Pain. That's the first thing that registers in my fuzzy consciousness. Not the dull, forgettable kind, but the sort that makes you wish you hadn't woken up at all.
My head throbs as my eyes slowly open. The fluorescent lights above me are so bright they might as well be drills boring into my skull. I feel like I've been hit by a truck, backed over, then hit again for good measure.
I reach up and my fingers brush against something wrapped around my head. Bandages. Lots of them. That can't be good.
A soft hand touches mine, gently pulling it away from my head. The world around me starts to come into focus as sound fades in like someone's slowly turning up the volume on a radio.
"Charles?"
A blonde woman leans over me, her green eyes wide with concern. She's tall, elegant-looking. Pretty in that intimidating way that makes you feel like you should apologize just for existing in her presence.
"Hmm?" I manage to croak out. My throat feels like sandpaper.
"Oh thank god," she whispers, squeezing my hand tight enough to hurt. "You're awake. I was so worried."
I blink at her, waiting for something to click. For some recognition to spark in my brain. Nothing comes.
"Water?" I ask, because my throat hurts and because I don't know what else to say to this stranger who clearly knows me.
"Of course, honey," she says, reaching for a cup with a straw. As she helps me drink, I notice the expensive-looking watch on her wrist, the wedding ring on her finger.
When I've had enough, she sets the cup aside and strokes my cheek. "Do you remember what happened?"
I try. I really do. But there's nothing there. Just a big blank wall where memories should be.
"No," I admit, then hesitate before asking the question that's starting to terrify me. "Who... who are you?"
The woman's expression freezes. For a split second, something flickers across her face, almost a smile, before her features crumple into a frown.
"Charles," she says, her voice suddenly tight. "I'm your wife. Emily." Her eyes search mine desperately. "You don't remember me?"
I stare at her, confusion washing over me in nauseating waves. Wife? The word feels as foreign as everything else right now.
"No," I say slowly. "And... my name is Charles?"
The question hangs in the air between us. How can I not know my own name? The panic that's been building in my chest threatens to overflow.
I look down at my hands resting on the hospital blanket. There it is, a gold band on my left ring finger. I twist it slightly, feeling its weight. It doesn't feel right somehow. Like it's not something I'm used to wearing. Like it's new.
"Yes, you're Charles Brooks," Emily says, recovering quickly. She reaches for my hand, covering the ring. "We've been married for three years."
I try to picture our wedding. Our home. Anything. Nothing comes.
"I'm sorry," I say, not sure if I'm apologizing for not remembering or for the hurt I see in her eyes.
Emily squeezes my hand. "It's okay. The doctor said temporary amnesia is common with head injuries. You were in a car accident."
"How bad?"
"Bad enough," she says, brushing hair from my forehead with gentle fingers. "But you're going to be fine. That's all that matters."
Something about her touch makes me flinch slightly. I disguise it by shifting position, wincing at the pain in my ribs.
I take another moment to really look at Emily. She's stunning in a way that makes me wonder how I ever convinced someone like her to marry me. Tall, with curves that even hospital lighting can't diminish, blonde hair falling perfectly despite what must have been hours of worried waiting.
"You're really my wife?" I ask, the question slipping out before I can stop it.
Emily laughs, the sound musical but with an edge I can't quite place. "Would someone lie about that?" she counters, her fingers tracing patterns on my arm.
"I guess not." I swallow hard. "Are we... happy?"
Her smile widens, showing perfect teeth. "Yes, Charles, we're very happy." There's something almost triumphant in her expression. "Deliriously so."
I nod, trying to accept this information about a life I can't remember. "Do we have kids?"
Emily's hand stills on my arm. "We've been a bit too busy for kids. Your job was demanding, and my practice has been growing." She leans closer, her perfume enveloping me. "But you just quit your job recently. Said you wanted a change." Her voice drops to something intimate. "Maybe we could start trying, if you want."
"What was my job?" I ask, trying to grasp at something concrete about my life.
Emily waves her hand dismissively. "Don't worry about that right now. There's plenty of time to talk about work later." She tilts her head slightly, her green eyes focusing intently on me. "So, what do you think, Charles? Would you like to have children?"
The question hits me like a physical blow. Kids? I can barely remember my own name, let alone decide if I want to be responsible for an entire human life. My breath comes faster, and the room seems to close in around me.
"I... I don't know," I stammer. My hands start trembling, and I feel sweat beading on my forehead. "I can't… I mean, I don't…"
Emily's expression shifts immediately. She reaches out, her hand warm on my shoulder as she rubs gentle circles with her thumb.
"It's okay, baby," she soothes, her voice dropping to a whisper. "We're not in a rush to do anything, alright? One step at a time."
I nod, grateful for the reprieve but still feeling like I'm drowning in expectations I don't understand.
"Thank you," I manage. "This is all just... a lot."
She continues to rub my shoulder, her touch both comforting and somehow possessive. As I look up at her, Emily's lips curl into a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes, the kind of smile that makes me think she's keeping secrets.
"Of course," she says, her voice silky smooth.
I stare at the ceiling for a moment, trying to make sense of everything. The silence between us grows heavy with unspoken questions. Finally, I turn back to Emily.
"So let me get this straight," I say slowly. "I got into a car accident, ended up with amnesia, and woke up to find out I have a beautiful wife I can't remember?"
Emily's cheeks flush a deep pink at the compliment, her eyes widening slightly. It's strange, she seems almost startled by the simple praise, like she's not used to hearing such things from me. The blush softens her intimidating beauty, making her seem momentarily vulnerable.
"Well," she says, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, "you should really talk to the doctor first. Maybe it's not amnesia."
"What else could it possibly be?" I ask, genuinely confused.
Emily sighs and straightens her already-perfect posture. "I don't know, Charles. I'm a lawyer, not a doctor." She taps her manicured nails against her thigh, a nervous gesture that feels at odds with her composed demeanor. "Memory is complicated. There could be other explanations."
"Should you go get a doctor?" I ask, wincing as I try to sit up straighter. "I have about a million questions right now, and I'm guessing you don't have all the answers."
"Of course," she says, rising to her feet in one fluid motion. "I'll be right back."
As Emily walks toward the door, I notice how she glances back at me twice before leaving, as if afraid I might disappear while she's gone. The way her eyes linger makes me feel like a prized possession someone might steal.