Chapter 1
The first thing I notice is the smell—antiseptic, sharp, and clinical. It’s overwhelming, clinging to my senses, and I wrinkle my nose against it, blinking slowly as the harsh fluorescent light invades my eyes. The ceiling above me is a blur of white tiles, all blending into one indistinguishable mass. I feel heavy, like I’m sinking into the mattress beneath me, my limbs unresponsive, like they don’t belong to me.
A dull, throbbing pain pulses through my head, spreading down my neck, and as I try to move, a jolt of panic surges through me. Nothing feels right. I can’t remember anything—how I got here, where here even is. My breath hitches, and I start to feel the edges of panic creeping in, squeezing my chest.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.”
The voice is deep, soothing, but unfamiliar. I turn my head, and for a moment, my vision blurs, as if I’m underwater. I blink rapidly, trying to clear it, and when it finally sharpens, I see him.
He’s leaning over me, so close that I can feel his breath on my face. His eyes—an intense, almost unsettling shade of green—lock onto mine, and there’s a kind of warmth there that I don’t understand. He has this sculpted face, like someone carved it out of stone—a strong jawline, a straight nose, and blond hair that falls just past his forehead. He’s not just handsome; he looks like he belongs on the cover of a magazine, all effortless charm and confidence. But I don’t know him.
His hand moves to cup my cheek, and his touch is warm, gentle, as if I’m something fragile. My heart stutters, and I pull back instinctively, the movement awkward and jerky. His brow furrows, and for a second, I see a flicker of hurt in his eyes.
“Nicole,” he says, his voice cracking at the edges. “It’s me, Blake.”
Nicole. The name feels like a foreign object in my mouth, like something that belongs to someone else. I stare at him, feeling the rush of heat creeping up my cheeks as his gaze stays fixed on mine, unrelenting.
“Nicole,” he repeats, softer this time, like he’s trying to coax something out of me. “You’re safe. You were in an accident, but you’re going to be okay.”
I want to say something, anything, but the words catch in my throat. My eyes flit to his hand on mine—big, warm, and firm. It should feel comforting, but all I feel is a strange, sinking fear. I have no memory of him, of us. My eyes dart around the room, taking in the bland hospital walls, the beeping machines surrounding me, and the sterile equipment that only intensifies my sense of dread.
The way he looks at me—so intensely, like I mean everything to him—makes my stomach churn. He’s this impossibly handsome stranger, and he’s calling me by a name that doesn’t feel like mine. I feel trapped, and I tug my hand away from his, the movement abrupt and sharp.
“Who—who are you?” My voice is a raspy whisper, like it’s been unused for years.
His expression falls, just for a heartbeat, before he manages to mask it with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m Blake, your husband.”
My husband. The words hang in the air between us, heavy and impossible. I search his face, desperate for any flicker of recognition, but it’s like staring into the eyes of a stranger. There’s nothing there—no memory, no familiarity, just a gaping hole where there should be something. Anything.
I must look as confused as I feel because he sits down beside the bed, his hand hovering, like he’s not sure if he should touch me again. “You... you don’t remember me?”
I shake my head, and the movement makes the dull pain in my skull flare. “I don’t... I don’t know who you are.”
His eyes close briefly, and he takes a deep breath. When he opens them again, the pain is back, etched into the lines around his eyes. “The doctor said this might happen. The accident... it caused some trauma. You might have amnesia.”
Amnesia. The word feels like it should come with a dramatic swell of music, something out of a soap opera. But there’s no melodrama here, just this cold, terrifying blankness in my head. “Amnesia?” I echo, my voice barely a whisper.
He nods, and I see his hands clenching into fists, the knuckles turning white. “You were in a car accident in Los Angeles. You’ve been unconscious for days.” His voice drops, and I hear the tremor in it, like he’s struggling to keep it steady. “I thought I lost you.”
