—even in small ways—I see Theodore's potential blooming?

"I need space," I say finally. "Just... I need to sort through what's real and what's not."

"Everything between us is real," Vlad insists.

"Is it? My memories of that night are partially constructed. Our entire relationship is built on a foundation of trauma and lies."

"Our son is real. Our love is real."

"Love isn't enough. Not when your family's fortune comes from my father's blood."

I move to the guest room that night, leaving Vlad and Devon in the bed we've shared as a family. Through the wall, I hear Devon asking his father why love isn't enough, and Vlad's broken response that sometimes it isn't.

Dr. Winters comes the next morning, concerned about "regression in trauma processing."

"The recovered memories are destabilizing your entire sense of self," she explains. "Everything you thought you knew is being rewritten. It's natural to lash out at the nearest target."

"The nearest target is the son of the man who destroyed my mind."

"No, Vlad is your husband, your partner, the father of your children. Theodore is the criminal. Don't conflate them."

"How can I not? Every time Vlad touches me, I think about how his family has been touching my mind for twenty years, moving things around, deciding what I should remember."

"Then we need to work on separating past from present. But Jasmine, pushing Vlad away won't heal your trauma. It will just create new ones."

Richard arrives after Dr. Winters leaves, looking concerned. "Leo called me. Said you might need medical evaluation."

"I'm fine."

"You're not sleeping, not eating, and according to Leo, you're 'being monumentally stupid about Vlad.'"

"Leo's exact words?"

"Actually, his exact words were more colorful, but that's the gist." Richard sits across from me, his professional demeanor gentle. "Jasmine, you're pregnant. This level of stress isn't good for the baby."

The baby. In all the chaos, I'd almost forgotten the new life growing inside me, conceived on our wedding night before the world exploded into revelations.

"Maybe it's better if—"

"Don't." Richard's voice is sharp. "Don't even think about what you're thinking. That baby is hope, Jasmine. Proof that something good can come from all this darkness."

"Or proof that I'm trapped forever in the Dickenson web."

"Is that really how you see it? Trapped?"

Genesis enters with tea, having arrived from California the moment she heard about everything. "Jas, honey, you're spiraling."

"My entire life is a lie, Gen."

"No, your memories were edited. Your life—the choices you've made, the love you've built, Devon—that's all real." She sits beside me, taking my hand. "Don't let Theodore win by destroying what you've created."

"How is it winning if I choose to leave?"

"Because that's what he wants. The Dickenson family isolated, Vlad broken, Devon torn between parents. Division is what Theodore thrives on."

Leo enters without knocking, as always. "She's right. Also, you're being an idiot."

"Thanks for the pep talk."

"You want pep? Fine. Your twin sister just took down one of the most powerful men in Switzerland. Your son is a genius who's handling this better than any of us. Your husband is literally dying inside watching you pull away but respecting your need for space. And you're sitting here feeling sorry for yourself."

"I'm processing trauma—"

"You're wallowing. There's a difference." He sits on my other side, surrounding me with tough love. "Yes, horrible things happened to you. Yes, the Dickensons are responsible. But Vlad isn't Theodore any more than Devon is. Or are you going to abandon your son too because he has tainted blood?"

"That's not fair."

"Nothing about this is fair. But pushing away the people who love you won't make it better."

Adrian Delmark arrives that afternoon with news. "Theodore's been denied bail. He's looking at life imprisonment. Multiple murders, conspiracy, child abuse—he'll never see freedom again."

"Good," I say, but it feels hollow.

"Julia's still in Switzerland, tying up loose ends. She found twelve more victims from Willowbrook. All with modified memories, all from families who opposed the Dickensons somehow."

"Twelve more people like me."

"Some worse. Some never recovered their original memories at all. They're essentially living fictional lives."

The horror of it sits heavy. "How do we know my recovered memories are real? What if they're just different constructions?"

"Because Julia remembers the same events. She was the control, remember? Her memories match yours exactly."

A control. My twin sister reduced to a scientific control group while my mind was dissected and reassembled.

"I need to see the house," I say suddenly.

"What house?"

"Where it happened. Where my father died. I need to see if it triggers real memories."

"Jasmine, that could be dangerous—"

"Everything about my life is dangerous. At least this might give me truth."