Chapter 184

Chapter 9

Andrea hadn’t known she could be this happy.

Hadn’t known that life could feel light again. That laughter could slip so easily from her lips. That she could wake up and not feel like she was dragging herself through another day, just surviving.

For so long, it had felt like she was at the end of the road. Like her world had shrunk down to nothing but survival, to hiding in Montera Springs because she had nowhere else to go. She had told herself that was all this place would ever be—a safe house, a temporary refuge. But now…

Now, there was something else here.

Hope.

She sat up in bed, brushing her hair, feeling stronger than she had in weeks. Christmas had come and gone, the New Year was approaching, and even though she was still supposed to stay in bed, the risk had passed. She was healing.

And so was her heart.

Her eyes caught a flash of yellow—a sticky note, pressed against the jug of water beside her bed. Her fingers reached for it instinctively, and the moment she saw the handwriting, her lips twitched into a smile.

Asher.

"There’s a sandwich in the fridge for you. Eat it before 12. I’ll make lunch when I get back."

She shook her head, rolling her eyes at how he always took care of her, but just as she was about to put the note down, she noticed the extra line at the bottom, scrawled in as an afterthought.

"P.S.—And miss me while I’m gone :)"

Andrea bit her lip, but it was no use—the smile took over her face before she could stop it.

No matter how hard she tried to keep things normal between them, he always found a way to tease her, to flirt, to slip under her skin with effortless charm. And damn him, it was working.

Her fingers curled around the note, pressing it to her chest as she let out a breath.

She would never let him see just how much he was starting to mean to her.

She couldn’t.

Especially after that fated Christmas night.

The night he had held her close, whispering dreams into the air, painting a future so beautiful she had nearly let herself believe in it.

And then he had kissed her.

The memory sent a shiver down her spine, warm and electric. It had been soft, careful—like he was afraid to scare her away. But it had also been real, raw in a way that no one had ever kissed her before. It had left her dizzy, lightheaded, wanting more.

She had wanted to tell him not to stop. To stay beside her forever.

But she hadn’t.

Because she didn’t know what her life would look like once the baby came.

Because he didn’t even know who he was. Where he came from.

And she couldn’t afford to let herself believe in something that might disappear the moment his memories returned.

She had made that mistake once before—with Victor Remington. She had let herself be blinded by feelings, had believed in love like it was enough to hold her world together. She had trusted a man just because she thought she loved him.

And now she was here.

Pregnant. Alone.

She couldn’t afford to be that reckless again.

But as she traced the ink of his handwriting with her fingertips, as she clutched the note just a little closer to her chest, a terrifying truth settled deep inside her.

She was already falling.

And this time, she didn’t know if she could stop.

Andrea sat there for a long while, wallowing in self-pity, her hands protectively cradling the swell of her stomach.

She shouldn’t. She shouldn’t let herself get lost in these thoughts. But some days, it was hard to shake them off. The uncertainty. The fear. The quiet ache of wanting something she wasn’t sure she could have.

Her stomach growled, reminding her that, no matter how lost she felt in her own head, she still had a baby depending on her. With a sigh, she dragged herself out of bed and made her way to the kitchen.

She hadn’t expected much. Maybe some leftovers, maybe the sandwich Asher had promised.

But when she opened the fridge, she froze.

Fresh fruits. Crisp vegetables. Eggs. Ham. Bacon. Cartons of milk and bottles of fresh juice lined the shelves.

Andrea blinked.

He had stocked the fridge.

Her fingers hovered over a bunch of grapes as realization settled in. Asher was doing well at his job.

She didn’t know why that surprised her, but it did.

It made no sense—how a man who couldn’t remember his own name, his own address, or where he came from could somehow understand business, could handle numbers and negotiations as if they were second nature.

The contradiction must have been even stranger for him.

She remembered the way he had spoken about it once, in a rare moment of vulnerability, when his frustration had gotten the best of him.

"It feels like my own mind is against me," he had admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "Like the missing pieces are right there, just inches away, behind some curtain I can’t pull back. And I try—I focus so hard, thinking if I just push a little more, if I reach a little further, I’ll get there. I’ll see myself again."

His jaw had clenched then, his fingers twitching restlessly.

"But it never works. It’s like there’s a damn wall in my head. A huge, immovable thing, keeping me out. And no matter what I do… I can’t get through it."

Andrea had listened in silence, her heart aching for him, before cautiously suggesting, "Maybe we should go see the doctor again?"

The reaction had been instant.

Asher had shut down.

A muscle in his jaw had ticked. His fingers had curled into fists. His entire body had gone rigid, and when he spoke, his voice had been tight, controlled—but simmering with something else underneath.

"I’ve already seen a doctor," he had said, clipped and sharp. "And he didn’t do a damn thing for me."

"But that was before. Things are different now. You are remembering things."

"What, hot chocolate? The smell of roses? Random feelings that don’t mean a damn thing?!" His voice had risen slightly, his frustration cracking through. "It’s useless, Andrea. And honestly, sometimes I feel like these aren’t even real memories at all."

She had frowned. "What do you mean?"

His eyes had flickered with something dark. Something almost afraid.

"Like my mind is just making things up so I don’t notice how empty it really is."

That had been the first time he had admitted that to her. And Andrea had felt something deep in her chest tighten.

"Asher…"

"Drop it." His tone had been final.

"But you should still see the doctor."

"I said drop it."

And he hadn’t spoken to her again for the rest of the day.

Andrea exhaled slowly, shaking the memory away as she reached for the sandwich he had left for her.

He didn’t want to remember.

He wouldn’t say it. Wouldn’t admit it.

But the truth was there, written all over his hesitation, in the way he pushed away any mention of trying again.

Asher was afraid of what was waiting for him on the other side of that wall.

And deep down, Andrea was afraid of it too. Not of what he would remember, but what it would entail. Remembering would mean leaving – leaving her here, forever.

Andrea closed the fridge, sandwich in hand, only to spot something else waiting for her.

A bag of potato crisps sat on top of the fridge, and attached to it was another sticky note.

She swallowed.

Slowly, she peeled the note off, already knowing what she would find.

"Had the sandwich yet? You can have this too, along with a glass of orange juice."

And, of course, a big, cheerful smiley face drawn at the end.

She exhaled, her fingers trembling as she turned the note over.

There was a P.S. this time.

"I miss you."

Her heart clenched.

Andrea pressed the note to her chest, gripping it as if that could somehow stop the ache spreading through her.

She couldn’t keep doing this.

She couldn’t keep finding these little notes, these tiny glimpses into a life she wasn’t allowed to have. Couldn’t keep pretending that his kindness didn’t burrow deep under her skin, making her want something she knew wasn’t hers to keep.

Asher was leaving.

Not today. Not tomorrow.

But soon.

Soon, he would remember who he was.

Soon, he would remember his name. His home. His real life.

And then he would leave.

And she—

She would be left here. Alone. With nothing but a handful of sticky notes and a heart that would ache every time she looked at them.

Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, and before she could stop herself, she was crying—standing in the middle of the kitchen, sobbing into her hands like a fool.

Why?

Why was he doing this to her?

Why did he have to be so good to her? So warm, so thoughtful, leaving little notes, making her smile when she had no business smiling?

Why was he making her dream?

Why was he showing her a life that she could never have?

Andrea wanted him. She wanted to believe in this, in him. In them.

But she knew better.

No matter what she did, no matter how much she tried to guard herself—

It was already too late.

She was going to get hurt.

And there was nothing she could do to stop it.