I want to say something, to reassure him, but how can I when I don’t even know who he is? I don’t remember Los Angeles. I don’t remember the accident. Hell, I don’t remember my own name beyond the one he’s calling me—Nicole.
The name feels heavy, like it doesn’t belong to me, and I feel a sudden rush of tears prickling at my eyes. I don’t know what to do, how to feel. My fingers curl into the thin hospital blanket, gripping it like a lifeline.
He reaches for me again, his touch tentative, like he’s afraid I’ll pull away. And I want to—everything in me screams to retreat, to put as much distance between us as possible. But there’s a vulnerability in his eyes that stops me. There’s a look of raw emotion, of longing and pain that tugs at something deep inside me, something I can’t quite name.
“It’s okay,” he says softly. “We’ll take it one day at a time. I’m here for you.”
I should feel comforted, but all I feel is this gnawing fear, this emptiness where my memories should be. I’m alone, surrounded by the unfamiliar, and the one person who claims to know me feels like a stranger. I nod, but it’s more out of obligation than understanding.
“Okay,” I manage to say, the word shaky and uncertain.
He gives me another one of those tight, strained smiles. “We’ll go home soon, okay? Back to Canada. We’ll figure this out together.”
Canada. Home. The words mean nothing to me. They’re just labels, places that exist somewhere out there but hold no significance in my mind. I try to picture it—a home, our life together—but all I see is a blank slate.
“Okay,” I say again, because I don’t know what else to say.
He stays with me, talking in soft, soothing tones, telling me little things about our life. He mentions places we’ve been, friends we have, stories he hopes will jog my memory. I try to focus on his words, but it’s like trying to hold water in my hands. Everything slips through my fingers.
At some point, the doctor returns, checking my vitals and talking with Blake in low voices that I can’t quite make out. They exchange looks—serious, heavy—and I catch the way Blake’s shoulders tense, the way he clenches his jaw. He’s worried, and that makes me worried too, even though I don’t understand any of it.
When the doctor leaves, Blake turns back to me, and there’s a new resolve in his eyes. “I’ll take care of you, Nicole. I promise.”
His words hang in the air, a vow I don’t know if I can accept. But there’s something in his eyes, a determination that almost makes me believe him. Almost. But the truth is, I still feel so lost.
I close my eyes, the weight of exhaustion pulling at me. Maybe when I wake up again, things will make sense. Maybe I’ll remember. But as sleep drags me under, I feel the lingering press of his hand on mine, warm and reassuring, even if I don’t know why it should be.
When I wake again, the room is dim, and for a moment, I think I’m alone. Panic flares, a tight knot forming in my chest, but then I hear the sound of a chair scraping against the floor. Blake’s still there, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. His eyes meet mine, and there’s a softness in his expression that makes my breath catch.
“Hey,” he says, his voice gentle.
“Hi.” The word feels strange on my tongue, like I’m speaking to someone I should know but don’t. I try to offer a small smile, but it feels awkward, forced.
He shifts closer, his gaze never leaving mine. “How are you feeling?”
“Confused,” I admit. “Everything feels... wrong.”
He nods, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “I know. It’s going to take time.”
There’s a silence between us, and I don’t know how to fill it. My fingers fidget with the blanket, and I catch him watching the movement, his eyes softening. “You always do that,” he murmurs, a hint of a smile playing at his lips.
“Do what?”
“Fidget when you’re nervous.” There’s a fondness in his tone that makes my chest ache, and I don’t know why.
I pull my hand back, tucking it under the blanket. “I don’t remember.”
His smile falters, and for a moment, he looks so lost that I feel guilty. But then he reaches out, his hand
warm as it covers mine. “It’s okay, Nicole. I remember enough for both of us.”
I don’t know why, but his words make my throat tighten. I want to believe him, but as I look into those green eyes, I realize that no matter how sincere he is, I’m still left with the nagging fear that I might never remember the life I’ve supposedly shared with him.
