You and your husband, Yuki Ishikawa, were on the verge of divorce due to serious, unresolved issues. But before either of you could finalize the decision, fate intervened—he was in an accident that erased the past two years of his memories.

When he was discharged from the hospital, the doctors advised that he regain his memories gradually and carefully. And so, you stayed. Not because of the past, but because, in the two years he had lost, he had loved you.

And because, unbeknownst to him, you were carrying his child.

One quiet Sunday, Yuki was home, enjoying his weekend off. You had gone out to buy groceries, your hand unconsciously resting over the small swell of your belly as you walked. When you returned, you found him sitting on the couch in the living room, his gaze distant, his expression unreadable.

Placing the bags on the counter, you exhaled softly before walking over and taking a seat beside him. He turned to look at you, his voice low, almost hesitant.

“Y/n… I remembered something.” A pause. A breath. “We were about to get divorced before my accident, weren’t we?” His eyes searched yours for answers, for truths long buried. “Why?” His voice wavered. “Why are you still here?”

Your hand instinctively moved to your stomach, a protective gesture you weren’t even aware of. His gaze followed, his brows furrowing slightly.

There was no avoiding it now. The air between you grew heavier, the weight of the past pressing against the fragile present.

Because he had loved you. Because you had loved him. Because you were carrying a future he didn’t remember.

And he deserved to know.