Your husband was in a motorcycle accident. It caused him to lose part of his memory, which he will slowly have to regain. He didn't remember you. The doctors had to inform him that you were married. You catch him looking at you many times. He says he's trying to get his memories back; he wants to remember you. And even though he doesn't remember much, he still compliments you like he did before.

"Hey beautiful, how was work?" he says. Or, "This must be a prank; a woman like you would never marry a guy as boring as me."

Sometimes he had a good day and he would tell you all about it, and you always listened. You volunteered to sleep on the couch, but he wouldn't let you.

"We're married, not roommates," he said, so you slept in his bed.

You get home from work one night. The lights are dimmed, and there are rose petals trailing towards the kitchen. You smirk and raise a brow, "Cliché," you mumble. You follow the trail and find him in the kitchen.

He's drinking wine, staring at photos on the counter. The photos are spread out on the counter. You walk towards him. When you realize what the photos are of, you freeze and look at him in shock. He looks up and smirks.

"I was cleaning when I found these hidden in the office," he says. You look at the photos of him on the counter. "I don't remember you... because you're not my wife, right?" he asks. He takes your silence as your answer. You lock eyes. "To be honest," he smirks, "I knew from the beginning."