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“I hope to God you’re right.”
We both move to sit and wait for the doctor to come out.
It feels like hours later when he comes out to us, looking tired. “Are you her husband?”
“Yes, Vice Moretti.”
His eyes widen at my name before he coughs and clears his throat. “Okay, well, the good news is she’s far calmer than last time, though confused and disoriented, which is to be expected. It’s important to note that there are some changes that will probably occur, thanks to the brain damage she suffered.”
“Like what?”
“Well, as you know, she’s missing a chunk of her memory, and that will probably never come back. But that’s not to say all her memories will be affected. Some memories may be hazy, while others will be crystal clear. She may also have trouble with her speech or recalling some words. She may find this frustrating, but that’s to be expected. The stroke has left her left side weak. She will probably have mobility issues and need assistance. Speech and physical therapy will help, but honestly, we just don’t know how things will progress. The brain is complex. She may find that she has limitations for the rest of her life, but the important thing isthat she’s alive. I’ll come back and check on her later. Just don’t push too hard. Let her take things at her own pace for now.”
“Thanks, doc.”
I wait for him to walk away before blowing out a breath.
“She’s going to have a target on her back because people will think she’s weak, making it easier to get to you.”
“You forget who you’re talking about, Conner. My wife could never be weak, and if I hear you say that again, I’ll knock your teeth out.”
I walk to her door and let myself into her room.
She’s facing the window when I enter, looking lost. I walk slowly around the bed, fighting the urge to yank her into my arms.
Sensing me, she lifts her head. I see recognition in her eyes. And for one fleeting moment, I think she remembers us, but the look morphs into one of confusion.
“Do I know you?”
It feels as if a knife has been shoved into my gut. But maybe it’s better this way. Now she can’t remember that she hates me. Now I can make her love me and love her back like she deserves.
“I’ve come to see my wife.”
I sit down on the chair beside her bed and lay my hands flat on her thigh and watch as she sucks in a breath when she sees her name on my fingers.
“Wait, what?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Funny, neither am I.
So, I start at the beginning—the day I met her at the prison—and tell her everything except what happened twenty years ago.
“Wow, that’s a lot.”
“I know.”
She bites her lip as she looks at me.
“Were we happy?” she whispers, a tear running down her face.
“Fuck, yeah.”
“Do we, I mean, are we… Fuck, this is awkward. I don’t know you, and yet you’re looking at me like you want to eat me.” She slurs a few of her words, but otherwise, she doesn’t seem to be having much trouble. Thank God for small miracles.
I grin. “I always want to eat you,” I tease, making her blush.
