Chapter 178

CHAPTER 4

The wind howled outside like hyenas crying in the wild — a fierce, mournful sound that echoed through the empty streets. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed, then faded, swallowed by the night. The snow had piled high, blanketing the road in heavy drifts, and the world beyond her door had fallen into an eerie, suffocating silence.

Inside, the warmth of the small house wrapped around them, but the man standing just inside the threshold didn’t seem to let it touch him. He was tall — at least six feet — his frame lean but strong beneath the threadbare layers of clothing he wore.

But it wasn’t his size or the roughness of his appearance that struck Andrea the most.

It was his eyes.

They were a sharp, startling blue — clear and focused despite the cold — and in them, she saw something she hadn’t expected. Pride.

Not the broken, defeated look she had grown used to seeing in the eyes of those who had been battered by life. This man still had his dignity, his self-respect — the first things hardship usually stole from you. And when he spoke, his voice only confirmed it.

“No, thank you,” he said, his words rough but steady, his teeth chattering just a little from the cold. “I’m grateful for the food, truly. But I couldn’t accept anything more from you. I’ll be fine on my own.”

The way he said it — with quiet conviction and an unmistakable strength — made her pause. There was something about him… something more. It wasn’t just his pride. It was the steel behind it. The way he stood tall despite the way life had clearly tried to wear him down. There was a presence about him — a kind of quiet authority — and it intrigued her more than it should have.

She should have left it at that. She’d offered, and he had refused. She should have let the matter go.

But she didn’t.

“Why not?” she asked softly. “It’s going to be the coldest night of the year. You can sleep here on the sofa and stay warm.”

For a long moment, he just stared at her — those sharp blue eyes locked on hers, furrowed in thought. And then something shifted, like he was measuring her, weighing the offer against his own pride.

Finally, he spoke. “Okay,” he said slowly. “But if I stay… you’ll have to let me pay you back.”

There it was again — that quiet, unyielding dignity. The words came out gruff, his voice rough from the cold and something deeper. He wasn’t just asking for a place to stay — he was asking for the chance to earn it.

“I can’t stay otherwise,” he added, his jaw tight, his eyes bright with determination.

Andrea’s heart twisted. She recognized that need — the fierce, desperate need to hold onto the last shreds of your self-worth when the world had tried to take everything else.

“Pay me back how?” she asked, not unkindly — just confused by his insistence.

He hesitated, his fingers curling into fists at his sides like he was bracing for rejection. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “I could help you around the house — groceries, cooking, cleaning.” His voice softened, but there was still a thread of steel beneath it. “Whatever you need.”

He was offering work — standing there with his spine straight and his chin lifted, trying so hard to keep his pride intact while the fear of being turned away flickered just behind his words.

Andrea’s throat tightened.

“Of course,” she said softly, stepping back and opening the door a little wider.

The tension in his shoulders eased just a little as he stepped inside. And as she shut the door behind him, sealing out the cold and the dark, she realized something.

She hadn’t just offered him shelter. She’d given him something far more valuable — the chance to keep his dignity.

And maybe… just maybe… that was exactly what they both needed.

He stepped into the house slowly, his long strides careful, almost hesitant — as if he didn’t quite belong in a space like this. His sharp eyes flicked around the small sitting room, taking in the worn furniture and the clutter of a life lived alone. And yet, with just the two of them standing there, the space already felt… full.

“Sit down,” Andrea said gently, already moving toward the back of the house. “I’ll get some blankets and pillows for you. The sofa’s too small — I’ve got an old mattress in storage. You could use that. It’ll be more comfortable.”

But the man stopped her with a quiet urgency. “No, please,” he said, his voice low but firm. And then his eyes — those piercing, prideful blue eyes — dropped to her swollen stomach, softening in concern. “You shouldn’t be carrying heavy things.”

It caught her off guard — the careful way he said it, the quiet protectiveness in his voice. She hadn’t had anyone around for months. No one to tell her not to lift things, no one to notice when she struggled, no one to care. And now, with this man — a stranger — in her space, it felt… strange. As if letting him into her home had also let something else in. Something warm and unfamiliar.

