Chapter 40 We Met in College— Nine Years Ago
“It’s no one, babe.” Andrew forced the corners of his mouth up into what he hoped looked like a smile— tight, practiced, eyes not quite matching. “Just reading something aloud from my phone. That’s all. Sorry for waking you. Go back to sleep.”
“Okay.” Maggie exhaled slowly, eyelids already drooping. She tugged the blanket higher, curled tighter, and within seconds her breathing deepened again.
Andrew waited ten full heartbeats— counting them silently— then slid out of bed. Bare feet met cool hardwood. He padded across the room, shoulders tense, and pushed the bathroom door open.
Inside, he flicked the light switch. Fluorescent panels hummed to life, bathing the marble in harsh white. He crossed to the toilet, lifted the seat with one hand, urinated in a long, steady stream. The sound echoed off the tiles. Finished, he flushed— water rushing in powerful silence—then turned to the expansive wall mirror.
He planted both palms on the cool marble counter, leaned in until his face filled the reflection. Dark-brown curls stood wild. Brown eyes stared back— hard, calculating. A muscle ticked in his jaw.
“That bitch almost caught me,” he muttered to his own image. “You need to be more careful around her.”
He twisted the faucet. Warm water poured in a gentle, steady stream. He cupped his hands, splashed once— water sheeting down his cheeks— twice, then a third time. Droplets clung to his full brown beard. He reached for the white towel on the heated rail, pressed it to his face, dragged it down slowly—forehead, eyes, nose, mouth, beard— then folded it once and hung it back exactly where it had been.
Light off with a soft click. Door open. He stepped back into the bedroom’s near-darkness, crossed to the bed, slid under the covers without disturbing the mattress too much. Maggie didn’t stir. Andrew lay on his back, staring at the ceiling until his own breathing matched the slow cadence of hers.
Hours later, sunlight sliced through a narrow gap in the curtains— sharp, golden bars across the duvet. Andrew woke again, this time gradually. He blinked once, twice. Turned his head. Maggie’s side of the bed was empty, sheets cool, pillow dented but vacant.
He sat up slowly, spine cracking in three places as he stretched both arms wide overhead. A long, heavy yawn tore out of him— “Ahhhh…”— jaw unhinging fully before snapping shut.
“What time is it?” he muttered, gaze shifting to the sleek digital wall clock mounted above the fireplace: 8:47 a.m.
The bedroom door clicked open.
Maggie stepped through carrying a lacquered breakfast tray— two steaming white mugs, silver spoons, faint curls of coffee vapor rising. She wore a simple grey silk robe, loosely tied, bare feet silent on the rug. Her smile was bright, almost too bright, cheeks flushed from the kitchen warmth.
“Good morning,” she said, voice light as she crossed to the bed. “I made coffee— for you and myself.”
Andrew’s brows lifted. He took the offered mug, fingers brushing hers briefly. “Morning. Thank you.” He brought the mug to his lips, inhaled— rich, dark roast— then sipped. His eyes narrowed slightly over the rim. “You remember how to make coffee? How?”
Maggie settled on the edge of the mattress, cradling her own mug. “Yes, I do. Tonia— our neighbor— taught me. And a few other things. How to connect to and use the Wi-Fi. How to use a few social platforms, including YouTube.” Her eyes sparkled with quiet pride. “So I’ve been watching videos on how to do a lot of stuff. Maybe it could help trigger my lost memories back.”
Andrew set his mug carefully on the nightstand. “And?”
“And what?” Maggie tilted her head, smile faltering just a fraction.
“Your memories.” His voice stayed even, but his pulse hammered at the base of his throat.
“Nothing.” Maggie’s gaze dropped to her coffee. Her shoulders sagged a little. “Still nothing.”
Andrew exhaled through his nose— slow, controlled. Relief moved across his face like a shadow passing: jaw unclenching, eyes softening at the edges. He picked up his mug again, took another sip. “This is nice. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Maggie mirrored him, sipping slowly, watching him over the rim.
He felt her gaze— steady, searching. He lowered the mug. “I know I told you yesterday you could ask me questions. Ones that might help with your memories. So… ask away.”
Maggie’s smile returned— smaller, hopeful. She blew gently across the surface of her coffee, ripples spreading outward. “How did we meet?”
Andrew nodded once, as though he’d been expecting exactly that question. “Oh, that. It’s only normal for you to be curious about that.” He leaned back against the headboard, mug balanced on one knee. “It’s a long story. We met in college— nine years ago. And I promise I’ll tell you everything. In full detail.” He lifted the mug again, took a deliberate sip. “I just need to finish my coffee first. Don’t want it to get cold.”