After I Lost My Memory, I Landed the Harbor Contract

I was reaching for the cup of water when Evan's friend called me a gold digger. The words came through the half-open door of my hospital room, followed by a low laugh. "Finally," the friend said. "You can dump her without feeling like the villain." My fingers tightened around the plastic cup. I had been awake for maybe ten minutes. The ceiling lights made my skull throb, and a white bandage pulled at my hairline. I remembered the ambulance, the rain on my windshield, the sudden glare of headlights. I remembered hitting the guardrail on the coastal road. And I remembered everything else. The year Evan and I met at a fundraising dinner. The night I took him home after he drank too much at his father's retirement party. The dozens of small kindnesses that had made me trust him. The proposal I had spent eleven months building with my team at Vale Shore Studio, a flood-resilience design for Bellwether Harbor that could keep a working waterfront alive as the sea rose. The memory loss had lasted less than a day. I hadn't told anyone yet. "She's not a gold digger," Evan said. I waited for the rest. He didn't say it. His friend made a skeptical sound. "She lets you pay for everything." "I pay for dinner sometimes," Evan said. "That's not the point." "Then what is the point?" A pause. I could hear the soft shuffle of shoes in the corridor. "The Harbor decision is in two weeks," Evan said. "She's on the shortlist. I need her close until then." My mouth went dry. The cup slipped in my hand and clicked against the bedside table. Neither man spoke for a moment. "Careful," his friend said. "She might be awake." I shut my eyes. Footsteps came to my door and stopped. I heard Evan's voice turn warm and worried. "Mara? You up?" I forced myself to breathe slowly. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing I'd heard. I wasn't even sure what I wanted to do with what I'd heard. But I knew I wasn't going to let him watch me put the pieces together. I opened my eyes. "My head hurts." Evan came in alone. His dark hair was damp from the rain, and his coat was folded over one arm. He looked exactly like the man I'd woken up believing I loved. "You had a scare," he said, and leaned down to kiss my forehead. "The doctor says you're lucky." I turned my face slightly. Not enough to make the rejection obvious. "Did I lose my memory?" "For a little while. You couldn't place the date or the hospital. They said it can happen after a concussion." He pulled a chair close to the bed. "You asked me who I was." "And what did you say?" "That I was your boyfriend." "Were you?" His smile faltered. Then it returned, smaller. "I still am." I studied his face, searching for the man who had been in the corridor. I couldn't see him there. I could only see Evan, the person who had once sat with me until two in the morning while I rebuilt a presentation after a storm wiped out our server. "You said you loved me," I told him. "I do." He reached for my hand. I let him take it, though my fingers stayed still against his. A nurse came in to check my pupils and ask me questions. I answered the date, the hospital, my address. When she asked how long I'd known Evan, I said, "A little over two years." Evan watched me too closely. When she left, he asked, "How are you feeling about everything?" "Like I hit my head." "That's fair." He rubbed his thumb over my knuckles. "The important thing is you're okay. The Harbor bid can wait." I looked at him. "It can?" "Of course." His answer came too fast. The Harbor contract was the largest public project my firm had ever pursued. Bellwether's old seawall had begun to fail, and the city planned to replace it with a system of raised paths, restored marsh, and storm gates designed around the people who depended on the harbor. We had spent months listening to fishers, shop owners, and residents whose homes flooded every winter. The project could make our studio stable enough to hire three more people and stop living from invoice to invoice. Evan knew that. He knew I couldn't afford to lose it. "I'm tired," I said. "Then rest. I'll be here." He stayed until the nurse came back with discharge instructions. I took the ride home alone, claiming the doctor wanted quiet. Evan offered to drive me, but I told him my colleague Lena was already on her way. After he left, I asked the nurse for a pen and wrote his exact words on the back of the medication sheet. She's on the shortlist. I need her close until then. Then I wrote down the other thing I'd heard. Gold digger. At home, I opened my laptop and checked the time. The bid interview was in twelve days. The first email waiting in my inbox was from the city procurement office. They wanted confirmation that our team could attend the final review. I replied yes. Then I called Lena. "I'm home," I said. "I need you to come over." "Are you okay?" "I'm fine." She didn't believe me. "What happened?" I looked at the note in my hand. "I remembered everything," I said. "And I heard something I need to tell you in person."