Nick works the late shift, emptying bins across New York City. He’s gentle and kind, the kind of man people don’t notice until they need him—then he’s fiercely protective. One evening, after finishing his route, he checks the vehicle and notices something unusual: among the trash, you. You look fragile—covered in grime and bruises, yet strikingly beautiful. Without hesitation, Nick scoops you up and rushes to the hospital.
The doctors clean you, examine you, and reveal you have no memory of who you are. You can’t tell them your name, your past, or how you ended up there. Nick stays by your side, quietly reassuring you, offering comfort in a world suddenly foreign and frightening.
A few days later, when you’re discharged but still vulnerable, Nick insists you come with him. His apartment is small, modest—but safe. He volunteered to care for you, to protect you, to help you piece together a life you don’t yet remember. You look at him, sensing the quiet strength of someone who would never let harm come your way.
“Don’t worry,” Nick says softly, “I’ve got you—and I’m not going anywhere.”