Chapter 2

Chapter 2 — The Call

"You can't go in yet."

The nurse's voice is firm but not unkind, her hand lifting slightly as I step toward the door. The hallway smells like antiseptic and something faintly metallic, the kind of scent that settles into the back of your throat if you stay too long.

"I'm his emergency contact," I say, my tone even.

"I understand, but the doctors are still—"

"I'm not staying," I cut in quietly. "I just need to see him."

She hesitates, then exhales. "One minute."

I nod once. The door opens with a soft push.

The room is too bright. Machines hum in the background, steady and indifferent, their screens casting faint green light across the bed. Alexander lies in the center of it all, still in a way that doesn't suit him. Bandages wrap across his head, one arm secured with an IV line, his chest rising and falling in slow, controlled rhythm.

For a second, I just stand there. I don't move closer. I don't reach for him. I simply look.

This is the man I built my life around for three years. The man who barely looked at me. The man I left a few hours ago.

Now reduced to this.

I step forward after a moment, stopping at the side of the bed. Up close, the details are sharper — the faint bruising along his jaw, the pale cast of his skin, the small crease between his brows that used to appear when he was irritated.

My gaze lingers there. Then shifts away.

"You look exactly the same," I murmur, more to myself than him. "That's unfair."

No response. Of course not.

I exhale and straighten, my fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the bed rail without gripping it. There's nothing pulling at my chest. No sudden rush of emotion. Just a dull, familiar exhaustion settling into my bones.

"I came because they called me," I say after a moment. "Not because I needed to."

The words sound flat in the quiet room. I nod once, like I'm confirming it to myself. Then I turn. My hand reaches for the door.

"...Elena."

I freeze.

The sound is rough, barely more than a breath, but it lands cleanly in the space between us. Slowly, I turn back.

Alexander's eyes are open.

They're unfocused at first, blinking against the light, then sharpening as they find me. And when they do, something in his expression shifts so fast it feels like a trick of the mind.

Warmth. Relief. Something dangerously close to joy.

"Elena," he says again, his voice hoarse as he shifts against the pillows. "You came."

My hand drops from the door. For a second I don't answer. I just watch him.

Because this — this — is wrong.

There's something in the way he's looking at me that doesn't belong to the man I know. Too soft. Too open. Too—

He reaches for me. The movement is slow, limited by the IV line, but deliberate. His fingers brush my wrist, then curl weakly around it, like he's anchoring himself.

"I knew you would," he murmurs, his gaze fixed on my face. "You always do."

I don't pull away immediately. My body goes still, my eyes dropping briefly to where his hand rests against my skin. His touch is warm, familiar in a way that shouldn't feel unfamiliar.

"You shouldn't be awake," I say finally.

"I didn't want to sleep." His grip tightens slightly. "Not if you were here."

My stomach turns. This isn't right.

"Alexander." I let my voice sharpen just enough to cut through the softness of his. "Do you know where you are?"

He blinks, like the question catches him off guard. "Hospital," he answers after a second. "They said I was in an accident."

"And the date?"

He frowns, his gaze shifting as he thinks. "It's... June."

"It's August."

He goes still. The confusion crossing his face is real — not exaggerated, not performed. His brow furrows deeper, his grip loosening as he looks around the room like he's trying to piece something together.

"That's not possible," he murmurs.

I watch him carefully, every reaction, every shift in expression.

"Alexander." My voice is quieter now. "How long do you think we've been married?"

The question hangs there.

He looks back at me, his confusion easing into something else. Something softer.

"A few months," he says. "Why?"

The air leaves my lungs in a slow, controlled exhale.

A few months.

My fingers slip gently from his grasp.

"You need to rest," I say, stepping back.

"Elena—"

"I'll call the doctor."

I turn before he can say anything else, my movements precise as I open the door and step into the hallway. The nurse looks up immediately. "Is everything alright?"

"He's awake," I say.

---

"Memory loss is not uncommon in cases like this."

The doctor's voice is calm, practiced — the kind meant to reassure. I stand with my arms folded loosely across my chest, my gaze fixed somewhere just past him as he speaks.

"Given the impact, it appears he's lost roughly five years of memory," he continues. "Specifically, recent long-term memory. His brain has essentially reset to a point before that trauma."

"Five years," I repeat.

"Yes."

I nod once, slowly. "And you're sure? There's no chance this is temporary confusion?"

"There's always a possibility of recovery," he says. "But right now, this is his reality."

His reality shifts with it. Inside that room, Alexander is living in a version of our life that doesn't exist anymore. A version where we were... happy.

"Thank you," I say, and push away from the wall.

I don't slow until I reach the far end of the corridor, where the windows stretch floor to ceiling, letting in too much light. I stop and just stand there.

"You handled that well."

The voice comes from my right. I don't turn immediately. I already know who it is.

Victoria Cross steps into my line of sight a second later, her posture immaculate, her expression composed in a way that never quite feels natural. Even here, in a hospital hallway, she looks like she belongs somewhere more controlled.

"I didn't handle anything," I say.

Her lips curve faintly. "You didn't fall apart. That's something."

I glance at her. "I didn't have a reason to."

"Of course you did." Her voice stays smooth. "Your husband doesn't remember your divorce."

The words land cleanly. My gaze sharpens. "It hasn't been finalized."

"Yet."

A brief silence stretches between us.

Then she gestures lightly down the hall. "Walk with me."

I don't move at first.

Then I do.