Is he really my husband?
1001 Words
Wendy
I had no idea when I fell asleep or the man left or even when I woke up.
I just found myself staring at the white ceiling for a long time. My mind was spinning so fast I felt dizzy.
Everything felt like a cruel, twisted joke.
One minute ago… literally just one minute ago, I was standing in front of my mirror. I was eighteen. I was happy. I could see myself wearing my beautiful birthday dress. I could hear the music downstairs and smell the hundreds of white roses my father had bought for me. I was waiting for Nancy to finish my zipper so I could run down and start the rest of my life.
And now?
Now, I was being told that I had been in a horrific accident.
And that beautiful, dark-haired stranger with the haunted eyes? Apparently, the doctor called him my husband.
"Husband.” I whispered the word out loud. It felt like a foreign language on my tongue.
It was impossible.
I looked down at my left hand. There, resting on my ring finger, was a massive diamond. It was beautiful, elegant but it felt like a shackle.
How could I have a husband? I wasn't a wife. I was a girl who had just finished high school. I was a girl who wanted to travel, to dance, to see the world. I didn't even know how to be a wife.
And that man... Reed.
I closed my eyes and pictured his face. He was undeniably, breathtakingly handsome. He looked like the kind of man who moved mountains with a single word. His eyes were dark and intense, filled with a depth of emotion that actually frightened me. When he looked at me, it felt like he was seeing straight into my soul.
But I didn't know him. To me, he was just a beautiful stranger with a broken voice.
And the most terrifying thing about this hospital room wasn't the stranger. It was the absence of my father.
Where was Eren?
My father loved me more than anything in the world. If I had been in a car accident, he would have been the first person through that door. He would have been worried sick. He would have stayed by my side for every single second, holding my hand and telling me everything was going to be okay.
I remembered I was eleven and had common cold. Because of that, he cancelled every board meeting and sit by my bed until I felt better.
No, he never would have left me alone with a stranger.
"Dad?" I called out softly, my voice trembling. "Dad, are you there?"
Only the beep-beep-beep of the heart monitor answered me.
Suddenly, the door pushed open.
I flinched, expecting the handsome stranger to return, but instead, a familiar face appeared.
A woman stepped inside. She was older, with silver-streaked hair pulled back in a neat bun and a face lined with years of kindness.
"Nancy!" I gasped, the name ripping from my throat in a sob of pure relief.
Nancy let out a choked sob and rushed to my side.. She looked older. Her face had more lines around the eyes, and her hair was silvered with gray but she was still my Nancy.
Before I could say another word, she wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into a tight, familiar hug. She smelled like lavender laundry detergent and the faint scent of the lemon cookies she always baked.
"Oh, my sweet girl." Nancy whispered into my hair, her shoulders shaking. "You gave us such a scare. Such a terrible scare."
I buried my face in her shoulder. She felt real. So real.
I pulled back just an inch, my hands gripping her arms. "Nancy, thank God you are here. Everything is so confusing. They are saying crazy things."
"I know, honey. I know." She said but her eyes looking incredibly sad, almost mournful.
"Where is my father?" I asked her. "Why isn't he here? And how did my birthday party go? Did I miss the cake? Dad was calling me from the hallway, and then... then I woke up here. Did everyone leave? Did the accident happen on the way to the ballroom?"
Nancy looked away for a moment. Her jaw tightened as if she were trying to hold back a flood of words.
Then she took a deep breath and sat on the bed, taking my hands in hers.
"Miss Wendy..." Nancy said softly. "Listen to me very carefully."
I held my breath.
"There was no birthday party today."
I blinked, confused. "What do you mean? I was just there. I was in my dress. You were fixing the zipper!"
"That was a long time ago, sweetie," Nancy interrupted gently as a tear slipped from her eye. "You were in a very bad car accident. You have been in a coma. The doctors say you have lost a lot of your memory."
I felt the blood go cold in my veins. "Long time ago? Nancy, that’s impossible. I feel like it was ten minutes ago."
"I know it does." Nancy soothed, stroking my hand. "But you aren't eighteen anymore."
The room felt like it was tilting. I felt sick. "What do you mean? If I am not eighteen, then... how old am I? How many years did I lose?"
Nancy didn't answer right away. She just squeezed my hands.
“You are twenty-six years old.” Her words hit me harder than a blow.
She said I was not eighteen. I lost my memories. I was twenty six years old. And I had a ring on my finger.
My head hurt but I looked toward the door, thinking about the man who had been sitting there. The man who looked at me with so much love and so much pain.
"Then Nancy." I whispered, my voice shaking. "That man at the door... the one who was just here... is he really my husband?"
- Writer
