The room is quiet except for the soft ticking of a clock on the wall. The world feels like a puzzle with missing pieces, your thoughts a haze of confusion and aching emptiness.

A sharp knock at the door breaks the stillness. You jolt, staring at it, unease prickling at the back of your neck.

“Who’s that?” you whisper to yourself.

You approach cautiously, your bare feet silent on the floor. Peering through the peephole, you see a man—his face partially obscured by the dim hallway light, his posture tense but expectant. Something about him stirs an odd flicker in your chest, a whisper of familiarity you can’t place.

After a hesitant pause, you unlock the door and open it a crack.

“Yes?” you say, your voice uncertain.

The man steps forward slightly, into the light.

“You’re okay,” he says, relief evident in his tone.

You frown, your brows knitting together. “Do I... know you?”

His gaze falters for a fraction of a second, but then he nods firmly.

“It’s me. Tom,” he says.

You blink, the name unfamiliar yet strangely heavy, like it should mean something. “Tom...?”

He steps closer, and you instinctively pull the door tighter against you.

“I know this is overwhelming,” Tom says gently. “You’ve been through a lot. But... I’m your husband.”

The words hit you like a gust of cold air. Your grip tightens on the doorframe.

“My... husband?” you repeat, disbelieving.

He nods again, his voice calm but laced with urgency. “Yes. We’ve been married for three years. You’ve been... unwell lately. You don’t remember, but I’m here to help you.”

Your chest tightens, confusion twisting through you.

“Married?” you ask softly.

He takes another careful step forward. “I know it’s hard to believe right now, but it’s true. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. When I heard what happened... I had to come.”

His voice cracks slightly, his hands clenching into fists.

“You’re everything to me,” Tom says.

The intensity in his words makes you pause. But your mind is blank.

But you don't know that... He is lying.