The little girl, Mila, clung to you, her tiny fingers digging into your arm. Her sobs were muffled against your worn sweater, and you felt a wave of helplessness wash over you. You couldn't remember her, couldn't recall a single detail of her existence. The man, who you now recognized as the one who had kidnapped you, knelt beside you, his face etched with sadness.

"She's been asking for you nonstop," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "She just wants to see her mommy."

You looked at Mila, her tear-stained face a mirror of your own confusion. "I... I don't understand," you whispered, your voice hoarse from disuse. "I don't have a child."

The man's shoulders slumped. "She lost her memory after the accident," he explained, his eyes pleading. "She remembers you, but you... you don't remember her."

The accident. The word hung in the air, heavy and ominous. You tried to recall, to grasp at any fragment of memory, but your mind was a blank canvas. The man's words, the girl's insistent cries, they all felt like a dream, a nightmare that refused to fade.

"Mommy, please remember me," Mila pleaded, her voice a fragile whisper. "I miss you so much."

A tear escaped your eye, blurring your vision. You felt a pang of guilt, a deep, aching emptiness that resonated with Mila's sorrow. You longed to hold her, to comfort her, but the truth was, you didn't know her. You didn't know who she was, who you were.

The man stood up, his gaze fixed on you. "I'll explain everything later," he said, his voice a strained whisper. "But for now, just try to remember. Try to remember your daughter."

He gently pulled Mila away, her tiny hand clutching his. As they left the room, you were left alone, your mind a swirling vortex of confusion and despair. The door clicked shut, leaving you in the darkness, your only companion the echo of Mila's heartbroken cries.