The name meant nothing to me, but the way he said it suggested it should.
He sat in the chair next to the bed, pulled out a small flashlight. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Confused.”
“That’s understandable.” He checked my pupils, had me follow his finger with my eyes. “Michael mentioned you’re experiencing some memory loss. Can you tell me what you remember?”
I went through it again while he took a general assessment.
“Any headaches?” he asked. “Nausea?”
“Just pressure. Behind my eyes.”
He made notes, asked more questions. When did I wake up? How did I feel physically? Could I move everything normally?
“Everything looks stable,” he said finally.
“But the memory loss?—”
“It should improve with rest,” he said, though something in his tone felt off, maybe it was because he hadn’t met my eyes. Or had I imagined that?
“A year is a long time to just forget. What happened to me?”
“You suffered a trauma.” He packed up his equipment. “The important thing is not to push yourself. Your body needs time to recover.”
“Recover from what?”
He glanced at Michael. That look again—like they were communicating something I wasn’t supposed to understand.
“From yesterday,” Dr. Rivera said vaguely. “It was… a long day.”
He left with Michael, their voices low in the hallway where I couldn’t hear.
When Michael came back, I was ready with questions. But before I could ask them, the doorbell rang.
Long and aggressive.
“That’ll be Jack,” Michael said quietly.
My stomach sank to my feet. “Now?”
“He must have succeeded in tracking my location. We can’t put this off anymore.” Michael spoke. He looked like he was bracing himself for a fight.
The doorbell rang again, followed by pounding.
“MICHAEL!” Jack’s voice came through the door, muffled but furious. “I know you’re in there! Open the damn door!”
I looked down at the t-shirt I was wearing. The ring on my finger. The complete disaster that was my life.
“I’m going to die,” I muttered. “Jack is going to kill me, and I’m going to die without even remembering why I married you.”
“He’s not going to kill you,” he said to me.
“He’s definitely going to kill you, though.”
“Probably.” Michael moved toward the door. “But then I’d die a happy man. You ready?”
“Absolutely not!”
