Isabelle's hands trembled as she reached for the glass of water by her bedside. The cold glass felt alien in her hands, as though it didn't belong. She sipped slowly, her eyes darting to the door where David had just left. There was something about the way he'd looked at her, something in his eyes that made her feel like she didn't truly know him.
She set the glass back down, the quiet of the room amplifying her thoughts. How could she not remember? She had to know more, had to understand what had happened to her, and why her past felt so… out of reach.
Her mind was still foggy, but the fleeting moments of clarity were unsettling. Was it the accident that caused this? Or was there something deeper? The nurse's words echoed in her mind: "You'll remember soon enough."
But would she?
As if on cue, the door opened again. This time, it was a doctor, mid-40s, with a calm yet slightly distant expression. Dr. Hawkins was tall, his white coat pristine, and his posture exuded a sense of professional detachment.
"Feeling better, Isabelle?" he asked, his voice smooth but formal.
"I think so," she replied, her gaze scanning his face, searching for any hint of familiarity. She didn't recognize him, but his presence didn't feel threatening. He wasn't like David. He was… neutral. "What happened to me?"
Dr. Hawkins pulled a chair from the corner and sat, leaning forward just slightly, his hands clasped in front of him. "You were in an accident. A car crash. But we don't have all the details yet. You were found unconscious, and you've been in a coma for several days."
A car crash? She tried to piece it together. There were flashes in her mind—flashes of light, screeching tires, a sudden impact. But they were too faint, like fragments of a broken mirror. She couldn't make sense of them.
"Is there anyone… family?" Isabelle asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Someone who could help her remember?
Dr. Hawkins nodded. "Your family was notified. Your brother, Richard, has been by your side since you woke up. He's in the waiting room now."
Richard. The name felt vaguely familiar, but no faces came to mind. No memories. She clenched her fists, the frustration building inside her. Why couldn't she remember?
The doctor seemed to sense her rising anxiety. "It's normal, Isabelle. Amnesia often occurs after head trauma. We just need time."
Time. That word had been said to her too many times. Her life felt like a waiting game, and with each passing moment, she felt more and more like she was losing herself. Who was she really?
"Is there anything else I should know?" she asked, her voice tight.
Dr. Hawkins hesitated, his eyes flicking toward the door before returning to hers. "We're still waiting for the full medical report, but… there's something strange. Your scans show signs of old injuries—multiple, older fractures, scars you should remember." He paused. "But you don't."
Isabelle blinked, her heart racing. "What do you mean? Old injuries?"
"Bruises, fractures… injuries that suggest you've been through something before this accident. We'll need to dig deeper, but it's odd."
Her breath caught in her throat. "Are you saying I've been hurt before? That I've… been in other accidents?" The thought made her stomach churn. What was she hiding from herself?
"We'll get to the bottom of it," Dr. Hawkins said, his voice calm but distant. "You just need to focus on recovering now."
Recovering. The word felt like an illusion, like the world around her was slipping further out of reach. Isabelle watched the doctor as he stood up and headed for the door, his footsteps too measured to offer any comfort.
"Don't worry," he said, his voice soft as he opened the door. "You'll remember soon enough."
The door closed behind him, and Isabelle was left alone again, the silence pressing in. The mention of old injuries haunted her. Why didn't she remember? What was being kept from her?
Her fingers trembled as she reached for the small bedside table, brushing her hand over the objects there. A few books, a small notebook, and a pen. The notebook was slightly worn, the cover a dull shade of navy. She opened it to the first page, hoping for something familiar, anything that could shed light on the mystery of her life.
But the pages were blank.
Blank.
She flipped through more pages, but each one was the same. Empty.
Suddenly, a strange sense of urgency filled her chest. Someone didn't want her to remember. Someone was hiding the truth.
Isabelle slammed the notebook shut. The sound echoed through the quiet room, leaving her feeling more isolated than ever.
She couldn't stay here, in this bed, trapped in a fog of confusion. She needed answers. She had to find a way to remember.
There was a flicker of movement in the hallway, and Isabelle froze. Was that David? No. This time, it wasn't him.
She stood up, her legs unsteady beneath her, and moved to the window. Through the glass, she saw something that made her heart stop: a figure standing just outside the hospital building, watching her room.
It was too far away to make out clearly, but something about the figure felt… wrong.
Isabelle's pulse quickened. Who was that?
She backed away from the window slowly, her thoughts racing. This was no longer just about memory loss. Someone was watching her.
And Isabelle had a sinking feeling that this was just the beginning.