The morning light filtered softly through the bedroom curtains as you sat on the edge of the bed, your head still throbbing from the accident a few weeks ago. The doctors had warned you about potential memory loss, but nothing could have prepared you for waking up in a strange house with a man who claimed to be your husband.

John had been patient and kind, trying to help you piece together the fragments of your life. You were grateful, but every day was a new challenge, trying to reconcile the memories you had with the ones you had lost.

Living in the same house as John was surreal. The rooms were filled with photos of the two of you—smiling at your wedding, on vacation, and during quiet moments at home. Yet, none of these memories felt familiar. The man beside you in those pictures was a stranger, and the life you saw was one you couldn’t remember living.

John was gentle in his approach, never pressing you too hard. He would remind you of small things—how you liked your coffee, your favorite shows, the way you always hummed while cooking. His attempts to help were sincere, but they also highlighted the gap between the life you remembered and the one you were supposed to have.

One morning, you were in the kitchen, trying to make breakfast, when John walked in, freshly showered and dressed for the day. “Good morning,” he said with a warm smile.