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“You know who I am,” I mutter, barely controlling myself after waiting hours to be accused. “Don’t pretend you haven’t heard my name since we got here. Suffice it to say my family has enemies. I’m going to leave it at that for your sake, not mine. Understand what I’m trying to explain?” I ask.
“I’m not intimidated by your name or the names of your enemies,” he replies smoothly. “But this wouldn’t be the first time a panicked man brought a woman in here?—”
“Forget that shit. How is she?” Dante demands behind me.
The doctor only sighs. “She was in bad shape when you got here… dehydrated, low body temperature, but of course, the wound to the side of her head was the most critical. We performed a scan, which confirmed minor swelling to the brain, but she’s improved greatly over the past several hours.”
“Improved?” It’s the only word I pick up on, the only one I understand. “Does that mean she’s awake?”
Again, he sighs, and the concerned look he wears doesn’t soften. “She is. But?—”
Fuck anything else. She’s awake. “I have to see her.” I’m already pushing him aside, ignoring his protests, sliding open the glass door separating us and pulling back the curtain.
Relief steals my breath when I find Emilia lying in bed, raised partway with her bandaged head resting against the pillow. The stark reality of her wounds stands out now that the blood has been washed away. She’s swollen, bruised, almost unrecognizable.
But she will heal.
What matters is she’s alive, and she’s mine. “Thank God,” I groan out, rushing to her, almost throwing myself over her when I reach the bed. The relief is so intense, so raw. “You came back to me.” I sob, clutching her, shaking. I got a second chance. This time, there will be no mistakes. I’m going to do everything right.
At first, I don’t notice it. The way she squirms. The way she gasps. The way the slow, steady beeping of her heart monitor gets faster. “Wh-what?” She whimpers. “Who are you?” I lift my head, confused. She’s terrified of me, her eyes wide, her breathing ragged and rapid. “What’s happening?” she asks in a high-pitched whisper.
“Are you in shock?” I ask, searching her face for some sign of understanding. This is Emilia. My Emilia. Yet she shrinks away from me like we’re strangers and shrieks when I try to touch her.
“Help!” she begs, finding the call button and jamming her thumb against it while I sputter in surprise.
The doctor reaches the bed and takes the button from Emilia, patting her hand, careful of the IV taped in place. “Mr. Santoro,” he murmurs, and now I see his sorrowful expression for what it is. “I wanted to explain before you saw her, but you didn’t give me the chance.”
“I don’t understand.” That’s putting it mildly as I stand, stunned, while Emilia clutches a thin blanket against her chest and stares at me through bulging eyes. “What’s wrong with her? You said she was improving. Is she still in shock?” I ask.
He shakes his head slowly. “It seems the injury to her brain has led to what we hope is temporary amnesia. As of now, she has no memory of who she is or what led to her being here.”
There’s nothing for me to do but watch in mute horror as a tear rolls down her cheek, staring at me like she’s never seen me.
I’ve lost her.
