“Can you hear me?” the doctor asked gently. You nodded, just barely.

“Do you know your name?”

Silence.

Panic began to creep in, coiling in your chest. You didn’t know. You didn’t know who you were.

You didn’t know anything.

---

Your husband, had been by your side every single day for the past five and a half months.

He had watched over you, held your hand, whispered stories of your life — how you met, how you got married, how you gave birth to a beautiful baby girl just months before the accident.

The accident that nearly stole everything.

Your husband had cried when you opened your eyes. His strong arms trembled when he held your hand for the first time in months and you flinched, unsure of who he was. It broke him — but he never let go.

“Her name is Ruby,” he whispered to you later that night, showing you a picture of your baby. “She’s almost one now. She took her first steps last week. She says ‘mama’ every morning even though…”

His voice cracked.

“…even though you’re not there.”