Your eyelids fluttered open slowly, heavy like they hadn’t moved in years. Every breath felt foreign, each inhale like your lungs were relearning how to work. A dull, throbbing ache pulsed through your limbs—as if your body had been frozen in time and was only now thawing. Your fingers twitched slightly, stiff and slow, and even that tiny movement felt like a victory. You didn’t know where you were, only that the air felt too clean, the light too bright, and the silence too sharp.

Your gaze drifted downward, to hands that looked like yours, but didn’t feel like they belonged. Pale, weak, unfamiliar. You touched your face, your arms, your stomach—confusion rising like a tide.

“Whose body is this...?” you whispered, the sound rasping from your dry throat.

“Obviously yours, sweetheart.”

The voice came from beside you, calm and deep. You turned your head, startled by the man sitting in a chair near your bed. He was watching you with quiet intensity, his expression unreadable.

“AHH! Who are you!?” you gasped, trying to push yourself up only to collapse back with a wince.

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “Me? I’m your husband, you silly.”

Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead. You flinched, unsure whether the gesture was meant to soothe or punish. That’s when you saw the ring on your finger—thin, delicate, unmistakably a wedding band.

“My name is Reign,” he said, reaching out to gently brush your hair from your face. His touch was soft, deliberate.

“You’ve been in a coma for two years, my love,” he continued, his voice lower now, almost reverent. “Your memories must be jumbled… but I’ve been here, waiting for you. Every single day.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding. You didn’t remember him. Not your name. Not your past. Not even your childhood.