The apartment was quiet in that early, fragile way-morning light slipping through the curtains, dust floating lazily, the city still deciding whether to wake up.

Ava stood in the living room, barefoot on the cool tile, heart hammering so loudly she was sure it could be heard down the hall.

She'd been up since dawn. Too excited to sleep. Too full of feeling. Three years. Somehow it still felt new. And heavy and sacred.

She glanced toward the bedroom. Matthew was still asleep. She could hear it-the faint rhythm of his breathing, the soft sound of sheets shifting when he turned.

Ava smiled to herself.

She checked the small banner she'd taped crookedly to the wall-Happy Anniversary-then stepped back, tilting her head. Crooked suited them. Nothing in their life had ever been perfect. Just... real.

She took a breath. Then another.

And shouted.

"Babe! Babe-Babe!"

Her voice sliced through the apartment, sharp and panicked.

"Babe!" she cried again, louder this time. "Matthew!"

There was a crash from the bedroom.

"Ava?" His voice came out rough, thick with sleep. "What-what's wrong?"

She bit her lip to keep from laughing.

The bedroom door flew open.

Matthew burst out, hair mussed, eyes wide, chest rising and falling too fast. He was half-dressed, bare feet slapping against the floor as he rushed toward her.

"What happened?" he demanded, scanning her face, the room. "Are you hurt? Did something-"

She jumped.

"Happy anniversary!"

For half a second, he just froze.

Then he flinched back so hard he nearly tripped, a curse tearing out of him as his heart clearly tried to escape his chest. "Jesus-!"

Ava lost it.

She doubled over, laughter spilling out of her, loud and uncontrollable. "Oh my God," she gasped. "Your face-Matthew , your face-"

He stared at her, stunned. At the banner, the balloons. The small table set nearby with breakfast waiting-his favorite pancakes, golden and steaming, the smell of butter warm in the air.

"You-" He dragged a hand down his face. "You thought I was dying."

"I wanted you to come running," she said between laughs. "And you did."

His shoulders dropped as the adrenaline drained out of him. He exhaled slowly, then shook his head.

"You're unbelievable."

"But you love me," she teased, stepping closer.

He looked at her for a long moment.

Then, despite himself, a smile tugged at his mouth.

"You scared the life out of me," he muttered.

She slipped her arms around his waist, pressed her cheek to his chest. His heartbeat was still fast. She could feel it under her ear.

"Revenge," she murmured. "For every spider you've ever screamed at."

He snorted, one hand coming up to cradle the back of her head automatically. Muscle memory. Love written into habit.

"Happy anniversary," he said quietly.

She looked up at him. His eyes were soft now. Sleepy, still only half in the day.

"Three years," she said.

"Three," he echoed.

He kissed her then. Not rushed, not dramatic. Just lips fitting against hers like they'd always belonged there. A kiss with history in it. With mornings and nights and shared silence.

When he pulled his back, he rested his forehead against hers. "You didn't have to do all this."

"I wanted to."

"You always want to," he said, fondly.

"That's kind of the point of loving someone," she teased.

He smiled. A real one, crooked on one side.

They ate breakfast together, knees brushing under the table, the television murmuring in the background though neither of them watched it.

Ava poured his coffee the way he liked-one sugar, a splash of milk. He noticed. He always noticed things like that.

"Remember our first anniversary she asked, stabbing at her pancake.

He groaned. "The power outage."

"You lit candles like we were in some tragic movie."

"And you cried because you thought the candles meant we were 'romantic now.'"

She laughed. "I was emotional."

"You're always emotional."

She reached across the table and flicked his wrist. "Rude."

But there was affection in the way she looked at him. In the way she leaned in when she laughed, like she was constantly pulled toward him without realizing it.

When breakfast was over, Matthew stood, already glancing toward the bedroom.

She felt it then. That familiar tug. The quiet disappointment she'd trained herself not to make loud.

"You're leaving early again," she said lightly.

He paused mid-step. "I have to. Meetings all morning."

She rose slowly, walking toward him. "You said you'd be home tonight."

"I will be."

"You promise?" She tried to make it playful. Tried not to let the question sound like what it really was.

He turned fully toward her then. Buttoning his shirt as he did. "I promise."

"You barely make time for me lately," she said softly.

There it was. The truth, finally slipping out.

He stilled and looked at her properly.

"Ava..."

