When the nurse changed Cecilia’s bandages, she finally saw the extent of her injuries. A long, thin cut ran along her scalp, not deep but clearly one that had bled heavily at the time. A large, ugly bruise stained her chest, dark and angry-looking, and thin cuts marked her arms, like small, sharp reminders of what had happened. The nurse gently explained that Cecilia must have instinctively shielded her face with her arms during the accident.

Soon after, the doctor arrived. He checked her vital signs, his hands steady, his expression unreadable. He led her to another room for a CT scan, then returned with a clipboard and a quiet, thoughtful demeanor. He asked several questions, each one more unsettling than the last.

“Do you know why you had the accident?” the doctor asked, his voice calm but serious.

“No—” Cecilia wrinkled her nose, a flicker of frustration passing through her. “I don’t even remember being in an accident.”

“What’s the last thing you do remember?”

She closed her eyes, trying to grasp at the hazy memories. “I was—at work. I left early because there was going to be an audit at the café, and I went home to have lunch with Victor.” Her stomach rumbled softly, and she glanced around, confused. “What time is it? I’m starving. Can you call Victor? He’s acting so strange—and honestly, I feel strange too. I-I think I look different. Do you think it’s because of the head injury?”

The doctor blinked, surprised by her rush of words. Then he gave her a small, gentle smile. “I’ll ask the nurse to bring you something to eat. What would you like, Cecilia?”

“Rice pudding,” she answered instantly, craving something sweet and familiar. “But—what about Victor?”

“The gentleman, Mr. Villafuerte, is outside. I need to speak with him first before he can come in,” he added, noticing the concern on Cecilia’s face and calming her with a wave of his hand. “Tell me, Cecilia, that last day you remember. What was the date?”

Cecilia made a face, frowning in concentration. “Tues—no, Wednesday. I think—June twenty-third.”

The doctor pressed gently, “Of what year?”

She looked at him like the question was odd. “The year? Well—2018.”

“I see,” the doctor murmured, jotting something down in his notebook. “Stay here, please. I’ll have your food brought in and come back to check on you later.”

Her stomach was rumbling now, and when the nurse finally returned with a small bowl of warm rice pudding, Cecilia dug in eagerly. The soft, sweet taste was comforting, but she couldn’t truly enjoy it. Victor’s strange behavior lingered in her mind, and the doctor’s questions only added to the unease settling in her chest.

She knew head injuries could cause memory loss, she’d heard of that happening. But if she had been driving, she couldn’t for the life of her remember why she would’ve taken Victor’s car, or where she’d been going. Something inside her whispered that it was important, something urgent, something that mattered.

Setting the bowl aside, half-finished, she buried her face in her hands. A gnawing sense of dread coiled in her gut. Whatever she had been heading toward that day, it felt like it was something life or death.

The door opened again.

Cecilia lifted her head, expecting the nurse. Instead, to her surprise, it was Victor.

“Finally! You’re back!” she said softly, a small smile breaking through her anxiety. Somehow, just seeing him made it easier to breathe. He was her anchor in this storm.

Victor stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable, caught somewhere between confusion and hesitation. The sharp hostility from before was gone, replaced by uncertainty. It seemed like he wasn’t sure whether to come inside at all. After a moment’s pause, though, he did.

“Are you feeling better now?” His voice was softer, more careful.

Cecilia closed her eyes at the sound of it felt like a balm on her frayed nerves. “I-I think so. The doctor didn’t really say. I feel fine, but I can’t see clearly.”

“You can’t see well?” Victor stopped at the edge of her bed, his gaze scanning her face intently, as though memorizing every detail.

“No. You look—different. And I think I do too. Plus, I feel like I’ve forgotten something,” she gestured for him to come closer.

“You’ve forgotten a lot, Ceci,” he said quietly. When she tried to sit up, he gently but firmly eased her back onto the bed. “Don’t get up. They said you need to stay lying down.”

Cecilia made a small pout, like a stubborn child. “Tell me what the doctor said.”

Victor’s dark eyes shone with something complicated, grief, maybe, and though he hesitated for a long moment, he eventually sat down on the edge of the bed, though farther away than Cecilia would’ve liked.

“They said you have amnesia.”

Cecilia looked down, a sinking weight filling her chest. She had suspected as much. “I remember my parents, my grandparents, my job, my friends—you,” she placed a hand over her heart, “but, how much time have I lost?”

The question left her trembling. She reached out instinctively, needing the reassurance of his touch, and took Victor’s hand in hers.

Once again, he seemed startled by the contact. But after a second, he returned the gesture, squeezing her hand back, and even leaned in to wrap his arms around her. She melted into his embrace, letting out a small sound of relief. It felt like years since she’d felt that safe.

“Victor,” she murmured into his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of him, “what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he whispered tightly, holding her even closer. “I-I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Was the accident that bad?”

“Do you really not remember anything?”

“I don’t know,” she said softly, pulling back just enough to look at him. “What should I remember?”

Victor let out a long, unsteady breath, and when he finally spoke, the words knocked the air from her lungs.

“Seven years. That’s how much you’ve forgotten.”

“What?!” Cecilia gasped, jerking upright in shock.