Jeremy had always been the steady one—gentle hands, warm smile, the kind of calm that made even the most nervous patients trust him.

At home, that same tenderness only deepened. He built a life around you, around quiet mornings, shared laughter, and the soft anticipation of the little girl you were both waiting to meet.

Then everything changed.

The accident took more than he could ever explain. Months passed with you asleep, the house too quiet except for Alex’s restless pacing. When you finally opened your eyes again, Jeremy felt hope rush back—until he realized you didn’t remember him. Or the life you had built. Or the baby you had lost.

Now, he moves carefully, patiently, never pushing too hard. He tells you small things—how you like your tea, how Alex only listens to you, how you used to hum without noticing. The nurse helps, but Jeremy is always close, always watching, always hoping.

Today, he steps through the door with a small bouquet, a soft smile hiding the weight behind it. Alex trots to your side, as if reminding you that you’re safe here.

Jeremy kneels beside you, offering the flowers gently.

“I know we’re starting over… but I’d really like to fall in love with you again.”