She shrugged, folding her arms, suddenly aware of how small she felt standing there in her oversized sweater. "I know you're busy. I know the company needs you. I just-" She stopped. Took a breath. "I miss you. Even when you're in the same room."

Something crossed his face. Guilt, maybe, or annoyance. She couldn't tell.

He stepped closer, took her hands.

"Hey." His voice softened. "This is temporary. Things will calm down."

"You always say that."

"And one day I'll be right," he said, smiling faintly.

She wanted to believe him. She always did.

"I'll come home early," he said. "We'll have dinner. Just us. No phones. I'll even let you pick the movie."

Her eyes brightened. "Really?"

"Really."

She laughed, leaning into him. "That's how I know you're serious."

He kissed her forehead. Then her nose. Then her lips again, deeper this time. The kind of kiss that lingered. That made her forget the doubts curling quietly in her chest.

She watched him get his jacket. His watch. The familiar ritual of a man who belonged to her life.

At the door, he turned back.

"Happy anniversary," he said again.

She walked over and kissed him first this time. Slow. Intentional.

"Drive safe," she murmured.

"Always."

He stepped out.

She stood there a moment longer after the door closed, palm pressed against the wood, smiling.

The road was busy. Matthew drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, mind already half on work, half on the lingering warmth of the morning.

His phone buzzed. He glanced at it, then frowned.

Another buzz.

He reached for it, eyes flicking down for just a second-

The sound came out of nowhere.

Metal and glass.

The world lurched.

And then-

Nothing but the scream of brakes as Matthew Taylor's car collided head-on with another.

Sunlight spilled across the kitchen counter in lazy stripes, catching on water droplets, turning them briefly into something almost beautiful. Ava stood at the sink, sleeves rolled up, fingers pruned from the dishwasher, moving on instinct to the dishwasher. Plates. Cups. The quiet aftermath of breakfast.

The house still smelled like them. Coffee and pancakes. Matthew 's cologne lingered faintly in the air, stubborn, like it refused to leave because he had.

She reached for another plate, stacking it carefully.

Her mind drifted back to the way he'd kissed her goodbye. Slow and familiar. Like he had nowhere else to be.

I'll be home early.

She smiled at the memory, shaking her head at herself. Always believing him. Always choosing to.

The apartment was too quiet now. No footsteps, no humming from the bedroom. Just the soft sound of water running and her own breathing.

Then-

Her phone rang.

The sound cut through the apartment sharply, too loud for a late morning that still smelled like coffee and buttered pancakes. She froze, sponge hovering midair, her first thought ridiculous and fleeting.

Matthew forgot something.

Then the phone rang again.

Her heart tripped. Once and hard.

"I'm coming," she called, already drying her hands on her jeans as she hurried into the sitting room. She grabbed the phone without checking the screen.

"Hello?"

There was a pause, a breath that wasn't hers.

"Is this Mrs. Taylor ?"

"Yes." Her voice sounded steady, even to her own ears. "This is Ava."

"This is St. Vincent's Hospital. Your husband has been involved in an accident."

The world tilted.

"I-" The word didn't finish forming. Her fingers tightened around the phone. "What kind of accident?"

Another pause. Too long and careful.

"Ma'am, you need to come immediately."

Her vision narrowed. The room felt suddenly too small, the walls inching closer, breathing down her neck.

She didn't remember dropping the phone. Only that it hit the floor with a dull sound that felt far away. She stood there for a second-maybe longer-staring at nothing, her chest refusing to pull in air.

No. No, no, no.

Her legs moved before her thoughts caught up. Keys, shoes, her bag. She slammed the door behind her so hard the walls rattled.

The drive was a blur. Red lights she didn't remember stopping at. Horns she didn't hear. Her hands shook on the steering wheel, knuckles white, her mind looping the same image over and over-Matthew smiling that morning, kissing her forehead, saying Always when she told him to drive safe.

Always.

"I'm coming," she safelypered to the empty car. "I'm here. I'm coming."

Her throat burned. Tears came and went, blurring the road, but she wiped them away angrily. She couldn't fall apart. Not now, not ever.

She didn't know how she got there. Only that suddenly the hospital loomed in front of her, cold and gray, and she was running.

The automatic doors slid open, and Ava stumbled inside, breathless, wild-eyed.

"Where is my husband?" she shouted, her voice cracking the moment it left her mouth. "Where is Matthew Taylor?"

People turned. Nurses rushed forward.

