“THE MAD WOMAN NEVER TALKS TO ANYONE… BUT SHE KEEPS ASKING ME IF I STILL REMEMBER MY REAL NAME”
EPISODE 2: “THE ONLY SANE ONE IN THE STREET”
My mother was crying in the hallway.
Holding the album.
Like it burned her hands just by existing.
“Mom…” I called slowly.
She shook her head immediately.
“No, Joyce. Don’t open it.”
But my legs moved on their own.
I took one step closer.
Then another.
The album slipped slightly in her hands… and I saw it.
A picture on the first page.
A little girl.
Standing in front of a burned-down house.
Her face was dirty.
Her eyes were familiar.
Too familiar.
My voice came out weak.
“…Who is that?”
My mother didn’t answer.
But my father’s voice came from the sitting room behind us.
Low.
Shaky.
“She wasn’t supposed to remember that face.”
I turned sharply.
“What are you people hiding from me?!”
Silence.
Heavy silence.
Then—
A knock on the door.
Once.
Twice.
Then the mad woman’s voice outside:
“JOEYSE… OPEN THE DOOR BEFORE THEY FINISH REWRITING YOU.”
My mother froze instantly.
My father dropped the remote.
And for the first time in my life…
I saw fear on both their faces.
Not fear of me.
Fear of her.
I opened the door before they could stop me.
The mad woman stood there.
Same dirty clothes.
Same wild hair.
But her eyes were different now.
Clear.
Focused.
Like someone who had been holding herself together for a long time.
She looked at me and said softly:
“They finally showed you.”
My throat tightened.
“What is happening to me?”
She stepped inside without waiting.
And said something that made my whole world tilt:
“Joyce… you are not their daughter.”
Behind her, my mother screamed:
“DON’T LISTEN TO HER!”
My father rushed forward:
“SHE IS MAD!”
But the woman turned slowly.
And for the first time, she smiled.
A tired, painful smile.
Then she said:
“That is what they told everyone after the fire.”
My head started spinning.
“What fire…? Everyone keeps saying fire!”
She pointed at the album in my hand.
And whispered:
“That picture you saw… is you before they replaced you.”
My legs nearly gave out.
My mother tried to grab my arm.
But the mad woman stepped between us.
And said something final.
Something sharp.
Something terrifyingly calm:
“I was the nurse in that hospital.”
“And I watched them switch you with a dead child so the truth would never leave that house.”
Silence.
Then she added:
“And I was called mad… because I was the only one who refused to forget.”
My mother broke down completely.
My father kept shouting “she is lying!”
But I wasn’t looking at them anymore.
I was looking at the woman everyone called mad.
Because for the first time…
I understood something.
She wasn’t mad.
She was the only one in this entire street…
who remembered what everyone else was forced to forget.
