Chapter 153

Chapter 153
Mia's POV
"How is this possible?" I turned on the doctor, my voice cracking in what I hoped sounded like genuine disbelief. "What do you mean he doesn't remember anything?"
The doctor exhaled slowly, the practiced patience of a man accustomed to delivering bad news. "I'm sorry, Ms. Mia. Based on your husband's current condition, it does appear he's experiencing significant memory loss." He turned toward the bed. "Mr. Smith, would you mind if I asked you a few questions?"
Vincent met the doctor's gaze. The confusion was still there—raw and unguarded, so completely unlike the man I'd known for years that it made my chest tighten with something I couldn't quite name. After a long moment, he gave a slow nod.
"Do you remember who you are?"
Vincent opened his mouth. Closed it. His brow furrowed as he reached inward for something, anything—and then his hands flew to his temples, a sharp breath escaping through gritted teeth.
"I can't." The words came out low and strained. "I can't reach it. My head—"
"Take your time." The doctor kept his voice even. "One more question, if you're able. Do you have any sense of your personal circumstances? Whether you're married, for instance? Whether you have children?"
Vincent lowered his hands slowly. Shook his head.
The doctor looked at me then. A small, deliberate nod—the agreed-upon signal.
"Ms. Mia." His tone shifted into something appropriately grave. "As you can see, we're looking at the worst-case scenario we discussed. The head trauma caused a subdural hematoma—internal bleeding that put pressure on the brain and disrupted normal neurological function. That's what's driving the memory loss."
I moved before I let myself think about it. Crossed the room, wrapped my arms around Vincent's shoulders, and pressed my face against his neck.
"Vincent." My voice came out softer than I expected. "How could you forget me? How could you forget everything we had?"
He stayed very still. His arms didn't move.
I pulled back after a moment, searching his face. He wasn't cold, exactly—he was blank. Politely, carefully blank, the way a person looks at a stranger they're trying not to offend.
The sting of it surprised me.
It's fine, I told myself. It's fine. This is what you wanted. He doesn't remember her either.
Nydia was gone. Whatever he'd felt, whatever he'd said, whatever stupid, infuriating thing had existed between them—it was gone too.
We had time now. All the time in the world.
"Ms. Mia." The doctor's voice broke through my thoughts. "I don't want you to lose hope entirely. In cases like this, roughly half of patients do experience gradual memory recovery—fragments at first, then more over time. It's not guaranteed, but with patience and consistent support from loved ones, the odds improve significantly."
My head snapped up. "He could get it all back?"
"It's possible. But it requires time. And patience."
I turned back to Vincent, letting my eyes fill. "Vincent." I reached for his hand and held it between both of mine. "I'm not going anywhere. Even if you never remember a single thing—I'll be right here. I promise."
Vincent looked down at our joined hands. Then back up at me.
"Vincent," he said slowly, testing the sound of it. "That's my name?"
My heart stuttered. "Yes." I kept my voice carefully neutral. "Does it feel familiar? Does anything come back when you say it?"
He was quiet for a moment. Then he shook his head.
I breathed out.
---
The doctor left once he'd run through his standard checks, and I waited until his footsteps faded down the hall before I settled into the chair beside the bed and folded my hands in my lap.
"I'd like to tell you about yourself," I said. "About us. If you're ready."
Vincent leaned back against the pillows, expression neutral. "All right."
He didn't sound particularly interested. But he didn't say no.
I'd rehearsed this. Gone over it enough times in my head that the words came out smoothly, precisely, without any of the hesitation that might give me away.
"Your name is Vincent Smith. You're the head of the Smith family." I watched his face as I said it—nothing flickered. "We've known each other for years. We started as business partners, but somewhere along the way, things changed. We respected each other. Admired each other. Eventually, we decided to make it official."
I paused.
"We've always been good together. No real drama, no serious fights. You're attentive. Thoughtful. You've always taken care of me."
I'd been saving the rest for this moment—everything I'd felt over the years, all of it true, all of it finally getting to be said out loud without him looking at me like I was something to be gently, firmly redirected. I let it pour out. The early years, the late nights, the moments I'd stored away like photographs in a drawer.
"I've loved you for a long time, Vincent. Longer than you probably knew."
I was building toward something, leaning forward slightly, when his voice cut cleanly across mine.
"How did I get hurt?"
I stopped.
He was watching me. The blankness was still there, but beneath it, something had sharpened. A quality of attention that was so purely, recognizably him that my mouth went dry.
Even without his memory, he was still Vincent.
"There was a party," I said, steadying myself. "A yacht. About a week ago. Halfway through the evening, the engine failed—the host told everyone it couldn't be repaired and that a rescue team was on the way."
"The rescue team wasn't actually a rescue team," Vincent said. Not a question.
"No." I kept my voice even. "It was Tanner Carter. He brought armed men onto the yacht. He had a score to settle with you—you'd gone after him before, cost him a great deal. He saw an opportunity."
Vincent's expression shifted—not recognition, exactly. Something colder. "And?"
"He took me. Used me as leverage to get to you." I paused, calibrating. "I told him to take me instead—to let you go. I knew if he got his hands on you, it would be bad. I wasn't willing to let that happen."
"That was stupid," Vincent said. His voice was completely calm.
I blinked. "I—yes. I know. But I wasn't thinking clearly. I only wanted you to be safe."
He held my gaze for a moment. Said nothing.
"You didn't agree with the plan," I continued. "When they tried to take me, you fought them. But there were too many of them, and you were outnumbered. You took a hit to the head. They forced you off the side of the boat."
"And you?" He leaned forward slightly. "How did you get away from Carter?"
I'd expected the question. Still, the precision of it—even now, even like this—made something cold move through me.
He's still looking for the gaps.
"Our people tracked my location," I said. "When the signal dropped, they mobilized. They reached the yacht, engaged Carter's team, and pulled me out. Carter cut his losses and retreated." I let a beat pass. "You were harder to find. But they got to you in time. Just barely."
Vincent absorbed this. He sat with it for a long moment, staring at nothing in particular, turning the pieces over.
"Does any of it feel familiar?" I asked carefully.
"No." He didn't hesitate. "It sounds like something that happened to someone else."
"That's normal," I said. "The doctor said—"
"I know what the doctor said." His voice wasn't sharp, but it was precise in a way that made it clear the conversation was shifting. He looked at me directly. "You said you have no reason to lie to me."
"I don't."
He held my gaze for another moment. Then he nodded, once, and looked away.
I exhaled slowly through my nose.
"You'll have questions," I said. "Whatever you want to know—ask me. I know almost everything about your life. I'll tell you whatever I can."
"All right."
I couldn't help it. I moved closer, let myself lean in until my cheek rested against his shoulder. His body stayed very still beneath mine—not resistant, just unresponsive, the way someone holds themselves when they're being touched by someone they don't entirely trust yet.
Yet.
"Vincent." I closed my eyes. "If you get everything back, that would be wonderful. But if you don't—that's okay too. We'll build something new. As long as you're alive. As long as you're here." I pressed my hand flat against his arm. "That's all I've ever really wanted."
He didn't answer.
But he didn't pull away either.
And right now, that was enough.