When I enter the house, I can hear the faint sound of clinking china. A quick glance at the grandfather clock in the foyer tells me its nearly eleven. On Saturdays, that means coffee and scones with strawberry preserves. I head down the hallway and into the dining room, where my parents are sipping coffee and sitting in a tense silence.

"See?" Dad says, the creases in his forehead fading when he sees me. "I told you there was nothing to worry about, Cece. Blaine is an excellent driver."

"I know he is, but its been snowing hard out there," Mom says, looking up at me and smiling tightly. "Im glad youre back, dear, its supposed to get much worse throughout the day. We might get up to three feet of snow, if you can believe it."

Dad hums a little. "Cant remember the last time we got this much." He reaches for a the little bowl of preserves, spreading some liberally on his scone. "May set some records."

Theyre acting so normal. Like something hasnt changed. Like everything hasnt changed. I dig my fingernails into my palms hard, trying to figure out a way to confront them.

If I do confront them, though, and they deny it, then its their word against Kurts. I need proof.

"Im just relieved we bought Blaine his new car." Mom folds back the style section of the paper before reaching for her coffee cup again. "Imagine if hed still been driving that old station wagon when the blizzard hit."

"I wasnt driving during the worst of it," I assure her, then feel a rush of adrenaline as I add, "I stayed at Kurts house until it let up a bit."

"Probably a good idea," she nods. Her coffee cup is halfway to her lips when she freezes, and looks over at my dad. Hes wearing a similar expression of horror, and then I know. I know.

And then I take off running.

"Blaine!" My dad is out of his chair and sprinting after me, but Im taking the stairs two at a time, and Ive got a head start. I reach the top of the staircase before hes even halfway up, and I tear down the hallway toward his room. "Blaine, what are–"

I barrel through his bedroom door and slam it closed, locking it behind me. Dad reaches it a few second later, jiggling the handle before knocking on the door loudly. "Blaine Anderson, you open this door right now!"

My time is limited. Theres a skeleton key in the kitchen drawer, and once he remembers that, I wont be able to search anymore. My eyes rake over my parents room slowly as he pounds on the door.

It has to be here somewhere.

I went through the attic last spring when we were looking for Easter decorations. And we dont have any storage areas in the basement. If they kept it, if they hid it in the house, then it has to be in this room.

I look under the bed first, then on the shelves in their closets. I pull out each of their dresser drawers. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Biting back a swear, I can hear my dad running down the stairs. Ive got maybe another minute until he makes it in here. My eyes fall on their flat-screen television set, which is sitting on top of my great-grandmothers hope chest. My dads footsteps are treading up the stairs as I pull the TV off and set it on the floor, before pushing up the heavy lid of the chest.

Theres the scrape of a key in the lock, and my dad looming in the doorway, and my mom behind him. And I notice none of that at all. Because theres a chest full of clutter and mementos and deceit in front of me, and I dont know where to begin.

My junior yearbook from Dalton? The stack of photographs with pushpin holes in them? The McKinley High pennant? The Hummel Tires and Lube sweatshirt? My head is reeling from it all. I look back at my parents, who are staring at me, frozen in place.

"Where is it?" I ask dully.

Dad looks down, but Mom is still pretending nothing is wrong. "Wheres what, dear?"

"You know what. Give it back."

"Blaine, I really dont–"

"I said give it to me."

"Lets talk like rational people," Dad says, still not looking me in the eye.

"Rational?" I get to my feet, my eyes ablaze. "Whats rational, Dad, erasing my past? Barring the people I love from having any contact with me?"

"I dont–"

"Give it to me!" Im yelling now, and Ive never yelled at my father. Ever. "You have no right!"

He hisses out a long breath before walking over to his dresser. "Harold, dont–" Mom moans, but he continues, opening his top drawer and reaching for his box of cufflinks. And then hes opening a hidden compartment underneath, and holding something out to me, and Id know those intricately winding vines of silver anywhere. I take it from him, my vision blurring as the tears spill over with a foreign sensation. I dont cry, I never cry.

Its true, everything Kurt told me. Its all true. My parents – the people Ive always trusted most – have been lying to me ever since I awoke from the coma. I turn the ring over in my palm, reading the inscription Always yours, Kurt on the inside.

"Blaine," Mom murmurs. "Please try to understand."

I dont remember this ring. I dont remember how we decided to exchange them, or how long it took Kurt to come up with a design, or whether we did anything special to present them to one another. Its like the ring just fell out of the sky, and Im trembling with the need to know.

"Why?" I croak out.

Dad drops heavily onto the bed, running his palm across the back of his neck. "It wasnt a decision we came to lightly."

I lift my head to glare at him. "Lots of thought went into it, huh?"

"The doctors didnt know if you would ever wake up," he says helplessly. "And then you did, and everything happened so fast–"

"I had friends. I had Kurt. You took them from me."

"We felt you needed–"

"Who are you to decide what I need? I could have used their support. I nearly died, and–"

"Exactly!" Mom bursts out. "You nearly died, Blaine! Did you ever stop to think about that? Did you ever wonder what that would have done to us, to lose our only child?"

I squeeze the ring in my hand, trying to steady myself. "Youre acting like Im to blame for what happened."

"You may well have been!"

"Cecelia," Dad admonishes quietly. "Dont."

"We dont know! No one knows! The police never apprehended your attackers, Blaine. Theyre still out there somewhere. And whoever they are..." She pushes her fist against her chin hard. "Its someone who you knew."

I can feel my heart drop. "What?"

