Chapter 5

Luisa

For a few seconds, I thought I hadn't heard him right. That exhaustion, a sleepless night, or fear had distorted his words. I stood there, staring at Arthur, waiting for him to laugh, to say my name, to call it a bad joke. But he just looked at me. Lost. Like a stranger.

"Arthur…" I called carefully, my voice barely above a whisper. "It's me."

He looked away, clearly uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, but I don't remember you. I don't know who you are."

I felt the air leave my lungs. My body reacted before my mind did, and I had to grip the edge of the bed to keep from falling. The room seemed smaller, more closed in, as if the walls were drawing closer. At that moment, the doctor walked in accompanied by a nurse. His gaze went straight to Arthur.

"I see you're awake," he said, professional but attentive. "How are you feeling?"

"Confused," Arthur answered. "My head hurts and I don't know where I am."

The doctor nodded, as if that confirmed something he'd already expected. He glanced at me for a moment, then turned back to Arthur.

"You were in a car accident," he explained. "You suffered significant trauma to the head. Surgery was necessary to stop internal bleeding."

Arthur took a deep breath. "And her?" he asked, gesturing discreetly toward me. "Was she in the car with me?"

My heart broke a little more. "No," the doctor answered. "She's your wife."

Arthur looked at me again, his eyes widening slightly. "My wife?"

I nodded, even as tears threatened to fall. "We're married, Arthur," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "For two years."

He ran a hand over his face, clearly overwhelmed. "I'm sorry. I don't remember that."

The doctor cleared his throat. "Arthur, what you're experiencing is post-traumatic amnesia," he explained calmly. "In some cases, the brain erases memories as a form of protection. It may be temporary, or it may last longer. Every patient responds differently."

"Will he remember?" I asked, the question escaping before I could stop it.

The doctor was honest. "I can't guarantee that. Some memories may return gradually, others may never come back. But emotional stimuli help."

Arthur watched me in silence as the doctor spoke, as if he were trying to fit me somewhere inside himself. And finding nothing.

"We'll give you two a little time alone," the doctor said at last. "But don't push anything. He needs calm."

When we were alone again, heavy silence fell between us. Arthur fidgeted with the sheets, nervous. I stayed where I was, standing, unsure whether to move closer or step back.

"I don't know how to act," he admitted. "You seem important."

I swallowed hard. "Because I am," I replied softly. "And you're everything to me."

He looked away, visibly uncomfortable. "This is strange. I feel like I'm hurting you without meaning to."

I took a step forward. "You're not doing anything wrong," I assured him. "This isn't your fault." I sat down in the chair beside the bed, keeping a small distance between us. "Can I tell you some things?" I asked.

He hesitated, but nodded. "Go ahead."

"You like strong coffee, no sugar," I began slowly. "You hate waking up early, but you always wake up before the alarm when you're anxious. You work too much, even when you promise you won't. You're a very well-known and successful CEO."

One corner of his mouth lifted almost imperceptibly. "That sounds like me."

"You say I organize your mind," I continued. "That our routine keeps you sane."

Arthur was watching me closely now. "And do I love you?"

The question cut through me like a blade.

"Yes," I answered without hesitating. "Very much."

He was quiet for a few seconds. "I'm sorry I don't remember that," he said, sincere. "But I don't feel anything."

The tears finally fell. "I know," I murmured. "And it hurts. But I'm staying."

"You don't have to," he said quickly. "It isn't fair."

I took his hand carefully, afraid he'd pull away. To my surprise, he didn't. He just stayed still, feeling.

"Loving someone also means staying when it's hard," I said. "And I promised to stay. In sickness and in health — that was one of our vows."

He breathed deep, his eyes glistening. "Then maybe you can help me."

My heart quickened. "Help you with what?"

"Remember," he answered. "Even if just a little."

I smiled through my tears. "I've been doing that every day since I met you."

I stayed there telling him small stories. About our disastrous first meeting. About the time he burned dinner trying to impress me. About the nights we stayed up talking about nothing. He listened in silence, smiling sometimes, closing his eyes other times as if trying to feel something beyond the words.

"I'm sorry," he said at one point. "It still feels distant."

"That's okay," I replied. "We have time."

When Veronica appeared in the doorway, the atmosphere shifted. She took in the scene quickly.

"Arthur," she called. "How are you feeling?"

He looked at her. "I don't remember you either."

She kept her composure. "I'm Veronica. Your stepmother. I married your father after your mother passed away, and I've been looking after you ever since. But unfortunately, he passed away last year."

He nodded, polite, as if that were simply more information to file away.

Veronica turned her gaze to me. "The doctor explained the situation to me," she said. "This changes a great many things."

"It doesn't change the fact that I'm his wife," I replied firmly. "I'm going to help him remember everything."

She just smiled at the corner of her mouth. "We'll see. I've made arrangements — he'll stay at my house while he recovers. It'll be better."

"All right, I agree with that. It really will be better."

"At least you recognize it."

I was about to push back, but Arthur sensed the tension. "Is something wrong?"

"No," I answered quickly. "Nothing you need to worry about right now."

But as I held his hand again, I knew. The battle had begun right there. He was alive. But he was lost to me. And I would have to fight not just for his memory, but for our place in a story that someone clearly wanted to rewrite. Even so, I wasn't letting go of that hand. Even if he didn't know who I was.

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