THE DOCTOR SAID, “WE HAVE YOUR HUSBAND’S TEST RESULTS,” BUT I’M NOT MARRIED.
My heart hammered against my ribs as the doctor called my name, a thick file clutched firmly in her hand.
She smiled, but her eyes held a strange, unsettling pity as she ushered me into the quiet consulting room, the air thick and cold with the metallic scent of antiseptic. The fluorescent lights hummed above, casting stark shadows on the sterile white walls, making my skin feel clammy.
“Mrs. Peterson,” she began, her voice soft but grave, gesturing for me to sit. “We’ve confirmed the markers for pancreatic cancer. It’s aggressive, I’m afraid, and the prognosis isn’t good.” A sudden, dizzying chill ran through me, a profound cold that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature.
I leaned forward, a profound dread washing over me, my hands trembling uncontrollably on the armrests. My mind raced, trying to process, to grasp at something. “Excuse me,” I managed, my voice barely a whisper, “I’m Ms. Peterson. And I don’t have a husband. I’ve never been married.”
Her smile vanished, replaced by a sudden, sharp confusion that flickered across her face. She flipped through the file, the papers rustling loudly in the silence, a deep frown deepening on her brow. “Oh, dear. This isn’t right at all. This looks like a serious, serious mistake. There must be another Mrs. Peterson.”
Just then, the door creaked open slowly, and a man I’d never seen before walked in.
👇 Full story continued in the comments…He was tall and gaunt, his face etched with worry lines that seemed to deepen as he took in the scene. He was dressed in a worn, tweed jacket and carried a battered leather briefcase. He looked directly at me, his eyes widening in what could only be described as a mixture of shock and recognition.
“Amelia?” he breathed, his voice raspy.
I stared back, utterly bewildered. Who was this man? How did he know my name? “I… I think there’s been a mistake,” I stammered, feeling the world tilt on its axis. The doctor, still flustered, stammered an apology.
“Sir, I believe we have a mix-up. This is Ms. Peterson, not Mrs. Peterson.”
The man ignored her, his gaze locked on mine. He walked towards me, his steps hesitant, as if approaching a wild animal. “Amelia, it’s me. It’s… David.”
David? The name triggered a faint, unsettling flicker in the back of my mind, a fragment of a memory I couldn’t quite grasp. David… a name from a dream? Or a life forgotten?
He reached out a hand, and I instinctively flinched. His hand hovered for a moment, then slowly dropped to his side. “I know this is… confusing,” he said, his voice laced with a desperate plea. “But I need you to remember. I need you to remember everything.”
The doctor, sensing something beyond her comprehension, retreated to the corner of the room, her hand covering her mouth, her eyes wide with a growing fear.
David then began to tell a story. A story of a shared life, a shared love, a shared loss. He spoke of a marriage, a house, a garden filled with roses. Of a car accident, a catastrophic head injury, and my subsequent memory loss. He spoke of a long, arduous recovery, of a love that had been shattered and then… erased.
The file the doctor held fell open. I saw the name “David Peterson” on the top, with a line under the name of the tests. My heart pounded. I was in a panic.
He finished his story with a devastating truth: I was indeed, Mrs. Peterson. He had been trying to find me, to bring me back. But the cancer that the doctor had described was not for him, as I thought. It was for me. A rare type that targeted only the brain, slowly erasing memories, and leaving those who it struck with a blank mind. The car accident, the memory loss, it was all connected. All of it a consequence of the same disease, the same enemy that was now at my doorstep once again.
He reached out, his eyes pleading. “Amelia, remember us. Remember our life. Remember me. I’ll never forget you.” He knew it was hopeless, the cancer was too advanced to stop now. He grabbed my hand.
A cold dread washed over me, a profound cold that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature, it was my own cold. I felt a sudden pressure in my head, the world blurring. The doctor screamed, her face contorted in horror.
I opened my eyes. I was standing in a field of roses. I saw David.
He smiled. I heard my name. “Amelia…”
I looked over at David. He smiled once more and he reached for me.
I woke up, and it was all gone, all of it. I was a young woman, alone, with no memories of a husband. Just a doctor and a serious disease.