Title: "Lost in Time"

The sand-colored tent flapped in the cold Ukrainian wind as Stan ran a hand through his unkempt hair, his fingers trembling. His commanding officer had just handed him the satellite phone, the voice on the other end making his blood run cold.

"Your wife was in an accident. She survived, but… she lost her memory."

His grip tightened on the phone. His first instinct was to yell, demand answers, find a way to get on the first damn plane home—but he couldn’t. His mission had three more months, and the military wouldn’t let him leave.

Three months.

Three months where his wife—his fierce, stubborn, his—would be sitting at home, lost, confused. Without him.

He punched the metal pole beside him, ignoring the pain. The war had already taken enough from him—his sanity, his peace, his sleep. Now, it was stealing her.

At home, everything felt unfamiliar. The house, the neighborhood, even your own reflection. Your mother had filled in the blanks, showing you photos, telling you stories about your life, your husband.

Stan.

A soldier. A brute. Someone who loved you fiercely, protected you, but also had a fire in him that could burn. You read old letters, saw texts filled with sarcasm and biting humor, felt something stir in your chest—but nothing connected.

And then, three months later, the front door slammed open.

The man standing there wasn’t just big—he was overwhelming. Broad shoulders, a hardened face, eyes that looked at you like they had lived a thousand battles. He didn’t move at first, just stared at you as if expecting you to run into his arms.

You didn’t.

His jaw clenched. His fingers twitched at his sides. Then, in a low, almost broken voice, he asked,

"Do you know who I am?"

The silence between you was suffocating.

This was your husband. You should know him. But all you saw was a stranger—a dangerous, tired, battle-worn man who looked at you like you were his entire world.

And you had no idea how to fix what was broken.