Dear Diary, I met my parents.  They were lovely!  Although obviously concerned about my memory loss.  Or rather, their daughter's loss of memory.  Who I am right now.  Mine as in Millana me.  (That's confusing, but I guess I'll get used to it.)

Anyway, they came into the room as I was finishing my last entry.  The maid had apparently hustled off to inform them of the conversation she'd had with me.  When they entered their expressions looked so concerned, but also like they were trying to hide it for my sake.  It just seemed like they loved me a lot and didn't want me to be more worried because they were.  I could tell that they really cared for their daughter, and I almost cried to know that I had such loving parents.  Of course I held back the tears because I didn't want them to think they were tears of sadness or pain.  Besides, Millana probably wouldn't cry about it anyway, since these are the parents she grew up with.  It’s not like my parents never loved me either, because they definitely did; it was just such a relief to see that I have loving parents even though I'm in such an unfamiliar place.   I’m sure if I was one of the main characters my parents would be abusive, so it was just such a relief again that I’m Millana.

They asked me a few questions, but I didn't know anything they asked me about (obviously, Diary, since I just woke up here today).  I didn’t remember them, or my maid, or my brother, who's apparently off at the academy.  They'd called for the doctor and told me they'd wait for him before asking anymore questions.  Then they just sat next to me and held my hand.  Not saying anything, just comforting.  And I think it was the most comforted I'd ever felt.

When the doctor came he asked me more questions.  If I'd hit my head or had any falls recently.  Faced with more questions that I didn't have the memories to know, I told him the truth.  He looked at me with a grave face as I told him I couldn't remember, but his eyes looked kind.  Like my parents, his expression was one of care and concern.  He'd probably looked after Millana since she was little, called upon to give care every time she was sick.   He’d watched her grow and kept her alive through many illnesses, always wanting her to be in good health.

Since I couldn't say if anything had happened to me recently, the doctor inspected my head for any bumps or signs of trauma.  I waited patiently, curious myself if that could have been what happened to Millana.  Although I suppose that wouldn't have made sense, that bumping her head would cause me to end up in her body.  In the end, there wasn't a bump or scratch on me.

He took my parents out into the hallway to discuss with them.  It made me nervous.  There was no way he could know that I wasn't actually Millana.  Surely he was just concerned about making me unduly worried, and potentially exacerbating my memory problems.  Still, I couldn't help but feel, in a little, irrational corner of my brain, that he'd separated my parents from me so I wouldn't know he'd discovered I was an imposter and was informing them.

Of course he couldn't know.  If I told him he’d probably just check my head again for bumps.  I mostly knew that.  Even I, who was the one who woke up in this body, was having a hard time believing this was real yet.  It's just, I like Millana, and it's fun to make believe, so I'm letting myself be convinced.  Pretending I'm convinced.

Don't get me wrong, it's not like my life was bad before.  I had loving parents and good friends.  I'd just graduated and was about to start a good job.  There's something about a make believe world, however.  I'd fantasized getting to live this life, and now I could live out my dream.  For as long as I'm here, at least.  Maybe I'll be more concerned about it if I actually start to believe this is real and I'm not just pretending to believe.  For now, I’m just going to enjoy it, because what else can I do, and later I’ll probably wake up again to real life.  Maybe this is just a coma dream after getting hit by a truck, my brain trying to convince me that I’m fine because I can’t handle all the pain that I’d actually be experiencing in reality.

They were out of the room for a while.  The maid (her name was Meggie, I learned) coaxed me to lay back down and try to relax.  It wasn’t hard to lay back down, but I was too nervous to relax.  Still, I tried to pretend to put her at ease.  It seemed to work.  Eventually she stopped watching me and busied herself cleaning in other parts of the room (or maybe pretending to clean, it looked pretty clean to me already).  Every time she seemed like she was about to glance over, I closed my eyes, wanting to look like I’d drifted off to sleep.  It seemed like the best way to relieve her concern.

When I heard the door latch click open, my eyes shot toward it.  The expression on my parents’ faces was serious, but as they looked up at me it melted off into calm.  They were clearly trying not to worry me, to exude a peaceful aura toward me.  It was impressive how quickly they’d been able to change their expression.  I was thankful for their care, but a little worried about how good they appeared at lying.  If they knew something was wrong with me would I be able to tell?

The doctor cleared his throat and I looked at him.  He looked uncomfortable, like he had something unpleasant on the tip of his tongue.  He informed me that he hadn’t found anything wrong with me, but could only conclude that I had experienced some trauma, perhaps mental or maybe something physical that wasn’t showing.  There was hope that my memories would come back over time, but nothing was certain.  The best thing for it was just to continue in the same environment that I had known and hope that it jogged the memories.  After that he looked to my parents.

My parents looked at me lovingly.  They came closer and squeezed my hand in a comforting grasp again.  After that, and the words that they said next, I wasn’t worried anymore.  I didn’t worry that they might doubt me or that I might not have their full support.

“We’ll help you as much as we can,” that’s what my parents told me, Diary.

They only wanted the best for me.  They would do as much as they could for me.  I felt their comfort in the warmth of their hands and their words coming out a little muffled around tears that they were trying to hold back for me.  Maybe it was the anxiety melting away, or maybe it was because they weren’t crying their tears for me, but I started to cry.  Thankfulness welled up in me and came out in a flood.  As I sobbed, my parents held me, my mother’s gentle hands stroking my hair to calm me.

It turned out they’d truly meant what they’d said as well.  In the next few days it was like I was starting school over.  Which is a bummer, Diary, since I’d thought I was done with school, but there’s so much belonging to this world that I’d never learned, although Millana would have, so it’s not like I’m starting my own schooling over.  They don’t teach me math or accounting here, but which utensils to use for which course and how to curtsy and how to dance at the balls.  It’s things I’ve read in stories, but not with any depth to be able to replicate it.  If I didn’t remember how to read and write they’d have taught me that too, but the alphabet seems to be the same.  Probably because I’d read the book in my language.

My parents were so patient with me.  Hiring instructors, many of whom were teaching me for the second time, and checking in on me.  When I would get frustrated they’d comfort me, assuring me that I’d gotten it once so I could get it again (although I knew that I hadn’t gotten it once yet, but I let the words comfort me all the same).  With every victory, every time I got something down perfectly, they were there to cheer me on and congratulate me.

Despite the fact that I was supposedly recovering from a trauma, and probably should have some trauma after waking up here, the days seem pleasant.  I enjoy learning my new way of life.  It’s hard not to when everyone in Millana’s life wants her to do well.  So this is how I’ll pass my life for now, until I’ve relearned everything that Millana once knew.