During our junior year of college, Iris and I were trapped in a broken elevator for five straight hours.

I have severe claustrophobia. In that darkness, I could barely breathe. Iris held my hand tight and tapped three times against my palm, over and over again.

She told me, "Graham, whenever you're scared, I'll tap three times. It means I'm here. You're safe."

From that day on, it became our secret signal for help.

But Iris lost her memory. How could someone with amnesia remember that?

My mind reeled. Then the auction began.

Iris' painting, Years in the Mountains, was brought out as the final lot. The canvas showed a quiet wooden cabin. In front of it sat a young man chopping firewood, sunlight spilling over him. It looked peaceful and idyllic.

It was her three years with Jack.

"Ms. Ford," a collector in the front row called out, curiosity in his voice, "the light in this painting is remarkably tender. What was your emotional state when you created it?"

Iris held the microphone, her gaze soft as it landed on Jack. "When I first woke up, I didn't remember anything. The world felt like a blank slate.

"Jack gave me a second chance at life. When I saw him chopping wood in the yard with the sunlight falling across his shoulders, I thought... This is the kind of peace I want to protect for the rest of my life.

"This painting is of my love. And my salvation."

The room erupted in applause.

Jack's eyes welled up with tears. In front of everyone, he threw himself into Iris' arms.

"Iris, I love you too. We're going to be together forever."

The two of them embraced under the spotlight. I stood in the shadows, my heart shattering into a thousand pieces.

Salvation? Love? Then what was I?

"Graham, don't look." Hazel reached up and covered my eyes with her warm hand. "Let's go."

I took a deep breath and started to turn away. Suddenly, every light in the ballroom went out. The crowd erupted into chaos.

I froze. My claustrophobia kicked in like a reflex, my throat tightening until I couldn't breathe.

For a moment, I was back in that broken elevator during junior year. Back then, someone had gripped my hand tight.

"Graham, don't be scared. As long as I'm here, nothing will happen to you.

"If you're afraid, I'll tap three times."

Her taps didn't just reach my palm, but also my heart.

The next second, a warm hand cut through the panicking crowd and grabbed my wrist. I knew those calluses, earned from years of holding a paintbrush. Her fingertips found my trembling palm and tapped three times.

"Graham, don't be scared. I'm here."

The present and the past collided. In the darkness, I heard Iris' ragged breathing close by.

This wasn't some stranger who'd lost her memory. This was my Iris, the woman who once valued my life more than her own.

"Iris? Iris, where are you? I'm scared!"

Jack's panicked sobbing echoed from somewhere nearby. Iris' body went rigid.

A low hum sounded as the backup power kicked in. Harsh white light flooded the ballroom all at once.

When my eyes adjusted, I froze. Every pair of eyes in the room was locked on our joined hands.

Iris seemed to snap awake. She jerked her hand away like she'd been burned and stumbled backward.

I stared at my empty palm. I could still feel the warmth she'd left behind.

It burned. It ached. It made me want to laugh.

I lifted my head and looked at the disheveled woman standing in front of me. Tears streamed down my face.

"Iris, you never lost your memory at all, did you?"