Did I Steal My Fiancé’s Ex Identity

LISA’S POV

I opened my eyes to the sound of a monitor beeping. It was too bright, way too bright for my fragile eyes to adjust to the lighting of the room, so I shut my eyes back quickly. I opened them, slowly this time; white ceiling.

I moved my arm to sit up, but they felt like jelly.

An IV line was attached to my wrist, and something was clipped to my finger.

I had a headache. My tongue was dry. Nothing made sense.

Where was I?

The door opened, and I noticed a lady in scrubs walk up to me. She had a gentle smile that was gentle.

“You’re awake,” she said softly. “I’ll get the doctor.”

I shut my eyes back and I must have dozed off, because the next time I opened my eyes, a face that was a bit blurry was staring at me. I blinked, and it was a man, wearing glasses and a white gown.

“Miss? How are you feeling?” he asked.

I forced a word. “Thirsty.”

Was that how my voice sounded? If so, it didn't feel like it was mine.

It was cracked, due to lack of usage.

He poured me a glass of water and helped me up so I could take a sip. He held it to my lips, because my fingers trembled so badly, I could have spilled the whole thing.

I tried to move again, but I winced as I did so. There was a sharp pain in my head making it difficult for me. I touched my head, it was wrapped in gauze.

“Shh…” The man in glasses hissed, “Don't move too much. Miss, how many fingers am I holding up?”

“Um…” I tried to say, “Three.”

“Miss, do you remember what happened to you?”

I shook my head slowly.

“Where…” I started, “Where am I?”

“You're in a hospital. You seemed to have been involved in an accident. So, you don't remember what happened?” The man in glasses and white coat who I now assumed was a doctor asked again.

An accident?

“An accident…” I repeated.

Why was nothing coming to mind?

My head was banging so hard and causing a headache, I was afraid that it was going to split open.

“I don't... I don't know.” I shook my head. “I don’t remember anything.”

“Okay. That’s alright.” He made a note on his chart. “You were in an accident. You’ve been unconscious for almost a month.”

A month?

He nodded, he must have noticed Mr panicking because he smiled reassuringly, “Just take it easy.” He said in a soft tone. “We didn’t find any ID on you,” he continued. “No phone, no wallet. The police couldn’t identify you.”

“What kind of accident?”

He hesitated. “My best guess is a hit and run. You were found on the roadside unconscious. You had severe head trauma, some broken ribs and internal bleeding l as well. You’ve had two surgeries.”

My breath came out in gass as I tried to recall. Nothing. My mind was drawing a blank. I couldn't remember anything.

“I… I can’t…”

“Don’t force it,” he said gently. “Your saviour from that day is here and would like to see you. He’s been here every day.”

Before I could respond, the doctor nodded to the nurse and she understood and walked out. Few minutes later, she came back with a tall, handsome guy.

Our eyes locked.

The guy gave me a tight smile.

“I'm the one who found you.” he said, by way of introduction. “You were lying on the side of the road and bleeding. I stopped and called for help.”

I stared at this stranger from head to toe, but I couldn't seem to remember ever meeting him.

“Have we met…?”

He shrugged once. “No. But I couldn’t leave you there.” he sighed, “I'm glad you're better now.” He said, “I'm Andre. And you are…?”

I blinked at him.

Was he asking what my name was?

What was my name though?

My head pounded again.

He looked at the doctor, while the doctor studied me.

“I don't know. I don't remember my name.” I finally said.

The tall, handsome guy's smile slipped, and the doctor sighed.

“I’ll refer your case to a neurologist and trauma therapist. Someone who can walk you through this slowly. It appears you may be suffering from amnesia.”

The guy, Andre, began looking at me incredulously, “Memory loss?”

The doctor nodded. “Please excuse me, one moment.”

Andre remained standing, watching me like I was some art piece at an exhibition.

He kept looking at me weirdly, that I felt prompted to break the ice.

“You’ve been here… all this time?”

“Every day.”

I turned away from him to the side.

It didn’t make any sense.

Why would a stranger do that?

“You were alone. So, I stayed.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

“Mr. DeLuca?” the doctor returned, and Andre turned to him.

“This is Dr. Camille,” he said, gesturing to the woman behind him. He turned to me then, “She’ll be taking over your recovery.”

“Hello,” Dr. Camille said gently. She had very calm eyes, like someone that could be trusted.

She sat down at the foot of my bed. “I know you’re confused.”

She took my hand gently, “I know you don't remember anything and it might be a lot for you to take in at once.”

I nodded.

She smiled again, “Yeah, I understand.” She patted my hand gently, and I couldn't help but stare at her hand on mine, “You’re symptoms show that you're have amnesia. In your case, we think it's only temporary and may be trauma-induced. But that’s okay, I'm here to help you, until you can get back the memory you lost.”

I nodded slowly.

She placed a file down beside her. “For now, we focus on getting better, resting, eating, breathing. Everything else can wait.”

Her voice was soft but sure. It helped.

“You’ve been unconscious for a month,” she added. “But you’re safe now.”

Safe.

I looked at the shut door. Andre… Mr DeLuca stood by the door now.

Safe didn’t feel like the right word.

“What happens now?” I asked.

Dr. Camille exchanged a glance with the doctor. “That depends. You’re medically cleared to be discharged in a few days. However… with no memory, no contacts to call, no family and no address, the hospital will need to transfer you to a care facility. That’s the standard procedure.”

“You mean… like a psych ward.”

She smiled.

“It’s not that bad, to be honest,” she said gently. “But it can feel isolating.”

Andre spoke up then, “You don’t have to go.”

I looked at him.

“You can stay with me,” he added. “Until you figure things out.”

“What?”

“It’s temporary,” he said. “A safe place to recover. You’ll have your own space, access to doctors, whatever you need.”

“I don’t even know you.”

“I’m not asking you to,” he said. “But it’s better than waking up in a psych ward alone.”

I glanced at Dr. Camille, who didn’t object.

Maybe she trusted him.

Or maybe she just thought I had no better options.

My hands were shaking again. I didn’t like this; any of it. But the idea of being locked away in a cold room made me want to follow this stranger.

“Okay,” I whispered.

His hard gaze finally eased a bit. Then he nodded, “I’ll bring the car around, so Yoh can join me when you’re ready.”

As he turned to leave, I sighed.

Being alone, I looked down at my the name card on my bed.

There was a name printed on it.

Just a label in black ink: “Jane Doe.”