Page 25 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

Then the memory simply ended.

A blank stretch of darkness took its place.

I opened my eyes again, frustration creeping into every word. “I can’t remember anything after that. I’ve been trying, but there’s just… nothing.”

Dr. Reed’s expression remained calm, though his attention sharpened. “That’s okay. Don’t force yourself to remember. Pushing too hard can make the headache worse. Based on what you’ve told me so far, it sounds as though you may have a gap in your memory surrounding the accident. We’ll run the appropriate neurological assessments and imaging, and we’ll take this one step at a time.”

“Accident?” My eyes widened as the word sank in. “Did we get into an accident?”

Dr. Reed didn’t answer immediately.

Neither did the man by the door.

My heart sank. “Where is she?” I tried to push myself up, but the sudden movement sent a wave of nausea through me, and the monitors erupted into frantic beeps.

The man was beside me in an instant. His hands caught my shoulders, gentle but firm, easing me back against the pillows as I tried to push myself upright again.

“She’s fine,” he said, his expression strained with worry. “Felicity is fine. She’s in the cafeteria having lunch.”

The relief hit so hard that my entire body went slack against the pillows. I closed my eyes and let out a shaky breath. “Fuck,” I whispered. “I almost had a heart attack.”

When I opened my eyes again, Dr. Reed was watching the monitor beside my bed. He checked the readings, then glanced back at me. “Your heart rate was briefly very committed to proving you right.”

A small smile tugged at his mouth.

He glanced toward the other man, clearly sharing the joke with him.

The man gave him a hard stare, his expression carrying such a clear warning that Dr. Reed’s mouth flattened into a professional line. He cleared his throat and turned his attention back to me. “Miss Quinn, there’s an important detail about the accident that you need to understand. You were involved in an accident, but it happened five days ago.”

My eyes widened.

Five days?

Dr. Reed noticed my confusion and continued before I could ask. “Your scans showed a traumatic brain injury. You were unconscious after the accident. Your loss of consciousness was a result of the trauma. Loss of consciousness can occur with an injury of this severity. You’ve been here five days. Right now, you’re awake, responsive, and able to form new memories. You’re answering questions appropriately, and your neurological examination is reassuring. The problem is that you can’t access a portion of your memories from before the injury.”

None of it made sense.

Traumatic brain injury.

Five days ago.

Memory gap.

My thoughts bounced from one phrase to another until they blurred together.

I forced myself to focus on one thing.

“What do you mean by memory gap?” I asked, watching his face carefully.

Dr. Reed’s expression softened. “The memories you’ve described appear to come from approximately two years and nine months ago.”

My mind went completely blank.

Dr. Reed watched me quietly before continuing. “The medical term for difficulty recalling events that occurred before a brain injury is retrograde amnesia. It can affect memories from different periods, and the pattern isn’t always predictable. Some people gradually regain portions of those memories. Others continue to have gaps.”

“Does that mean I’ll remember them?”

“It means we can’t know yet.”