She trailed behind him as he carried the mattress into the living room, his movements strong and sure despite the worn, thin layers of clothing hanging off his frame. He laid the mattress on the floor, then went to the cupboard for the blankets she pointed out — moving with a quiet efficiency that made her chest ache. This was a man used to carrying his own weight. A man who refused to be a burden.

When they finally settled, the silence stretched awkwardly between them. He sat on the edge of the sofa, his posture straight and his face unreadable. Andrea perched on the small chair across from him, feeling the weight of the moment.

“So… um…” she started, her voice faltering in the stillness. “I still don’t know your name.”

The change was instant — and devastating.

The proud, composed man she’d been speaking to only seconds ago seemed to crumble before her eyes. His face, lined with quiet strength, went blank. His shoulders, so straight and sure, sagged under an invisible weight. And his eyes — those brilliant, defiant blue eyes — dimmed, like a light being slowly snuffed out.

It was like watching someone drown without water.

She had thought he wasn’t broken. She had thought he’d held onto his pride despite everything life had done to him.

But now she knew she’d been wrong.

“Neither do I,” he said at last, his voice so low and raw it barely made it across the space between them. The words were jagged, broken — as if speaking them cost him something. As if they tore him apart from the inside out.

Andrea’s heart twisted painfully in her chest.

She hadn’t brought him in out of pity. She’d done it because she couldn’t stand the thought of him freezing out there. Because she’d seen a spark of strength and pride in him and wanted to help him keep it.

But now, looking at the hollow, shattered expression on his face, she realized there was so much more to his story — and so much more he’d lost.

Andrea had thought he was different—that unlike other homeless souls wandering the streets, he had somehow held onto his pride, his dignity. But now, she knew better.

She had been wrong.

His hollowed face, already gaunt with exhaustion and hunger, somehow managed to look even more broken. Shadows clung to the sharp angles of his cheekbones, and his too-thin fingers trembled slightly as they dragged across his face, disappearing into the scraggly brown beard that looked as lifeless as the rest of him. When he spoke, his voice was rough, strained—like every word was tearing something from deep inside him.

“I don’t know my name,” he said, his lips barely moving. “I don’t know who I am. Or what I am. Or where I come from.”

Andrea frowned, confusion flickering through her. “What?”

He exhaled shakily, a sound filled with something too raw to be just frustration.

“I was in an accident,” he said at last, the words heavy, like dragging chains behind him. “Or at least, that’s what they told me—the doctors, the police. I was driving fast through this town, hit a tree on the outskirts of Montera Springs. A newspaper delivery boy found me the next morning. Apparently, I had somehow crawled out of the wreck before the car exploded and caught fire.”

Andrea’s breath caught.

“I don’t remember any of it,” he continued, his voice as empty as the hollow space where his past should have been. “I woke up in the hospital, doctors poking and prodding at me. My mind was a blank slate. I didn’t even know my name. Didn’t know where I came from, what I did… nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

The pain in his voice was unmistakable—sharp and clear as winter air. Andrea felt her own heart crack at the sound of it.

But surely, someone must have been looking for him? A family, a friend—someone, somewhere must have cared. Someone must have missed him.

She hadn’t realized she had spoken those words aloud until she saw the way his face crumbled.

“For three weeks, I was in the hospital,” he said, his voice hoarse. “The police sent out inquiries, checked missing persons reports across the country. But the car was burned beyond recognition, nothing left to trace its registration. I had no ID on me. The clothes I was found in were half-burned, no tags, no clues. Just me—some nameless man lying in a hospital bed, waiting.”

Andrea swallowed hard, feeling bile rise in her throat as he bowed his head. His fingers clenched against his knees, knuckles white with the force of holding himself together.

“I waited,” he whispered. “I waited for someone to come. For someone to claim me, to file a missing person’s report that matched my description. The police were ready, watching, waiting for the call.” His lips curled into something that might have been a bitter smile if it weren’t so broken. “But no one came.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Andrea clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms as she stared at him, at the sheer weight of his words.

No one came for him.

And no one was coming for her either.

She had spent so long in Montera Springs, lost and forgotten, clinging to a past that haunted her. But at least she had a past, even if it hurt. Even if she would give anything to forget it.

He, on the other hand, had nothing.

No memories. No history. No one searching for him.

Montera Springs had become both their sanctuary and their prison.

The only difference was—he had forgotten.

And she never could.