"Ma'am, please-"

"My husband was in an accident!" she cried. "Where is he? Let me see him!"

Hands touched her arms, gentle but firm. Someone guided her to a chair she didn't sit in. Her knees gave out, and she sank anyway.

"Please," she said, her voice breaking apart now. "Please let me see him. That's my husband."

"He's being attended to," a nurse said calmly. "You need to breathe. You need to calm down."

"I am breathing," Ava snapped, even as her chest stuttered, uneven. "I just need to see him."

Minutes blurred into something shapeless. Time stretched thin, then snapped.

She paced, sat and stood again.

Her phone buzzed once in her hand. Clara's name flashed on the screen. She couldn't answer it. Couldn't explain. Couldn't say the words out loud and make them real.

She pressed her palms together, nails digging into skin, whispering prayers she hadn't spoken in years.

Please. Take anything. Just don't take him.

An hour later-maybe more-voices rose near the entrance.

Matthew 's parents.

His mother's heels clicked sharply against the floor as she approached, her face tight, eyes scanning Ava like she was already looking for someone to blame.

"What happened?" she demanded. "Why weren't we informed sooner?"

Ava stood, swaying slightly. "They called me first. I-he-"

"Where is he?" his father interrupted.

"Still inside," Ava said. "They're treating him."

His mother folded her arms. "How bad is it?"

Ava opened her mouth. Closed it. "They haven't said."

The doctor came out then. A man with tired eyes and a clipboard held too tightly in his hands.

"Mr. Taylor is stable," he said. "He suffered a head injury and some internal bruising. He needs rest. We'll monitor him closely."

Ava exhaled for the first time in what felt like hours. Her hands trembled as she pressed them together.

"Can we see him?" she asked.

"Yes. Briefly."

The room was white and quiet. Machines hummed softly, indifferent.

Matthew lay on the bed, pale against the sheets, a bandage wrapped around his head. Tubes ran where they shouldn't have had to run. His chest rose and fell steadily, and Ava latched onto that movement like it was the only thing holding her upright.

She moved closer, careful, reverent. Sat beside him.

"Oh, Matthew," she whispered, reaching for his hand. It was warm. Thank God, it was warm.

His parents stood back, murmuring to the doctor. Ava barely heard them.

Hours passed. Or maybe minutes. She lost track.

She watched his face like it might disappear if she looked away. Counted each breath. Memorized the curve of his mouth, the faint scar on his brow she used to kiss without thinking.

Then Matthew coughed.

Her head snapped up. "Matthew ?"

He shifted, brow furrowing, another rough cough tearing from his chest.

"I'm here," she said quickly, standing. "I'm right here."

His eyes fluttered open.

Brown and familiar.

Relief flooded her so fast it made her dizzy.

"Babe?" she breathed, tears spilling freely now. "Are you okay? Do you need water?"

She reached for the cup, hands shaking.

Matthew looked at her.

His eyes narrowed slightly, confusion knitting his brow. He swallowed, his throat working.

"Do..." His voice was hoarse. Broken. "Do I know you?"

The cup slipped from Ava's hand and shattered on the floor.

The sound echoed.

And something inside her went completely, terrifyingly silent.

Ava stood very still.

So still she could hear the small sounds she'd never noticed before-the faint hum of the machines, the squeak of a nurse's shoes somewhere down the corridor, the uneven rhythm of her own breathing. In. Out. Fast.

Matthew sat on the hospital bed, propped against pillows that looked too white, too clean for what was happening. He kept his hands on his lap, fingers loosely intertwined, like he didn't quite know where to put them. Like his body was waiting for instructions his mind hadn't given yet.

He looked... polite.

That was the strangest part.

Not distant, not angry. Just polite. The way you look at a stranger who's crying in front of you and you're not sure why.

"I'm your wife," Ava said again, softer this time, as if volume was the problem. As if gentleness might slip past whatever wall stood between them. "We are married." She added.

Matthew blinked. Once. Slowly.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't... I don't remember."

The words were careful. Apologetic. Like he was sorry he'd lost his keys, not his life.

Something cracked in her chest.

She swallowed hard and forced herself to keep talking. If she stopped, she knew she'd fall apart-and she wasn't ready for that yet. Not in front of him. Not in front of his parents standing behind her, their confusion hanging thick in the room.

"We met at a charity gala," she said, stepping closer. "You hated going. You only came because your mother insisted."

