EVE's POV
Chris's blank stare, as if I were a stranger, shattered my heart. But the doctor's words – that the gunshot trauma might have stolen the Chris I knew, loved, and was about to marry – were a deeper, more devastating blow.
My breath hitched, and a pressure built behind my eyes. I had to get out. I needed air, space, anything to escape the suffocating weight of those words.
"Excuse me," I mumbled, pushing myself to my feet. The room spun, but I managed a few steps before my legs gave way. Then, darkness.
I surfaced hours later, realizing from the wall clock that it was late at night. It finally hit me: I was still in the hospital.
I finally managed to sit up gently on the bed. "Finally, you're awake," a familiar voice said. I turned to my left and saw Chris lounging on the sofa, legs crossed, a tablet in his hand. He flashed me that smile – the one that always left me breathless.
I watched him set the tablet aside and move towards me with that easy grace I knew so well. If I hadn't seen his earlier confusion with my own eyes, I'd swear he was faking.
He came around the bed and sat beside me. Then, he raised his hand and touched my forehead. "Thank God, your fever has gone down," he said, bringing his hand down.
"Where is everyone?" I asked, my gaze sweeping the room, finding no sign of my mother. "Oh, they went home. Promised to be back tomorrow," he replied.
"I need to leave, then. I have so much to do at the office," I said, yanking the IV needle from my wrist.
The truth was, I had nothing to do at the office. My mother had seen to that, clearing my schedule entirely since the day of Chris's accident.
I needed to be alone. Away from this room, away from the sterile smell of the hospital, away from the new Chris who looked at me like… like I was a stranger. That, more than anything, was the knife twisting in my gut – the loss of that familiar warmth in his eyes.
"What are you doing? You need that IV," Chris said, his tone sharper than I'd ever heard it. I brushed past him.
"Miss Mikleson, what's going on?" Dr. Irene asked, her brow furrowed as she entered the room, followed by two nurses.
"I need to be discharged, Doctor," I said, grabbing my bag from the bedside table.
"What you need is rest, Miss Mikleson. A lot of it. Unless you want to risk a premature birth," she said, her voice firm.
The word "premature" was like a slap. I sank back onto the bed.
The doctor went over to the side monitor to look at my vitals before coming over to put the drip back on.
"I understand it is hard for you miss Mikleson, but you need to take care of yourself and your babies... you have been in and out of the hospital the past view months more than any pregnant woman I know, it's a miracle the babies aren't affected in all this" the doctor advised while i nodded.
"When did you eat today?" She asked again
"I… this morning. I had breakfast… this morning," I stammered, heat rising in my cheeks under the doctor's shocked gaze.
"You need to eat more, please ..." she said before sitting down beside me with a look of concern in her face.
The doctor's voice was gentle, laced with a soothing quality that tugged at my tear ducts. "You might not realize it, but a baby has an incredible emotional connection with their mother, right from the womb. They feel everything you feel. Your joy becomes their joy, your sadness, theirs. And if you don't eat, they won't get the nutrients they need. So, please," she continued, her eyes filled with concern.
"I know the past few months have been incredibly hard on you. But you need to take care of yourself. Promise me you will."
"Can I hug you?" I asked, my voice thick with emotion. Dr. Irene smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and opened her arms.
Since Chris slipped into the coma, Dr. Irene had been more than just my doctor. She'd been a lifeline – a source of empathy and unwavering support.
"Thank you so much doctor irene" I whispered, biting my lips to hold back my tears from falling.
"Its fine, everything would be ok" she said patting me gently at the back before slowly pulling away.
"I know you love your job but I hate to break it to you but you would have to stay admitted in the hospital till a week at least, for monitoring and evaluation as your blood level and sugar levels are low" she said
"What does that mean?" I heard Chris ask, honestly I had forgotten he was in the room.
"It means her blood volume is lower than normal – common in pregnancy, but it needs to be addressed. Proper nutrition and plenty of rest should do the trick," Dr. Irene said, her gaze lingering on me with concern.
"That's good, then," he said, nodding. I looked at him, and the relief etched on his face warmed me from the inside out. He might not remember us, but some things, it seemed, couldn't be erased. He would always care.
"Excuse me," the doctor said, and with a final, professional nod, she left, followed by two nurses.
I sank back against the pillows, staring at the sterile white ceiling, lost in thought. My hands instinctively drifted to my stomach, a silent, protective gesture.
*What a day,* I thought, the words heavy in my mind. Joy surged through me – Chris was awake, finally out of the coma that had held him for over two months. But it was overshadowed by a crushing heartbreak. He didn't remember me. He didn't remember anyone.
"I ordered us dinner," he said, interrupting my thoughts. "I hope you're hungry."
"So…" he began, and the way he said it, the subtle inflection, instantly transported me back to the day Frederick had called, the day he'd pressed me and Stephanie about what we were hiding. I suppressed a watery chuckle. Some things truly were immutable, woven into the very fabric of who he was.
I shifted on the bed, turning to face him. He was sitting up in his own bed… *Wait. Why are there two beds in this VIP ward? And why are we in the same room?*
"Am *I* in your room, or are you in mine?" I asked, trying to keep the confusion out of my voice.
"You're in mine, actually." He said it simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"I requested that you be moved here so I could keep an eye on you, keep you company." My heart skipped a beat, then another. It was exactly what Chris would have done. And more.
"Why... Do you suddenly remember me?" I teased, hoping to lighten the mood, but his smile vanished, replaced by a shadow of something I couldn't quite read.
"Not yet, unfortunately. But maybe you can tell me. About us. What was I like? How did we meet? Who was the first to say 'I love you'? All the relevant details, while we wait for the food." There was an eagerness in his voice, a thirst for the memories he'd lost.
"You could probably find that on the internet," I said, trying to sound dismissive, but a sharp pang of anger twisted in my chest.
"I'd rather hear it from you. I believe you know me better than anyone else." His gaze was direct, intense, and I felt exposed. I sighed, turning back to the ceiling, away from his probing eyes.
*What's the use, anyway? He doesn't remember.*
"I watched one of the interviews we did together a few months back." His voice was soft, deliberate. "I said… *'I am certain that even in another life, another world, I would never forget Eve. It would be love at first sight, all over again.'* You won't tell me about us because you're angry that I broke that promise and forgot you. Isn't that it?" His voice was so calm, so low, it was a whisper in the sterile room.
My heart plummeted. Hot tears pricked at my eyes. It wasn't just that he was right; it was that even with amnesia, he could still see straight through me, still make my heart race.
I sat up abruptly, turning to face him. This time, the tears spilled over, tracing hot paths down my cheeks.
"You're right. I *am* angry. At you, at me, because I'm the reason you lost your memories, at everything that led to this moment. But mostly, I'm angry at *you*. How could you forget about us? About me? About the life we had?" The words tumbled out, raw and jagged, fueled by weeks of fear and suppressed grief.