After Herman''s ident, Anastasia found herself leaning heavily on the bottle. No matter where she went, a bottle of whiskey was her constantpanion, offering sce with each painful sip.


    What she didn''t realize was that Rowan had lingered in Springfield too, quietly shadowing her every step. Meanwhile, Monica, worried sick about Anastasia, took a flight to Springfield, hoping to coax her back to Riverdale. The evening they reunited, Monica and Anastasia hit the town, drowning their sorrows in the neon-lit streets of Springfield. Anastasia poured her heart out, tears streaming freely, her usual poise nowhere in sight. "Let it all out, Ana," Monica whispered, "Cry until there''s nothing left. Only then can you start to heal."


    Tipsy and with unsteady hands, Anastasia peered through a haze of tears. "Monica, my heart is shattered. I can''t find him. The rescue teams have given up. They say thest three missing were probably swept away by the mudslides, lost in the river-no hope left." Her voice broke as she continued, "Why didn''t I just say yes ande with him that day? I should have been here with him."


    "Nobody can predict these kinds of disasters," Monica reassured her, squeezing her hand. "Your mom begged me to bring you back. You can''t stay here forever, Ana. What about the kids and thepany?"


    Anastasia, her voiceden with sorrow, replied, "If it weren''t for the kids and my mom, I don''t know how I''d go on. Every day without him is agony. I rely on pills and whiskey just to catch a few hours of sleep. Every night, I dream of him. I ask him when he''sing back. Doesn''t he want me and the baby anymore?"


    Monica wrapped her arms around Anastasia. "This will pass, Ana. Get some rest tonight. For all we know, Herman mighte back to you."


    Monica continued to console her until Anastasia drifted off, her exhaustion finally taking over.


    Back at the hotel, Monica watched over Anastasia as she murmured Herman''s name in her sleep, a soft sigh escaping her lips, feeling the weight of her friend''s heartache.


    That night, Anastasia dreamed of Herman again. It was a tender and unforgettable dream, one she wished she could stay in forever.


    Meanwhile, over in Willowbrook, Herman had his own dreams. He saw a scene from years ago at Neon Dreams. The woman''s face was a mystery, shrouded as if behind a veil, no matter how hard he tried to see. Yet her voice, sweet and captivating, stirred something deep within him. It wasn''t Sandy''s voice; he was sure of that.


    The following morning, Herman awoke with a start. Despite having been in Willowbrook for a while, his memory remained a nk te. Everything felt unfamiliar.


    "Son, breakfast is ready!" called a voice from downstairs. A man approaching sixty, with a warm smile, came up to greet him. This was Nichs.


    Nichs knew Herman wasn''t really


    his son, but the resemnce and his longing for his deceased child made him embrace Herman as if he were.


    Especially when Herman called him "Dad," Nichs, even if just for a moment, believed his son had


    elmet


    returned Regardless of Herman''s true identity or the potential unraveling of this fa?ade, in that


    moment, he was simply a grieving father.


    "Alright," Herman replied, his expression neutral.


    Sandy and Nichs insisted he was George, Nichs''s son. The documents backed their im, yet everything felt alien, and he couldn''t recall a thing.


    Since arriving in Willowbrook, Herman had been recuperating in a secluded house, a property under Sandy''s name.


    As Herman descended the stairs to eat, Nichs watched him with satisfaction, eagerly adding more to his te.


    "No need," Herman said sharply, a natural authority in his voice.


    Nichs''s gesture of using his own utensils to serve made Herman uneasy; he had a touch of OCD.


    "I''m done," Herman dered after barely touching his food. "I''m going out for a walk."


    He was determined to search for his lost memories.


    Just as he was about to step out, Sandy appeared. "George, heading out?"


    Herman had rarely left the house in over a month, and each time, Sandy had been by his side. Sandy would take him to ces she imed held memories, recounting stories he couldn''t ce. Of course, they were all Sandy''s fabrications.


    "I''d like to go alone," Herman said firmly, driven to discover the identity of the woman in his dreams.