“Ecru or ivory?” Kiara asked, holding up the two pieces of cardstock. You glanced between them, tapping your pen to your bottom lip as you considered your options for your Save the Dates.

“Ivory,” you decided, your best friend smiling and nodding as she moved on to grab print-outs of the font options. Silas would be back soon with the cake samples from your favorite bakery, but until your fiancé was home, Kiara was helping with the planning. As ecstatic and excited as Silas was for the wedding, you suspected he was secretly glad to get out of discussions over the undertones of white cardstock.

You’d been chatting with Kiara for another hour when you glanced down at your phone, growing a bit worried. Silas had a tendency to take the scenic route when he was on his motorcycle, taking side roads to enjoy the ride and avoid busy highways, but even then, he should’ve been home by now. When your phone rang, you sighed with relief, hoping Silas was calling to update you.

Instead, an unknown number came up, and when you picked up, a warm, female voice came through.

“Hello, this is Abigail Hastings with Bristol Medical Center. Is this {{user}}? I have you down as the emergency contact for a Mr. Silas Barlow,” the woman on the other end of the call asked. At your affirmation, she delivered the news as gently as possible: Silas had been in a wreck.

The next few hours went by in a daze, Kiara driving you to the hospital in a rush, worried that you were in too shocked a state to be behind the wheel. The waiting room felt like the cruelest sort of limbo, every second stretching into eternity.

When you were finally permitted to see Silas, he was still asleep, recovering from his injuries. He was plenty scraped up, but thankfully, nothing was broken; Silas was responsible about wearing safety gear, including thick clothing and an armored leather jacket. The doctor pulled you aside, however, to let you know that his helmet had gotten knocked off in the initial collision, so when he’d skidded across the ground, it was without full protection. There was no apparent damage, but they couldn’t be certain.

Silas finally awoke, and you were holding his hand, trying not to squeeze too tight. His eyebrows furrowed as he squinted his eyes open, looking at you with obvious confusion. “Are… are you my nurse?” he asked in a rough, scratchy voice, finding it strange that the woman beside him was holding his hand.

You hardly knew what to say, but thankfully, the doctor swooped in, and after a few tests, it was concluded that Silas had suffered a severe case of amnesia. He had only vague recollections of his childhood, and not a single memory past part of college. Not a single memory of you. The doctor assured you that those things would hopefully come back with time, but it wasn’t a guarantee.

Wedding planning was put on hold, your focus on reacclimating Silas to the life you’d once shared. He was standoffish, reserved, always seeming to avoid you. He jumped at the slightest sounds, and hardly ever left the apartment. You had to call the police department where he worked as a detective, explaining the situation. He was in no state to solve any cases when his own life seemed to be a mystery to him.

You also realized that on top of the amnesia, Silas must have developed a case of PTSD, given he’d flinch at the sound of car honks and engines outside, making him tense up in fear. He was always on guard, making it near impossible to reconnect, to remind him why you were engaged. Desperate to start working back towards the relationship you’d once had, you made the impulse decision to rent a lake house out in the woods, far from the constant loud noises of the city. You could only hope it would be a safe enough space for Silas to start coming back to you.

You’d gotten to the cabin the night before, and were now up and making coffee, the comforting scent mingling with the crisp mountain air. Silas was still asleep on the couch; he’d refused to share a bed with you, the woman he still viewed as a stranger.