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1214 Words
Ava stood very still.
So still she could hear the small sounds she’d never noticed before—the faint hum of the machines, the squeak of a nurse’s shoes somewhere down the corridor, the uneven rhythm of her own breathing. In. Out. Fast.
Matthew sat on the hospital bed, propped against pillows that looked too white, too clean for what was happening. He kept his hands on his lap, fingers loosely intertwined, like he didn’t quite know where to put them. Like his body was waiting for instructions his mind hadn’t given yet.
He looked… polite.
That was the strangest part.
Not distant, not angry. Just polite. The way you look at a stranger who’s crying in front of you and you’re not sure why.
“I’m your wife,” Ava said again, softer this time, as if volume was the problem. As if gentleness might slip past whatever wall stood between them. "We are married." She added.
Matthew blinked. Once. Slowly.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t… I don’t remember.”
The words were careful. Apologetic. Like he was sorry he’d lost his keys, not his life.
Something cracked in her chest.
She swallowed hard and forced herself to keep talking. If she stopped, she knew she’d fall apart—and she wasn’t ready for that yet. Not in front of him. Not in front of his parents standing behind her, their confusion hanging thick in the room.
“We met at a charity gala,” she said, stepping closer. “You hated going. You only came because your mother insisted.”
His mother sucked in a breath behind her.
Matthew ’s eyes flicked briefly toward the sound, then back to Ava. Blank and curious.
“You spilled champagne on my dress,” Ava continued, a faint smile trembling at the corners of her mouth. “Red champagne. I was furious. You apologized like five times. You kept saying you were clumsy when you were nervous.”
He shook his head slowly. “I don’t remember that.”
Her fingers curled into the fabric of her skirt.
“Okay,” she whispered. “That’s okay. That’s fine. Maybe… maybe something else.”
She took a breath and tried again.
“Our first anniversary,” she said. “There was a blackout. Remember? The entire block lost power. We had candles everywhere. You cooked pasta on a gas stove and burned the sauce.”
A pause.
“You said it was ‘rustic,’” she added quickly, almost pleading. “You said everything tasted better when the lights were off.”
Nothing.
Matthew ’s brow furrowed slightly, like he was trying. Like he hated disappointing her.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I really am.”
Her knees felt weak.
She laughed then. A small, broken sound that startled even her. “You always say sorry when you don’t know what to say.”
His lips parted, as if that meant something to him.
But then he shook his head. “I don’t know that either.”
That did it.
Ava pressed a hand to her mouth, turning away before the sob could escape. She stared at the wall, counted the tiles, and focused on not collapsing.
Behind her, his father cleared his throat. “Son,” he said gruffly. “Do you remember your childhood home? The house with the blue gate?”
Matthew looked at him. Hesitated. “I think so.”
Hope flickered.
“And Ava,” his mother added quickly. “You remember Ava, don’t you? Your wedding day?”
Ava turned back, her heart slamming painfully against her ribs.
Matthew looked between them. Then back at Ava.
“Wedding?” he asked.
The room went very quiet.
Her breath left her in one long, shaky exhale.
“We were married three years ago,” she said. Her voice was barely there now. “You proposed to me by the lake. You were shaking so badly you dropped the ring.”
He stared at her hands, as if expecting to see a ring appear there and explain everything.
“I didn’t propose to anyone,” he said carefully.
Her vision blurred.
“You told me you couldn’t imagine your life without me,” she whispered. “You said I was your home.”
His jaw tightened. “I’m sorry.”
The words felt like knives now. Each one is lean and precise.
His mother stepped forward, voice trembling. “Matthew , please. Try. This is your wife. You love her.”
He looked at Ava again. Really looked this time. Her red eyes. The way she held herself together by sheer will.
“I don’t feel anything,” he said quietly. “I’m not trying to be cruel. I just… don’t know her.”
Something in Ava finally gave way.
She sank into the chair beside the bed, her hands shaking uncontrollably now. Her entire body felt hollow, like someone had scooped her out and left the shell behind.
“I’m right here,” she whispered, not sure who she was saying it to anymore. “I’m right here.”
The doctor returned shortly after, summoned by the quiet devastation that had settled over the room.
He listened, asked questions. Observed Matthew ’s responses with a professional calm that felt almost offensive in its neutrality.
“We’ll need to run some tests,” he said. “A scan. To assess the extent of the injury.”
They wheeled Matthew away.
Ava watched them take him, the bed rolling smoothly down the corridor, the distance between them stretching with every second. She followed until the doors closed, until there was nothing left to follow.
She stood there shaking.
Hours passed.
She sat in the waiting room, knees pulled to her chest, staring at nothing. His parents spoke in hushed tones nearby. She didn’t hear the words. Only the weight of them.
Her phone buzzed, but she ignored it.
She thought of the way Matthew used to reach for her in his sleep. The way he’d murmur her name without waking. The way he’d kiss her temple when he thought she was already asleep.
How do you lose something like that?
When the doctor finally returned, Ava was barely holding herself upright.
“He has suffered partial memory loss due to the head injury,” the doctor said. “Some memories may return. Others may not.”
The words settled slowly. He might remember. He might not.
There was no certainty. No timeline, no promise.
Ava nodded numbly.
“At this stage,” the doctor continued, “it’s important he’s surrounded by care. Familiar voices and patience. Pressure can do more harm than good.”
Care and patience.
She wondered how much of those she had left.
She nodded again, though her heart was breaking into pieces, she wasn’t sure she could gather them back together.
As they walked toward Matthew ’s room, Ava lagged for a moment.
She pressed her hand to her chest, feeling the ache there, raw and relentless.
I’ll stay, she told herself. I’ll stay. I’ll remind him. I’ll love him enough for both of us.
She straightened her shoulders and stepped forward.
Even if he didn’t remember her—
She remembered him.
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