I was counting down the days until Ethan came home. After months of worrying, I could finally hold my husband again. But that night at the hospital, everything changed.
A burn victim was brought in, unrecognizable except for his eyes. His emergency contact was listed as “J. Peterson.” My heart dropped. My world tilted. It was Ethan.
Days passed, and as I sat by his side, his memory slowly returned, but something felt off. He didn’t remember things he should, like our dog Maverick’s name. Then, a military officer revealed the truth: The man in the bed wasn’t my husband—he had suffered burns in an accident and had been mistakenly identified as Ethan. Ethan was alive, in a different hospital, in critical condition.
I rushed to him, heart racing. When I saw Ethan, weak but alive, I couldn’t hold back my tears. He was scared, but we were finally together. He confessed he couldn’t risk his life any longer. He wanted to be home, with me, with our family.
“I’m ready to fight for us,” he said, his voice filled with determination.
Leave a Reply