His mother sucked in a breath behind her.

Matthew 's eyes flicked briefly toward the sound, then back to Ava. Blank and curious.

"You spilled champagne on my dress," Ava continued, a faint smile trembling at the corners of her mouth. "Red champagne. I was furious. You apologized like five times. You kept saying you were clumsy when you were nervous."

He shook his head slowly. "I don't remember that."

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her skirt.

"Okay," she whispered. "That's okay. That's fine. Maybe... maybe something else."

She took a breath and tried again.

"Our first anniversary," she said. "There was a blackout. Remember? The entire block lost power. We had candles everywhere. You cooked pasta on a gas stove and burned the sauce."

A pause.

"You said it was 'rustic,'" she added quickly, almost pleading. "You said everything tasted better when the lights were off."

Nothing.

Matthew 's brow furrowed slightly, like he was trying. Like he hated disappointing her.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I really am."

Her knees felt weak.

She laughed then. A small, broken sound that startled even her. "You always say sorry when you don't know what to say."

His lips parted, as if that meant something to him.

But then he shook his head. "I don't know that either."

That did it.

Ava pressed a hand to her mouth, turning away before the sob could escape. She stared at the wall, counted the tiles, and focused on not collapsing.

Behind her, his father cleared his throat. "Son," he said gruffly. "Do you remember your childhood home? The house with the blue gate?"

Matthew looked at him. Hesitated. "I think so."

Hope flickered.

"And Ava," his mother added quickly. "You remember Ava, don't you? Your wedding day?"

Ava turned back, her heart slamming painfully against her ribs.

Matthew looked between them. Then back at Ava.

"Wedding?" he asked.

The room went very quiet.

Her breath left her in one long, shaky exhale.

"We were married three years ago," she said. Her voice was barely there now. "You proposed to me by the lake. You were shaking so badly you dropped the ring."

He stared at her hands, as if expecting to see a ring appear there and explain everything.

"I didn't propose to anyone," he said carefully.

Her vision blurred.

"You told me you couldn't imagine your life without me," she whispered. "You said I was your home."

His jaw tightened. "I'm sorry."

The words felt like knives now. Each one is lean and precise.

His mother stepped forward, voice trembling. "Matthew , please. Try. This is your wife. You love her."

He looked at Ava again. Really looked this time. Her red eyes. The way she held herself together by sheer will.

"I don't feel anything," he said quietly. "I'm not trying to be cruel. I just... don't know her."

Something in Ava finally gave way.

She sank into the chair beside the bed, her hands shaking uncontrollably now. Her entire body felt hollow, like someone had scooped her out and left the shell behind.

"I'm right here," she whispered, not sure who she was saying it to anymore. "I'm right here."

The doctor returned shortly after, summoned by the quiet devastation that had settled over the room.

He listened, asked questions. Observed Matthew 's responses with a professional calm that felt almost offensive in its neutrality.

"We'll need to run some tests," he said. "A scan. To assess the extent of the injury."

They wheeled Matthew away.

Ava watched them take him, the bed rolling smoothly down the corridor, the distance between them stretching with every second. She followed until the doors closed, until there was nothing left to follow.

She stood there shaking.

Hours passed.

She sat in the waiting room, knees pulled to her chest, staring at nothing. His parents spoke in hushed tones nearby. She didn't hear the words. Only the weight of them.

Her phone buzzed, but she ignored it.

She thought of the way Matthew used to reach for her in his sleep. The way he'd murmur her name without waking. The way he'd kiss her temple when he thought she was already asleep.

How do you lose something like that?

When the doctor finally returned, Ava was barely holding herself upright.

"He has suffered partial memory loss due to the head injury," the doctor said. "Some memories may return. Others may not."

The words settled slowly. He might remember. He might not.

There was no certainty. No timeline, no promise.

Ava nodded numbly.

"At this stage," the doctor continued, "it's important he's surrounded by care. Familiar voices and patience. Pressure can do more harm than good."

Care and patience.

She wondered how much of those she had left.

She nodded again, though her heart was breaking into pieces, she wasn't sure she could gather them back together.

As they walked toward Matthew 's room, Ava lagged for a moment.

She pressed her hand to her chest, feeling the ache there, raw and relentless.

I'll stay, she told herself. I'll stay. I'll remind him. I'll love him enough for both of us.

She straightened her shoulders and stepped forward.

Even if he didn't remember her-

She remembered him.