The house looming before us might as well be from another planet, one where people have more money than they know what to do with.
Emily steers her sleek BMW into a large two-car garage.
"Welcome home," Emily says, her voice warm as she kills the engine.
I stare through the windshield at the immaculate space, not a single oil stain on the concrete floor, expensive-looking tools hanging in perfect alignment on a pegboard. The spot next to us is conspicuously empty.
Emily smiles at me as she steps out, coming around to my side with that graceful efficiency I'm starting to recognize. She helps me out of the car, her hands strong and steady against my still-aching body.
As I eye the empty spot beside Emily's luxury car, I can't help but wonder about my own ride.
"Where's my car?" I ask, staring at the vacant space that seems to be waiting for something.
Emily's smile fades slightly as she helps me toward the door. "It was totaled in the accident, Charles. There wasn't much left to salvage."
"What kind of car was it?" I ask, trying to picture myself behind the wheel of something, anything, that might trigger a memory.
She gives a little snort, her nose wrinkling in distaste. "An ancient Ford you've had since high school. Complete rust bucket. The fact that you survived that death trap is a miracle."
I frown, processing this. The expensive house, her BMW, and me driving some old beater? It doesn't add up.
"Was I broke or something?"
Emily laughs, the sound echoing in the garage as she unlocks the door to the house. "No, not at all. You just refused to get rid of that awful thing. I begged you for years to let me buy you something safer, but you were stubborn about it."
I try to conjure up an image of this car, but there's nothing there. Just the same blank wall I hit every time I try to remember anything.
"I hated that car," Emily continues, her voice dropping to something more serious as she helps me through the doorway. "I was terrified every time you got in it. I kept telling you it would kill you one day, and..." She trails off, her grip on my arm tightening. "Well, I almost lost you because of it."
Something about her tone makes my skin prickle. There's anger there, but also something that sounds almost like satisfaction.
"I wonder why I liked it so much," I muse, more to myself than to her. "If it was such a piece of junk."
Emily sighs deeply as she guides me into what appears to be a kitchen that belongs in a magazine. She helps me settle onto a stool at a marble island before answering.
"Your parents gave it to you," she says finally, her voice softening. "It was your sixteenth birthday present."
"Oh." The word hangs in the air. "Where are my parents? I should probably call them, let them know I'm okay."
Emily's face does something complicated, a series of micro-expressions I can't quite read before settling on gentle sympathy. She comes to stand directly in front of me, taking both my hands in hers.
"Charles," she says quietly, her green eyes locked on mine. "Your parents passed away over ten years ago. You were only seventeen."
The words hit me like a physical blow. "They're... dead?"
Emily nods solemnly. "Carbon monoxide poisoning," she says, her voice soft but steady. "They went to sleep one night and never woke up."
"What?" The word escapes me as barely more than a whisper. I feel like I've been punched in the gut, grief for people I can't even remember.
"It was a faulty furnace," she explains, rubbing my hands with her thumbs. "I’m not really sure on the details, but the whole house was filled with it one night."
My mind races, trying to make sense of this new information. "But how did I...? I mean, if we were all in the house..."
"You had your window open," Emily says. "It was summer, and you always insisted on sleeping with fresh air, even when the AC was running." She smiles faintly. "Your father hated that about you, said you were wasting electricity. But it saved your life."
"Were we on different floors?"
She nods. "You had the upstairs bedroom. Your parents' master was on the ground floor."
"That's..." I swallow hard, fighting a lump in my throat. "That's so sad."
Emily squeezes my hands, her eyes never leaving mine. I search her face, trying to find some connection to this tragedy I apparently lived through but can't remember.
"Do I have any other family?" I ask, suddenly desperate to know if there's anyone else out there who knows me, who might help fill in the vast emptiness where my memories should be.
Emily doesn't answer right away. Her expression doesn't change, but something in her eyes seems to be calculating, weighing options. The silence stretches between us, growing heavier by the second. Her face remains perfectly neutral, but I can almost see the gears turning behind those green eyes.
Finally, she speaks.
"No," she says, her voice quiet but firm. "Just me." She leans forward, her hands sliding up my arms. "And I promise I'm all you'll ever need."
Before I can respond, she pulls me into a tight embrace, her arms wrapping around me with surprising strength. I wince as she presses against my bruised ribs, but she doesn't seem to notice. Her perfume surrounds me, expensive and slightly overwhelming.
"We're a family," she whispers against my ear. "You and me. That's all that matters."
I let my arms come up slowly to return the hug, feeling strangely conflicted. There's comfort in her embrace, but also something that makes me want to pull away. A faint voice in the back of my mind whispers that something isn't right, but I have no evidence, no memories to back up this feeling.
I decide right then that if she says she's my wife, I'm going to trust her. What else can I do? My memories are gone, and she's the only connection I have to my past. I lean into her embrace, pulling her closer despite the pain in my ribs. She feels like an anchor in this sea of uncertainty.
As I hold her, I can't help but notice the firmness beneath my fingers. Through her silk blouse, I feel defined muscles shifting under my touch. When she finally pulls back, I find myself staring at her with newfound curiosity.
"Are you ripped?"
Emily's cheeks flush that now-familiar pink, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Kind of," she admits with a small shrug.
"Really?" I press, genuinely intrigued by this revelation. The elegant lawyer with the muscles of an athlete wasn't what I expected.
Her blush deepens, but she holds my gaze steadily. There's something almost proud in her expression now, a confidence that makes her even more attractive.
"I can show you tonight," she says, her voice dropping to a tone that sends a shiver down my spine.
My heart does a little flip-flop in my chest, and I feel heat crawling up my neck to my own cheeks. The suggestion hangs between us, charged with possibilities.
“You will?”
Emily smiles wide, looking pleased with my reaction. "Let me show you around the house first," she says, taking my hand. "You need to reacquaint yourself with everything."