Shes shaking her head, her eyes bright with unshed tears, so Dad speaks up. "You were injured far more severely than Kurt was," he murmurs, his shoulders slumped. "He was able to remember what led up to the attack, and he said youd both been taking a walk. Thered been nothing to draw their attention more to you than to Kurt."

"Meaning they knew you," Mom supplies angrily. "Either they hated you more, or they liked Kurt more. Either way, it was someone you knew."

"You cant know that for sure."

"Its likely, though," Dad says.

"It could have been someone who went to Dalton with you." Moms voice is getting shriller. "It could have been someone on Kurts stepbrothers football team. It could have been someone in your glee club."

"Thats why you cut everyone out of my life? Because you thought the attackers would come after me again and finish what they started?"

Dad makes a small noise, covering his lips with his fingertips. "Youre all we have," he whispers. "First the attack after your school dance, then this... Whats next, Blaine? How are we supposed to live with ourselves if something worse happens to you?"

"So you kept me here." I swallow hard, trying to chase the taste of bile in the back of my throat. "You made me into your little house pet, with no contact from the outside world."

"Just until college," he says entreatingly. "Just until you could leave Ohio. I couldnt move my practice, and we figured you could repeat your senior year and then go wherever you wanted. To San Francisco, or New York, or Boston. One of those big cities where this sort of bigotry isnt acceptable. We just needed you to fly under the radar until then."

"Dont you mean under the gaydar?" I ask with resentment.

"We dont want you to be anyone other than who you are," he insists. "But we had to keep you safe."

"I understand the need to protect me... but this was too far," I tell them tightly. "You didnt just evict my friends from my life. You made me think my memories were hallucinations. You made me think I was crazy. You drugged me, for gods sake."

"I asked him to," Mom says weakly. "I saw something about lithium on TV, and–"

"I never gave him lithium, Cece."

We both turn to look at Dad in shock.

"Thats not true," I protest. "Those pills you brought home made me all tired and dizzy."

"Thats because I was giving you Benadryl," he admits. "I wasnt about to prescribe a powerful and potentially dangerous medication to keep you from having memories. Thats a line I wasnt willing to cross." He shrugs one shoulder. "Benadryl made your brain a little fuzzy, so youd doubt what you were remembering. And usually youd just sleep it off."

I look down at the ring in my hand, then over to the stacks of my old belongings in the hope chest. "So when were you going to tell me the truth, then? When I was ready to leave for college?" Dads eyes are on his knees, and Mom seems to be studying her bedspread. I nod bitterly. "Right. You were never planning to tell me, were you?"

"College could be a fresh start for you." Mom smiles at me, as if its a brilliant suggestion. "You could just start over, meet someone special–"

"I met someone special!" I remind her furiously. "And you took him from me. And you took me from him, too, did you ever consider that? Did you ever consider that he might have needed me just as much as I needed him?" They both just look at me, quiet and defeated. The rage is growing stronger within me. I turn and lean over the hope chest, gathering as many items as I can carry. "I cant stay here," I mutter.

"Youre not going back out there," Mom says with alarm. "Blaine, theres a blizzard."

I shove past her, my arms loaded as I march down the hall. They both hurry after me.

"Lets just discuss this like adults," Dad calls as I turn to descend the stairs. "You dont want to be on the road in conditions like these, in the state youre in right now."

When I reach the foyer, I turn and look up at the two of them. Theyre both standing on the stairs, looking terrified. "I cant be here right now," I tell them. "I may only remember bits and pieces of my life with Kurt, but right now hes a lot less of a stranger to me than you two are." I turn and head out the front door. They dont follow, for which Im grateful. I lay my recovered treasures gently on my cars passenger seat before climbing into the drivers side.

The snow is coming down hard as I pull out onto the road. For a moment, I think about Kurt and his long drive back to Lima. Worry starts to twist in my stomach as I wonder whether hes safe. But I blink it away, just as Ive blinked away my spells for the past year. For once, I need to focus on me.

I start to drive without having any real idea of where Im going. Its getting hard to see out the windshield, and I know Im going to have to find a place to wait out the storm. Inspiration strikes, and I steer the car north, staying clear of the major roads. The apartment complex is normally a twenty-minute drive from my house, but its nearly an hour before I reach it. I park between two snow-covered cars in the lot, and load my belongings into an old shopping bag that I find in the trunk. With some interest, I notice that I managed to grab my old journal from the chest. Maybe there are answers inside.

The security code to the buildings entrance hasnt changed, and soon enough Im standing in the warm lobby, brushing snow off my shoulders and pressing the button for the elevator. Robs apartment is on the top floor, in a quiet corner of the building. Ill be able to think here, and figure out what to do next.

Ive put the key in the lock and stepped halfway into the apartment when suddenly I realize somethings wrong; the lights are all on, and I can hear water running. I frown, closing the door behind me. Rob works on Wall Street, and only uses this apartment a couple of weeks out of the year. Why would he be here? "Hello?" I call out uneasily.

The water shuts off, and footsteps approach. My breath catches in my throat as he rounds the bend.

"Hi," Kurt says faintly.

"What are you... how..." I stammer hoarsely.

His eyes are red-rimmed; hes been crying. "I started driving back to Lima, but the blizzard got too bad. Thought Id stay here until the storm passed."

"How did you get in?"

"Key."

I gape at him. "We used to come here together?"

"A few times a week," he nods. "Finally you just had a spare key made for me. Your cousin said he was fine with it." Hes twisting his fingers nervously. "Should I leave?"

"No, you–" make me feel like Im home, I dont say. "You can stay."