Chapter 8—Six Years Gone

MONIQUE

The doctor rushed into the room moments later, stethoscope dangling around his neck, with two nurses following closely behind. The tension in the air was already suffocating, and it only grew heavier as the medical team entered.

Maxwell sat on the edge of the bed, legs dangling, eyes half-lidded but unmistakably alive. That same lazy, heart-stopping grin curved his bruised lips—the one that had once made me forget how to breathe when we were young and stupid and invincible.

“Doc?” His voice came out rough, like gravel dragged over velvet. “Why’s everyone looking at me like I just crawled out of a grave? And why does my skull feel like it went ten rounds with a semi-truck?”

The doctor's gaze flicked with brief surprise before professional calm slid back into place. He crossed to the bed in three quick strides, checking the machines, shining a penlight into Maxwell’s eyes, firing off the standard questions.

“I’m Dr. John. Can you tell me your full name, your age, and what year it is?”

Maxwell answered without hesitation, the words effortless. “Maxwell Lohr. Twenty-two. It’s graduation week for the Class of 2020, right? We’re all supposed to be at the party tonight.” His gaze slid to me, warm honey and pure adoration. “Babe… you still haven’t come over here. What the hell’s going on?”

My heart slammed against my ribs like it wanted out.

Twenty-two.

He thought he was twenty-two. Six brutal, beautiful, devastating years had been erased like they’d never happened.

Elise’s sob cracked the silence, spiraling into a raw, hysterical wail. “Maxwell, stop it! This isn’t funny! You’re twenty-eight! We’re together! Ambrose is our son!” 

She shoved the three-year-old forward as if the child’s tiny body could anchor reality back into place.

Little Ambrose, only three years old, stared up at Maxwell with wide, scared eyes and quickly hid behind Elise’s leg.

Maxwell’s smile faltered. He looked at the boy, then at Elise, then at his parents. Confusion carved deep lines across his battered, still-handsome face.

“Our son? Together?” A disbelieving laugh scraped out of him. “Mom… Dad… what the fuck is she talking about? Elise has lived with us since she was thirteen. She’s basically my little sister. Why would I ever—”

Laurel pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, fresh tears spilling over. “Oh, sweetheart… you really don’t remember.”

Derrick’s heavy palm settled on her shoulder, his face ashen. “Son, there was a car accident. You’ve been in a coma for a week.”

Maxwell stared at him, then turned those soft, adoring eyes back to me. Slowly, he lifted his uninjured hand, palm open. “Babe… come here. I don’t understand any of this, but I need you right now.”

I couldn’t move.

My legs locked. One shaky step backward was all I managed, my palm flying to my chest as if I could cage the wild thing trying to claw its way out. Disbelief slammed into me right behind the panic.

This wasn’t the Maxwell who had looked at me with ice in his eyes and told me to sign the divorce papers while his child grew inside me. This wasn’t the man who had chosen Elise.

This was the boy from graduation night. The one who had sworn forever with his mouth on mine and stars in his eyes.

But we weren’t that anymore. We were nothing. Divorced. Strangers wearing the ghosts of old promises.

Going to him now, letting him pull me close like nothing had shattered between us… it felt like betrayal. Like lying. My stomach twisted violently.

Yet I was still here, rooted in this nightmare, tears scalding the backs of my eyes while every survival instinct screamed at me to run.

His outstretched hand hung in the air a heartbeat longer before it slowly dropped. The warmth in his face dimmed.

“Monique, babe…?”

Elise’s expression twisted into something ugly—rage and heartbreak braided tight. “Don’t call her that! She’s the reason you’re even in this bed! She—”

“Enough.” Maxwell’s voice, weak as it was, still cracked like a whip. He glared at her. “I don’t know what the hell is happening, but you will stop screaming at my girlfriend. Now.”

Girlfriend.

Laurel stepped closer, voice fracturing. “Maxwell, darling… so much has changed since graduation. You and Monique got married. Then… things fell apart. You and Elise became involved. You have a son together.”

Maxwell’s brows slammed together, disgust flashing raw across his features. “Involved? With Elise? Have you all lost your goddamn minds? She grew up in our house. She called you Mom and Dad. That’s sick.”

I stood there, speechless, tears blurring the edges of everything.

Downstairs, Chelsea’s car was waiting. My suitcases were packed. My flight was booked. I was supposed to leave this country today and never look back.

But how could I walk away from the man who was looking at me like I was still part of his world?

“Monique, babe…?” His voice dropped into that low, velvet tone he’d always used. “Mon… please. Come here. I need you close. You’re scaring the hell out of me. Just take my hand, okay? We’ll figure this out together, like we always have. You and me against the world, remember?”

I stayed frozen.

“I-I.,” then took another shaky step back. 

His eyes widened, panic flaring bright. The gentle smile vanished completely. “Hey—don’t do that.”

 His voice turned raw, almost desperate as he stretched his hand farther. “Baby, please. You’re my girl. You’ve always been my girl. Just a few steps. That’s all I’m asking. I woke up and the only thing that felt right was your face. Don’t make me beg, babe. Come here and let me hold you.”

“N-No… we’re not… I can’t—”

When I still didn’t move, his jaw hardened with that familiar, stubborn determination. He swung his legs off the bed with more force, wincing sharply at the pain.

“Fine. If you won’t come to me, I’ll come to you.”

“Maxwell, no!” Laurel cried.

“Mr. Lohr, stay in bed!” The doctor and nurses surged forward.

He ignored them, fingers already tugging at the tape securing the IV line, ready to rip it free. The monitor shrieked in protest.

“Maxwell, stop!” My voice cracked open, raw and trembling. I lurched half a step forward before yanking myself back, one hand flying protectively to the gentle swell of my belly. “Don’t—don’t do that. You’ll hurt yourself worse. Just stay there. Please.”

Tears spilled hot down my cheeks as I stared at him—at the boy I had once loved with every shattered piece of me, now gazing back with a love that no longer existed in our reality.

His eyes never left mine, raw need and confusion burning in them. “Monique Sinclair… don’t you dare walk away from me right now. I don’t care what they’re saying. I know you. I know us. Just… please.”

“I-I…”