Unforgettable, Before I Let You Go

An eighteen-year-old girl

Reed

"Retrograde amnesia."

The doctor had told me in the hospital hallway, outside Wendy's room.

Those two words were enough to freeze my entire body. My heart began to throb so hard I could hear it echoing in my ears.

"The severe concussion she suffered during the crash caused significant trauma to her brain.” The doctor explained further as he glanced down at her brain scans on the clipboard before looking back up at me with pity. “When we had a conversation with her, she could only remember until her eighteen birthday. To be more precise, we asked what year it is. She told us a year that was seven years ago.”

I held my breath as he continued. “So, we came to this conclusion that Ms. Wendy only remembers her life up to her eighteenth birthday. Anything that happened after that... the last six or seven years... is completely gone."

I slowly lifted my head, my mind spinning violently. "Gone? You mean she doesn't remember me? She doesn't remember our marriage?"

"According to what we have gathered, she met you seven years ago. We tried to ask if she knew you. She couldn't even remember your name. To her, you are a complete stranger, Mr. Reed." The doctor replied. "She doesn't recognize anyone or anything that happened after she turned eighteen.

"Eighteen?" I managed to ask but the word seemed to scratch against my dry throat.

"Yes." The doctor nodded slowly and offered me a sad, knowing look. “You need to be very careful. Her mind is in a very fragile state. Pushing her to remember, or forcing too much reality on her all at once, could cause severe psychological distress."

The doctor walked away, leaving me completely alone in the freezing hallway.

I leaned against the wall, squeezing my eyes shut. My wife didn't know me. The woman who had screamed that she hated me just three days ago... she had completely vanished.

She didn't remember the bitter arguments, the cold stares or even our beautiful five-year-old son, William who was waiting for her back at home.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, I pushed open the door to her hospital room.

Wendy was sitting up slightly, gripping the blue hospital blanket. When she heard the door click, her head snapped toward me.

I froze, bracing myself out of pure habit.

But the woman looking back at me was not the cold, angry wife who had screamed at me in the garage just three days ago.

Instead, she looked exactly like the girl who had fixed my tie in her father's study all those years ago.

"Hi.” I forced my voice out as I stayed near the door, terrified that moving too fast would scare her.

“You didn't answer me.” She pulled the thin white blanket tightly up to her chest. "Why am I here? What happened to my eighteenth birthday party?"

I took a careful step into the room. "You were in an accident, Wendy." I told her, trying to keep my voice as soft and gentle as humanly possible. "But you are safe now."

Her beautiful brow furrowed in confusion as she looked around the empty room. "Where is my dad?" She asked desperately, her eyes darting back to mine. "If it was an accident… why hasn't he come to see me?"

I had promised to tell her the truth once she woke up. But how was I supposed to when she couldn't even remember me?

I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat. Before I could even figure out a lie, her lower lip started to quiver.

"And why..." She hesitated. Her eyes carried both awe and confusion. "Why did that doctor just call you my husband?" She searched my face for any hint of familiarity. But finding nothing, her breathing started to pick up, the heart monitor beeping faster. "I don't even know you. I am not even married. Why would he say that?"

She stared at me, waiting for the answers that would explain her entire missing world.

My mind screamed at me to tell her everything. I wanted to fall to my knees, grab her hands and beg her to remember me.

But the doctor's warning flashed in my mind.. “her mind is in a very fragile state.”

Telling her about her father, a forced contract marriage, and a five-year-old son she didn't know existed would completely break her. I couldn't dump the tragic, broken reality of our life onto a girl who thought she was just going to her eighteenth birthday party.

So, I swallowed my own heartbreak.

I buried the billionaire CEO, the desperate husband, the villain she thought I was, and I just became a calm presence she needed.

Then I slowly walked over to the side of her bed, keeping my hands tucked into my pockets so I wouldn't be tempted to touch her.

I forced the most reassuring smile I could muster onto my face. "You have been through a very big shock, Wendy. The doctor said you need to rest and not worry about all of these questions right now."

She opened her mouth to argue. The familiar stubbornness flashed in her eyes for just a second.

"I know you are scared." I interrupted softly. "So, I am going to have Nancy come over right now. Do you remember Nancy?"

The moment I uttered the older housekeeper's name, I saw the tension in her shoulder drop.

Nancy had been her beloved nanny since she was a little girl. She was the only mother figure Wendy had ever truly known. That was the reason we had her for William.

Wendy let out a breath. The pure confusion in her eyes softened into relief. "Of course." She replied as a tiny, hopeful smile touched her lips. "Yes. I remember Nancy. Please... can you call her?"

"I will call her right now.” I promised. "She will be here very soon."

Wendy nodded and sunk back into the pillows. The quick beeping of the monitor finally slowed down. She closed her eyes and within moments, her breathing evened out into sleep.

I stood at the foot of her bed for a long time, watching her sleep.

Having Nancy take care of her was the only safe option. Nancy knew our past and Nancy knew how to comfort her.

But as I pulled my phone from my pocket to dial our home number, a cold dread washed over my entire body.

I was about to build a protective bubble around Wendy, letting her believe she was an eighteen-year-old girl. She hadn’t met Logan at that time. She hadn’t hated me back then.

But how long could I keep up this lie? And what was I going to do when this innocent, eighteen-year-old girl eventually asked why there was a five-year-old boy named William crying for his mother back at my house?