Serious Damages
The moment I pulled into the hospital lot, I didn’t wait.
I barely parked the car. Didn’t lock the doors. My legs were already carrying me across the pavement, shoving past the sliding doors, through the white walls that all smelled like alcohol, bleach, and death. I hated hospitals, and I hated that Remi had to be in here.
The nurse at the desk didn’t even get to ask who I was before I snapped, “Remi Laurent. Where is she?”
Something in my voice—or maybe my eyes—made her point down the hall.
“Room 307. But—”
I didn’t wait.
I ran.
My chest was pounding as I reached the door. It was closed. I grabbed the handle and started to push in—
“Sir.”
A hand stopped me.
I turned sharply. A man in scrubs, white coat over it. He looked calm, collected—too calm for what was happening.
“You can’t go in right now,” he said gently.
I shook my head, chest rising and falling fast. “She’s my wife.”
“I understand.” His tone didn’t change. “She just got out of surgery. She’s in critical condition. And sir you are bleeding, you should get yourself checked.”
I hadn't even realized it, when I had fallen from the impact of my memories, my head had hit the floor so hard it bled. But I didn't care.
I had other things in mind.
Those words.
They felt like bullets.
“What happened to her?” My voice came out hoarse. “Tell me exactly.”
He sighed, folding his arms. “The impact caused multiple injuries. She was thrown against the roof and side windows when the car flipped. A large glass shard pierced just below her right eye. Another lodged into the side of her skull.”
I closed my eyes for a second.
But that didn’t stop the images.
Blood. Her eyes. Her voice. Gone.
“She was rushed into emergency surgery. We managed to remove the glass—most of it. But there was swelling in the brain. We suspect… damage.”
“Damage?”
He hesitated. “We won’t know the full extent until she wakes. But given the placement… it’s possible she might suffer retrograde amnesia.”
I didn’t breathe.
“Meaning…?”
“She might not remember anything. Her name. Her memories. Her life. You. Her kids.”
I stepped back, heart twisting.
“She… she might forget…what?”
“She might forget everything.”
The words landed like knives. I couldn’t speak, my brain didn't make coherent sentences.
“She’s stable, but unconscious. She’s in a coma. We’ll monitor her over the next few days and run some scans when the swelling reduces.”
I gripped the wall beside me. I felt sick. My stomach churned, bile crawling up my throat.
Not this.
Not her.
Not again.
“She—she just found out about her family. She just—God—she was just starting to live.”
“I know it’s hard,” the doctor said, his voice finally softening. “But she survived. That’s something.”
Was it?
If she woke up and didn’t even know who she was…
If she looked at me like I was a stranger—
If she didn’t remember our kids—
I stared through the glass window into the room.
She was lying there, still as death. Tubes. Wires. Bruises blooming along her cheek. Bandages wrapped around her temple.
But her chest was rising.
Up.
Down.
She was still here.
“I need a moment,” I whispered.
The doctor nodded. “Take all the time you need. But please… don’t go in just yet.”
I didn’t answer.
I just stared at her.
And my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
She looked so small in that hospital bed. So still. Nothing like the wild, stubborn, complicated woman I knew.
My wife.
The mother of my children.
The only person who ever saw me and didn’t flinch.
The only person with the heart of gold enough to forgive the demon that I was.
Now her eyes were closed.
And there was no recognition left in them—because there was nothing.
A machine beeped beside her. The only sound that told me she was still here. Still breathing.
But for how long?
And even if she woke up… would she still be Remi?
Would she remember how she used to fight with me over whose playlist we listened to in the car?
How she used to curl up beside me when she had nightmares but claimed she wasn’t scared?
Would she remember how her nose scrunched when she was annoyed—or the way her fingers laced into mine when she was quietly terrified?
Would she remember what she went true to be the doctor she is today? Her research, her twins that she built a life for. Her friend, Claire. Everything that made Remington who she is.
I sank into the chair outside her room and buried my face in my hands.
I had told myself I’d protect her.
And I failed.
I didn’t even know how long I sat there.
Time passed in a blur.
Jo brought the kids to the hospital once. I didn’t speak much. I couldn’t.
The twins asked if Mommy was sleeping. I said yes.
Then I went to the bathroom and threw up. I hid in bathroom stalls to cry. Haunted by every memory I received. Haunted by the fear of her never waking up again.
The next few days were all the same.
Coffee. Bloodshot eyes. Guilt so thick I could barely breathe through it.
I didn’t go to the office. Didn’t pick up calls.
I just stayed there.
Watching her.
They said she might wake up.
But might didn’t mean would.
And it haunted me.
I kept thinking about the time I told her I didn’t love her.
That she was nothing but a means to an end.
That I just needed her to give me an heir.
Even when I was saying it, I didn’t mean it.
I was broken. Bleeding. Still a boy trying to make sense of the hurt people like Gigi and my grandfather caused me.
But instead of healing, I turned my pain into a weapon. And I used it against Remi.
Every day, I watched her chest rise and fall—and hated myself a little more.
Until the call came.
My phone buzzed.
I almost ignored it.
But when I saw the name flash across the screen, my heart dropped.
Isolde Vaughn.
“Rowan?” The nurse’s voice trembled. “It’s your grandmother. She collapsed. We believe it’s a hear
t attack.”
No.
I gripped the phone tighter, my knuckles turning white. “What hospital?”
She gave me the name. I stood slowly, dizzy from the wave of nausea that hit me.
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