I woke to the sound of my name and beeping machines. Damian, my husband, was hovering over me, tearfully saying, “You’re awake.”
“You’ve been in a coma for six months,” he explained, his voice cracking. “We weren’t sure you’d wake up.”
I tried to sit up. “Where’s Zoe?”
“She’s fine. With your mom. She’ll be here tomorrow.” He kissed my hand. “I thought I lost you.”
I struggled to remember the accident, but my mind was blank.
Two weeks later, I was home, watching Zoe play. Damian informed me my next doctor’s appointment was coming up. I felt anxious. “Will they fix Mommy’s memories?” Zoe asked.
“Memories are tricky,” Damian said. “But we’ll make new ones.”
I tried to adjust, but one day in the kitchen, as I cut vegetables, a knife slipped and my memories of the crash flooded back. Damian’s cruel words before the crash replayed in my mind: “I’ve met someone else. It’s over.”
The accident, the pain, the silence. It wasn’t a dream—it was real.
That night, I confronted Damian. “I remember everything. The fight, Blake… how you were leaving me.”
His face went pale. “I never meant for this to happen, Mary. I was wrong. I realized how much I love you.”
I asked, “Where’s Blake now?”
“She’s gone. I ended it that night,” Damian said.
“How convenient,” I replied bitterly.
“I was an idiot,” he admitted. “I almost lost you, and I never wanted that.”
We talked all night. He begged for a second chance.
The next day, Zoe came home, sensing the tension. “Are you and Daddy fighting?” she asked.
Damian knelt beside us. “We love you more than anything, sweetie.”
“Promise?” she asked.
“I promise,” I whispered.
Damian looked at me with regret. “Whatever you decide, I’ll respect it.”
I held Zoe close. “One day at a time,” I said.
“One day at a time,” Damian agreed.
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