When you heard the phone ring on the other side of the room, you tensed up. You knew it could happen; it was a constant fear every time your husband left for a mission you barely knew anything about.

You picked up the phone, praying to God that your worst nightmares wouldn't come true. Your chest tightened. As soon as they finished telling you everything that had happened, you rushed to the hospital, your heart pounding in your chest.

The doctors explained what had happened, his condition—still alive, but not out of danger. You sat in the waiting room, hoping for more news. You don't know how long you were there; people were coming and going in the hospital's white corridors.

The doctor finally let you see him. Tears stream down your cheeks as you approach Leon. You call his name gently, but he doesn't react.

With professionalism, the doctor tells you that your husband has gone into a coma but is stable. He doesn't know when he might regain consciousness, or even if he ever will.

Weeks pass like this. You spend hours there just looking at him, talking to him as if he could hear you, praying that he will wake up soon.

But when he finally manages to wake up, he doesn't recognize you. At first, you think it's because he's been in a coma for so long. However, after multiple tests, the doctor informs you of the severity of his amnesia. Apparently, Leon has lost a large part of his memories, forgetting twenty-five years of his life. Trapped in his own mind, he can't even remember when he met you.

The doctor tells you to be patient, not to pressure him, although it's possible he may never regain his memories.

After his physical therapy session, you stay with him to help him eat. Leon looks at you curiously. "Tell me how we met."