The crazy woman called her Ginny.

Drew was torn and confused and frightened all at once. He desperately wanted to just forget that bloody stupid dream he had had about Gwen kissing that other man. It was likely just his imagination running wild. But his instincts were telling him otherwise. He could tell the difference between imagination and memory. What he had seen was real. And Drew could tell – just from the tiny snippet that he had witnessed out in the cornfields – that whoever that man was, Ginny had loved him, and that made Drew's blood boil.

And he called her Ginny, too.

It was so confusing, and it was impossible to forget, no matter how much he would have liked to. The last thing he wanted to do was encourage Gwen's exploration of their missing memories – although he was quite certain that she needed no encouragement – but he couldn't ignore the bizarre connection between the visions he had had and the woman that they had found in the middle of the field. It didn't make sense, but his gut was telling him that there was no such thing as a coincidence here.

And what was that woman talking about anyway? She had been prattling on about them being fallen or some such nonsense, but she wouldn't explain what any of it meant. She had said that they were in danger and they needed to leave Iowa. But why? And more pressingly, how? They had a farm and their children were in school. Uprooting their lives because someone they didn't know told them to was not only insane, but it was also irresponsible. And if she was one of the "fallen" like he was and Gwen was, then why was she able to remember so much more? It didn't make sense.

Drew sighed heavily as he set a mug of hot tea in front of Gwen. She was shaking visibly and her face was ghostly pale. The whole afternoon had been a lot to take in for both of them, but Gwen couldn't internalize her stress at all. In every movement or gesture that she made, he could see her fighting with her own emotions, and he was wracked with guilt over the fact that he had only added to her emotional wreckage.

"Drink up. You'll feel better."

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice hoarse, but she made no immediate move towards her tea. She seemed stunned, unable to move.

He sat opposite her, his hands running through his hair. "You want to talk about this?"

"Do I have a choice?" she answered, her eyes meeting his.

His initial response was to lash out at her, automatically assuming that she was being sarcastic. But she wasn't. She didn't mean that she had no choice because he wasn't allowing her the option. She meant that she had no choice because she had done something reckless and stupid and dangerous. Their children had been left alone in a car on the side of the road while she had run through a field in the middle of nowhere for no reason that made sense, and it was only by the grace of God that they were all right. Anything could have happened to them. Gwen didn't get to be indignant and sardonic right now, and she accepted that.

"No, you don't have a choice," Drew said, not unkindly. He didn't need to add insult to injury.

Gwen finally acknowledged the hot beverage in front of her. She swirled her tea with a spoon, aimlessly staring down into the amber liquid like it had some sort of healing power or answers to the questions she didn't know how to ask herself. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

He reached out and touched her hand instinctively. "I know you didn't."

"And – and you were right! You knew that I was just going to cause trouble by thinking I needed to go on some sort of... memory recovery mission."

"Gwen, don't beat yourself up."

"Why shouldn't I?" she said, her eyes snapping upward to meet his. "I didn't listen. I made a promise that I knew I could never keep. Anything could have happened to my babies. I – I failed to be a mother because I was so obsessed with something that doesn't even matter..."

He swallowed the lump in his throat. "What if it does?"

She looked startled, visibly flinching at the sound of his words like she had been slapped. "What?

He sighed heavily, running his hands through his hair again. "That woman – what if she was serious about us being in some sort of danger?"

Gwen shrugged. "She's certifiable! We're not in any more danger than we ever have been, and if there is something that she knows about us that we don't, then maybe the danger we're in is because there is a lunatic stalking us! How else would she have known where we were going to be this afternoon?" She was stirring her tea so rapidly that it was quickly becoming a whirlpool inside her mug, the spoon slapping against the porcelain with vigor. She was trying to talk herself out of how she felt, but Drew knew that it was all out of fear.

The expression on his face was positively painful. "I don't think so. I think... I think maybe we're different."

"Different?" she repeated with an indignant snort. "We're no different than anyone else."

