“A new line will need to be placed in your other arm,” he said to me. I nodded and tried to look around him to the stranger who claimed he was my husband.
“Where’s Elliot?” I demanded. “Where is he?”
“Elliot?” Anderson almost gaped at me in shock. “Your ex?”
Your ex.
“My ex?” I tensed. “What the hell do you mean Elliot is my ex? He’s my boyfriend!”
My mother’s earlier words echoed in my mind. She’d said Elliot and I broke up four years ago, but that couldn’t have been true. It couldn’t. Elliot and I were in love. We were planning a future together.
“No, he’s n-not!” Anderson stammered, looking completely lost and panicked. “I’m your husband. You’re Noah Riley. Mr Ainsley, Mrs Ainsley . . . tell her.”
I looked to my parents and waited for them to deny this man’s claim, but they didn’t. They looked from him to me and their expressions were ones of sorrow.
“No,” I whispered. “Mum, tell me this is a lie. A sick joke. Please.”
Fat tears slid down her cheeks. I stared at her, waiting for her to tell me the words I so desperately needed to hear, but she didn’t. She took my hand in hers and gave it a comforting squeeze.
“You and Anderson married over three years ago now.” She rubbed her thumb over my skin when I stilled. “You and Elliot broke up and never got back together, honey. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
I felt the moment that my heart broke in two. A pain that was body-consuming stabbed at my chest, and before I knew what was happening, I turned to the side of my bed and vomited until I was dry-heaving. My mother was in a state of panic.
“I want Elliot,” I cried as I retched. “I need him.”
“I already called his mum when I was out in the hallway earlier with your dad. She’ll get him here, honey. He’ll be here.”
“The hell he will!” Anderson spluttered as my father grabbed a tissue to wipe my mouth with. “Noah made it clear years ago that she doesn’t want to be anywhere near him. That arsehole isn’t getting close to her so he can hurt her again. I won’t allow it.”
Anderson’s words were like a hard slap to my face.
What on earth had happened in my life for me to marry someone other than my Elliot – and worse, to never want to see or be near him again? I stared at Anderson as tears rolled down my cheeks, and I looked at Doctor Abara as he crossed the room, stood in front of Anderson and spoke in hushed tones. Then I looked back at my parents and found their gazes on me. They were worried over me. I could see the fear in their eyes, and it made me feel sick.
I wanted to scream.
In my head, I was comforting myself that this was all wrong, that it was some sort of massive mistake, but everyone in front of me was saying otherwise. My parents had informed me that Elliot and I broke up; my dad said he had cancer and I could see that he was telling the truth based on his appearance. Boris Johnson was no longer the mayor of London, he was now the prime minister of the United Kingdom. Everything that I had heard – and seen – matched up with what everyone was telling me.
I felt like I was a stranger in my own body, in my own life, and I didn’t know who to believe because I couldn’t even believe myself. The reality I thought I was living was no longer my own. I felt lost. I needed Elliot, I needed to speak to him, but when I looked at Anderson – who was still speaking to my doctor – his words suddenly replayed in my head. He’d said I had made it clear years ago that I didn’t want to be near Elliot and that he had hurt me in some way. I was seemingly married to this man, so there had to be a reason why he would say that.
I was so confused. I didn’t know who or what to believe.
“Why is this happening to me?” I wept. “What’d I do to deserve this?”
Dad leaned down, careful to avoid the mess I’d made, and gently kissed my head. “Don’t do this to yourself. You want someone to blame, something that can make sense of all of this, but sometimes bad things just happen, sweetheart.”
I wiped my cheeks. “But this didn’t just happen, Dad. I’m not like this because I woke up one morning and just suddenly lost my memory. I was in an accident, an accident I know nothing about, you . . . you have to tell me what happened.”
My parents shared a look and I didn’t miss the expression of dread and worry that passed between them. I didn’t think I could handle any more surprises, but I needed to know what had happened to me. Having no memory of what I’d been through left me feeling naked and vulnerable.