There is a question I keep returning to when I write The Consent Chronicles: if a painful memory could be changed to spare someone suffering, who has the right to consent?

It sounds simple until I imagine the person living with that memory. Pain is not the only thing it carries. A memory can hold a name, a promise, a love, a warning, a piece of the self. To take it away, even gently, might ease one wound and open another.

I don’t think care gives one person ownership of another person’s inner life. If a choice touches someone’s memory, the choice should remain theirs. They should be able to say yes, no, or not yet, and to change their mind.

This question moves through all three books in The Consent Chronicles. I won’t give away where it leads. I can say it keeps reminding me that freedom begins in small, personal places, in the thoughts and memories we are asked to trust.

If you would like to explore the series and my other books, they’re all here: https://alex-newman.author-pages.com/books