Chapter Three
1291 Words
The doctors assessed Dominic Crane on Wednesday morning.
By noon the official conclusion was in his chart in language that made the reality feel strange:
Retrograde memory loss for about two years.
Two years of his life were just gone.
Not blurry. Not damaged.
Gone.
Like someone took out pages from a book without touching the pages.
Dominic remembered his life clearly up to twenty-six months ago. He remembered being twenty-nine and tired from sleeping four hours a night while building Crane Technologies. He remembered talks in hotel bars, airport terminals, and conference rooms that smelled like coffee. He remembered the night his company was worth over a hundred million dollars. He remembered eating takeout noodles in his office at 2 am.
He remembered names. Faces. Deals. Arguments.
He remembered who he was.
Then there was nothing.
No engagement.
No proposal.
No memories of the woman everyone mentioned carefully.
No recollection of the person he became during those years.
The neurologist explained it all calmly. Memory might come back slowly. Certain things might help. Familiar places, routines, people.
It might never come back.
Dominic listened without interrupting.
No anger. No panic.
Just calmness that made the doctors exchange glances.
As if they expected him to be upset. Did not know what to do with his calmness.
Marisol Vega was not in the room.
By the time her night shift started, she had read the updated notes twice. She told herself she was reading carefully because Room 14 needed attention.
At 8:17 PM she walked into Dominic Crane’s room with his medication tray.
The lights were dim except for the city glow outside.
He was awake.
Not awake.
Alert.
Marisol thought he had spent the day thinking.
There was a kind of exhaustion she recognized in patients after the news. It settled into their faces differently. Quieter. Heavier.
“Evening " she said gently.
Her voice was soft like it always was with patients.
“How are you feeling?”
Dominic turned his head toward her.
“You were here last night " he said.
“I’m on night shift " Marisol replied. "I check on my patients every hour.”
“No " he said quietly. "I mean when I first woke up.”
He looked at her.
“You were the person I saw clearly.”
Something about the way he said it made her focus on the monitor.
“You were still coming out of anesthesia " she said. "People are usually confused.”
“I called you Genevieve " he said.
Marisol adjusted the blood pressure cuff.
“You were confused " she answered smoothly. "That’s common after surgery.”
He studied her.
Not flirtatiously.
Not
More like he was solving a puzzle.
“The doctors told me about the memory loss " he said.
“I know " Marisol replied. "I read the notes.”
“Two years " he said.
She nodded.
Dominic looked toward the window.
The city stretched out. Traffic lights, office towers moving headlights.
Most people find hospitals isolating at night.
Room 14 felt suspended above the world.
“It’s strange " he said. "Knowing something. Not feeling connected to it.”
Marisol listened while entering his vitals.
“I don’t miss what I can’t remember " he continued. "At not yet.”
She looked up.
“That might make things easier " she said.
“Or worse " he said away.
The honesty caught her off guard.
“The neurologist said memories may return in fragments " he said. "Weeks. Months. Longer.”
He smiled humorlessly.
“So I’m waiting to discover who I’ve been for the two years " he said.
Marisol leaned against the counter.
“That sounds unsettling " she said.
“It’s clarifying " he said.
The word surprised her.
Dominic rubbed the hospital blanket.
“You spend years building a life " he said. "Then suddenly you’re standing outside it looking in.”
He looked at her.
“You start seeing the structure underneath everything " he said.
The room was quiet.
The heart monitor hummed softly.
“Does that make sense?" he asked.
Marisol thought about it.
“Yes," she said. "More than you probably think.”
Something shifted in his expression.
No surprise.
Recognition.
“You answer questions carefully " he observed.
Marisol folded her arms.
“That’s part of the job " she said.
“No " he said softly. "That’s self-protection.”
The comment was close to the truth.
She looked away.
“What’s your name?" he asked.
“Marisol Vega " she replied.
“How long have you been a nurse, Marisol Vega?”
“Seven years " she said.
“Do you like it?" he asked.
That made her blink.
Patients asked for pain medication. Water. Blankets. Updates.
They rarely asked her questions.
“Yes," she said finally. "I do.”
“Why?" he asked.
Marisol opened her mouth with the answer.
The exhaustion of the week stripped the performance out of her.
“Because the work is real " she said instead.
Dominic watched her.
“If someone’s hurting you help them. You don’t. There’s no pretending otherwise " she said.
He stared at her like he was turning the words over.
“I think that’s why I started my company " he said.
She raised an eyebrow.
“To build something " she asked.
He nodded.
“For a while it was " he said.
His voice lowered.
“Then it stopped feeling that way " he said.
Marisol did not ask what happened.
She remembered the sadness in his voice.
“You should try to sleep " she said gently. "You’ve got another assessment in the morning.”
“I know " he said.
He did not close his eyes.
The silence between them was comfortable.
Then:
“Will you be here tomorrow night?" he asked.
Marisol hesitated briefly.
“Yes," she said.
“Good " he said simply.
Something tightened in her chest.
She turned back to the chart.
After updating his medications she moved toward the door.
“Marisol " he said.
She looked back.
Dominic’s expression had softened.
“Thank you " he said quietly.
“For staying the night " he said.
The words caught her off guard.
Marisol stood there for a long time.
Then she nodded.
“Get some rest Mr. Crane " she said.
She stepped out into the corridor.
The hallway was dim except for the lights.
Somewhere, down the corridor, a machine beeped.
A resident laughed quietly.
Life continued.
Marisol leaned briefly against the wall.
She inhaled slowly.
Then exhaled.
Her hand drifted to her pocket.
That morning she had taken a pregnancy test.
She still had not looked at it at all.
The image flashed in her mind.
Positive.
Probably positive.
Definitely positive.
She closed her eyes briefly.
Then Dominic Crane's face popped into her mind again.
The way he looked at her when he said thank you.
Like she was a rock in a world that had suddenly gone crazy.
That was a problem.
Not because of him.
Because of her.
She had spent years learning to keep patients at arm's length.
To leave their sadness, fear, and loneliness in the hospital room when her shift ended.
Something about Room 14 just wouldn't leave her alone.
It followed her into the hallway.
Into her thoughts.
Into the spaces she usually guarded so carefully.
Marisol pushed herself away from the wall. Stood up straight.
Patients were waiting.
Medicines to give.
Files to update.
Phone calls to answer.
Real work.
So she walked down the corridor. Got back, to work.
For the rest of the hour, she tried really hard not to think about Dominic Crane.
She didn't succeed.
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