The Men
SARAH
The following days were filled with scans and questions, doctors getting in and out, nurses coming and going. But the only two people who were always in the room with me were my dad… and who I guess was my husband.
The doctor had advised that they shouldn't feed me with any information. I was supposed to remember things on my own, slowly, at my own pace. Overloading me with intel could jumble everything up, maybe even make it worse. They wanted to make sure I was functioning well, healing properly—and I was doing okay.
When my father asked when the memories might come back, the doctor had said,
"It's important to understand," the doctor began gently, standing at the foot of my bed, "that memory doesn’t always return like a movie playing in your head. Most patients don’t get full-on flashbacks right away. Instead, memory often returns in fragments—sensory triggers, emotional responses, even words or routines they used to know."
He glanced at the two men in the room, my father and Cullen before continuing.
"In Sarah’s case, her brain is healing. That means she might first recall how someone makes her feel, or feel drawn to a scent, or instinctively know how to do something without understanding why. It might be weeks or even months before she recalls full scenes or events, if at all."
The doctor paused, giving me a soft smile.
"So yes, she might remember without visual flashbacks. She might feel that something is familiar, or experience a gut reaction long before she understands where it’s coming from. That’s perfectly normal."
Visitors were prohibited. No people coming in and out. Just the doctors, the nurses, my father… and him.
With the days that followed, I slowly began to read the room and get to know the people taking care of me. My dad: the man I loved, the man I trusted. And this other man, this man who claimed I had married him.
The last thing I remembered was that my father had made a marriage pact with Cyrus Cincinnati of the Italian Mafia. So naturally, I wondered who this man was and why I had married him instead of the Don's heir.
When I asked my father, he reminded me of what the doctor had said—that I should let the memories come slowly. That I shouldn’t rush anything.
I believed my dad. I trusted him. I didn’t question him again. I agreed, hoping the memories would come soon.
But one thing I couldn’t ignore was the tension. The air in the room told a story of its own, the relationship between my father and my so-called husband.
They didn’t like each other. That much was clear. And I kept wondering… if my father didn’t like him, why did he allow me to marry him?
They were constantly throwing ugly glances at each other, ignoring each other, bickering over the smallest things—even who got to feed me.
One time, my father had stepped out of the room for a minute. Cullen, the man who introduced himself as my husband told me his name. He said,
"You can't talk address me properly if you don’t even know my name."
“Cullen,” he said with a soft smile.
My father returned just then as he told me his name, and had begun talking to me about my childhood. Dad shut him out completely. Cullen had nothing to contribute to my early memories, and it showed.
Anyway… back to that moment.
Cullen was feeding me. I had just started getting used to eating by myself. At first, I would shake, but I’d improved. Still, my dad insisted on feeding me. But this time, it was Cullen. He was helping me gently.
Then, the door opened.
My father walked back into the room, and the look on his face… Fury. Shock. Anger.
He stormed towards us, grabbed the bowl from Cullen’s hands, and flung it at the wall. Then, he shoved Cullen back, pushing him hard against the wall.
I had never seen my dad this angry. Not like this. It was terrifying. For a moment, it looked like he was going to kill him.
Panicked, I hit the emergency button.
It sent the whole ward into chaos. Nurses came rushing in, alarms blaring. I was shaking, frightened, and overwhelmed. Then my brother and other men in suits stormed into the room and pulled them apart.
The doctor appeared almost instantly, ordering everyone out of the room so they could “settle it.”
And I just sat there. Balled up. Scared. Nervous. Confused.
Why was my father so mad at Cullen for feeding me? Wasn’t he supposed to be my husband?
If he were my husband, shouldn’t I be living with him?
If I was living with him…
Then…
I had so many questions. But I knew I wouldn’t get the answers.
Not now. And so I waited, desperate for the memories to return.
Days passed.
When dad and Cullen came back, they all acting as if the fight had never happened... The hospital room became my entire world. Time blurred, marked only by meal trays and nurse check-ins. My body grew stronger each day, but my mind… my mind felt like a maze, walls thick with fog.
Sometimes I caught myself staring at Cullen—searching his face, his gestures, for something familiar. He was kind, patient. He never pushed. He'd sit beside me, reading a book, or adjusting my pillow without a word. When our eyes met, there was something in his gaze that made my chest ache....But I didn’t know why.
Once, when I was drifting between sleep and wakefulness, I heard him whisper,
"You came back to me. I promise to be the man you wish for."
And though I didn’t say anything, my fingers curled tighter around his hand.
But then there was my father.
Firm. Protective. Watching everything. He’d sit close to me, tell me little stories from my childhood, talk about my favourite toys, my first fall off a bike, the time I tried to climb a tree barefoot. I laughed weakly at his tales, and sometimes... they sparked a flicker. Not quite a memory—more like a shadow of one.
But with both of them in the room, everything felt… tense. Like they were two worlds I couldn’t reconcile.
One evening, Cullen had brought a soft red blanket and gently placed it over me.
I smiled. “It smells familiar,” I murmured.
His eyes softened. “It’s from home.”
Home.
The word echoed inside me.
Did I have a home with him?
That night, as I lay half-awake, something shifted. I saw a flash..... I couldn't get to it but it was there.
And then… gone.
I gasped, eyes wide, heart racing. It felt real. Was it real?
I wanted to ask. I wanted to scream the question. But I remembered what the doctor had said.
Let the memories come slowly.
So I stayed quiet.
But deep down, I knew.... something was starting to return.
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