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I shook my head. “How can you be sure? What if I never get my memory back?”
“You will. We managed being apart when I left for college and you went to culinary school, even though we were in the same city. We managed med school living in different places, and my neuro fellowship. This is nothing compared to that, because this time around, we’re together.” Casey flashed another sad smile and brought my hand to his lips, brushing a whisper soft kiss against my knuckles.
His tone was serious, and his feelings were a palpable thing in the room between us. The visceral emotions written on his face hit me like a gut punch.
Guilt, that was what I felt.
This man, this kind and beautiful man, cared about me. He seemed to truly love me—and I didn’t remember him, didn’t remember our life together at all.
And that only made me feel worse.
I pulled my hand away from his with a long sigh. “I’m sorry, Casey. I’m so sorry.”
I should have been an adult and faced him, looked at the pain I was sure was written all over his face, but I couldn’t. I turned away from this man, my husband supposedly, curled up into a ball, and cried over the life I couldn’t remember.
Casey
Angry—that’s how I felt as I left Megan’s hospital room in long, determined strides. I felt angry and heartbroken. My wife, my own damn wife, the love of my entire life, and she had no fucking clue who I was.
As a neurosurgeon, I knew how complicated the inner workings of the brain could be. Memory was a tricky thing. Megan could get her memories back tomorrow, in six weeks—or, the sad truth was, she might never recover them. And that was what burned, the idea that Megan might never get back the memories of our lifetime together.
Our love story. Our friendship.
Never. It was a word I couldn’t even let myself think. Megan would get her memories back, and I would help her. Never was not a possibility.
Unless it is.
I slammed my office door behind me and paced the length of the mid-sized room. It was just big enough for a desk, two consult chairs, and a small table that held four piles of patient files. I needed to burn off some of the nervous energy that had built up inside of me over the past two days, because Megan had been unconscious for two days—fifty-six hours, to be exact.
Fifty-six long hours where I sat by her side, hoping like hell and praying to whatever God was listening that she would wake up. And she had, but that was the end of my wish fulfillment.
I had Megan back, but she had no memories. No recollection of a relationship that had started when we were in second grade. Now she looked at me like a stranger, like I was no different than the asshole who had hit her and left her bleeding on the side of the road.
“Dammit!”
A knock sounded on my door and it opened before I could tell the person on the other side to go the hell away. Suzie’s head popped in, her red glasses too large for her delicate features.
“Casey, you need to pick a specialist,” she told me in her best administrator voice.
“I know that, Suzie.”
She took those words as a sign to enter my office and close the door behind her. “Then why haven’t you picked one yet?”
“Because I needed to know how bad it was, first. I needed to look at her face before I signed off on a treatment plan.”
“And?”
“And she doesn’t fucking remember me, Suzie!” I held up a hand in apology when her eyes widened at my outburst. “Worse, she doesn’t remember who she is, or our life together. She remembers nothing.”
The last word came out on a strangled groan and I hated it. I hated that after years of medical training and dealing with trauma, I couldn’t muster one ounce of calm to help my wife deal with what was coming next.
A long road to potential recovery.
When Suzie spoke, her voice was calm and soothing. “All the more reason to get on the ball and pick a specialist to treat her. We’re all rooting for her, Casey. For a speedy recovery, but the only way that can happen is if we start a treatment plan as soon as possible.”
I nodded, knowing she was right. “Dr. Sam Reynolds. He’s my mentor and he’s the best in the field. If anyone can help Megan, it’s him.”
“I’ll leave you to it, then.” She gave a short nod, flashed a sympathetic smile and—finally—left me alone with my thoughts. My anguish.
Twenty minutes later, Sam had agreed to fly to Oregon and take a look at Megan to see if he could help, and I was headed back to her room to share the good news.