"But what if we are?" His gaze on her was intense. "Gwen, is it normal for people to dream their memories, or to have visions about things we can't remember and just know that what we are seeing has really happened?" He ran his hands through his hair yet again. "You know I am the last person to say these things, but..."

"We remember things because they're memories," she insisted stubbornly. "There's nothing unusual about it."

With a deep sigh, Drew got to his knees on the floor beside his wife, his hands resting soothingly atop her knees, his thumbs lightly tracing over her smooth skin. "Gwen, I'm giving you what you want. I'm telling you that I want to know why."

"Why?" she asked, her voice shaking. "After all this time, why?"

He thought about all of the reasons why. The real reasons. The fact that he had seen in his mind that she had suffered by the death of a man she loved, the crazed woman who had said that they were in danger, the fact that he knew her real name was Ginny and not Gwen... But he couldn't bring himself to say those things. He could not force himself to say the words aloud. He didn't want her to know. He didn't want her to know that he had been wrong the whole time, and more importantly, that he had lied to her, even if he felt like he had done the wrong thing for the right reasons. He wasn't brave or noble or even particularly honest, but when it came to his wife, he at least strived to be. And it was time to put his own faith in her instincts the same way she had always given him that same respect.

He swallowed hard. "Because I trust you," he said. "Because this is something you feel adamantly about, and I know you and I know your heart. You know what's best."

"I – I'm sorry," she whispered, "but I don't know anything. I don't even know who I am. I don't know how to find out."

"I do," he whispered. His words were slow and precisely considered. "You're Gwen Montrose. You're my wife and the mother of my children, and you would die for the people you love. Whether or not you remember it now, that's who you have always been, and that's who you'll always be." He put his hand to her heart. "You may not be perfect, but I'd never want that. And neither would you."

She leaned in, her lips capturing his in a searing kiss as soon as he finished speaking. It had been the most honest thing he had ever said to her. He was never comfortable with his feelings, and he definitely didn't like to talk about them, but there were rare instances when he did, in the times that he knew she needed to hear how he felt about her. It made her heart melt and her insides turn to jelly.

Her kisses became fevered, and his hands steadied her at the back of her neck, forcing her to slow down, to take her time and not to rush. He could taste the saltiness of her dried tears on her lips. It was not usually like him to be so gentle and kind, either, but he could when she needed him to be. And right then, all she wanted was to feel anything that didn't make her hate herself. All she needed was him – his lips on hers, his hands on her body, bringing her back down to reality from whatever hell she had forced herself into.

They fell to the floor in a tangled heap of arms and legs, taking comfort from each other in the most natural way they had to offer. Their fight was erased, as was Gwen's mistake. They started over with a new partnership – a marriage based on love rather than survival instinct.

The truth was, they didn't know where to begin.

Fieldwork abandoned, house left un-tidied, and children off at school, the next day, Drew and Gwen sat together once more at their kitchen table, staring at each other. What were they supposed to do now? They truly had no clue. Everything they knew about their histories they had learned purely by accident – through memories that they couldn't control, through people they met accidentally. How were they to solve whatever mystery there was surrounding their pasts when everything they knew was entirely based on coincidence?

"Maybe we should make lists?" Gwen suggested. "Write down everything we know. Or... diagrams?"

"But there is no timeline that we know of," Drew pointed out, rather uncomfortably. His biggest problem was that he didn't want his wife to know about any of his own memories. Not only was he ashamed of them, but he didn't want her to be scared or hurt or to pity him, which was in some ways the worst thing she could do. "And most of what I have seen has been scenic, anyway. Neither of us remember being in England, so nothing I remember is going to be that helpful, I don't think."

Gwen looked thoughtful. "I mostly remember feelings and places," she said. "And strange things I can't even describe. I – I'm not sure that's helpful, either."

He sighed heavily. "The only person who knows anything is the crazy blonde lady."

"But we can't really search for 'crazy blonde lady' in the phonebook, can we?"

Drew smiled wryly, knowing well enough that much of his sarcasm had rubbed off on Gwen over the years. He reached out across the table and laced his fingers with hers. "Maybe we're trying too hard."

"I think so, too."

"So what do we do then?" he asked. "Wait for something to happen?"

She shrugged. "I don't know."

"It's going to be okay."

"Is it?"

His eyes met hers. She looked uncomfortable and frightened – two descriptions he had never before associated with his wife. She was the strong one, the brave one, the pigheaded one who didn't know how to be submissive or uncertain. But now she appeared to be all of those things. She wasn't herself at all. He wondered briefly if this was the real Gwen, if he'd still love her once she remembered who she really was, but he guiltily suppressed those thoughts. Maybe the same applied in the reverse, also.

"Gwen, I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. I'm not going to let anything happen to the kids."

"You might not be able to protect us if the loony woman was right about anything. She said we're in danger, and sitting around waiting for something to happen is the perfect way to get ourselves killed."

"So what do you suggest?"

"We have to get out of here, Drew," she whispered conspiratorially. "We have to leave Iowa. Maybe even the United States. We can't stay here and let whatever danger is coming to catch up with us because we're too bloody scared to make a move."

He thought about all of the reasons for why he disagreed with her. They still had lives, and they had no money to live on without their farm. Their children needed to be in school. They would have no means to support themselves for very long without their corn, and abandoning their home meant cutting themselves off completely.

But despite that, he tended to agree with one thing.

If they sat around and waited for something bad to find them, the chances of being found were high. They couldn't just do nothing.

They had to leave Iowa.

It was nearly midnight. Jeremy and Jill were sitting on the living room sofa as Drew and Gwen continued to rush through the house, gathering anything and everything that they needed or would soon need.

"I'll throw together some sandwiches really quickly," Gwen said. "I'll get all of the food that will travel well from the cupboards, anything non-perishable. I have some cookies I just baked two days ago..."

Drew stopped her with his hands on her shoulders. "Shh, love," he whispered, giving her a gentle, loving kiss on the forehead. "Whatever we need and no more. This stuff isn't going to last us long regardless, so let's just be smart about this."

"But the kids... they're going to get hungry!"

"I know. It's going to be okay." He pulled her flush against him, hugging her tightly against his chest. "It's going to be okay."

He could feel her whole body shivering and shaking violently against him. It wasn't like him to be consoling and comforting – it simply wasn't in his nature – but being with Gwen for so long had taught him a lot. Sometimes people needed people, and right now she needed him more than she ever had. He was awkward and somewhat distant in the way he held her, but it was the best he could do. It was all he knew how to do for now.

His lips pressed gently against her temple. "Come on, now. We're wasting time."

Gwen nodded and began packing up what she could from the kitchen. She had so many fresh fruits and vegetables in the refrigerator, but she knew that they would rot if left in the car for a few days. She packed some of them up regardless, hating the thought of being so wasteful.

She chanced a look into the sitting room, feeling her heart drop into the pit of her stomach at the sight. Jill was curled up into a ball, fast asleep, and Jeremy was sitting up straight, arms wrapped around his sister protectively.

Gwen knew right then that no matter what happened to herself and to Drew, Jeremy would always fight for his little sister, and this gave her the strength she needed to do what she had to.

"Drew, let's go," Gwen said. "There's nothing else we need. We've got to move."

Together, they threw all of the suitcases and grocery bags that they had packed full of necessities into the trunk of the car in record time. They went back in for the children. Drew picked up his daughter, cradling her in his arms, and Gwen took her son by the hand.

"Mummy, why are we leaving?" he asked as he fought to hold back a yawn.

"Because we have to," she whispered. "I don't know how to explain it to you, love, but trust Mummy, okay? We have to. And you need to promise me that you will help to care for your sister – just like you always do."

The little boy nodded sleepily.

"Come on, now, love," she said, tugging his hand lightly, pulling him out of the only home he had ever known. "We need to go."

And with the kids tucked in the back seat, both falling asleep almost instantly, and his wife sitting beside him, Drew drove away from their farm.

There was no looking back now, but Gwen prayed that, for the sake of her children, that maybe they could come back again some day.