LYDIA
I stared at the man sitting before me, unable to wrap my head around what he just said.
He was my husband.
I knew he was telling the truth — the pure grief etched on his face and the way his entire body was trembling with the effort of keeping his cool together made his words real to me.
But I still wasn't willing to accept it.
The fact that he just told me that I was a married woman made me want to squirm. It made me want to jump out of my skin and crawl into another body.
Because while my entire brain might be a mass that was devoid of any form of memories right now, there was one thing that was absolutely certain about me. The one thing I was dead sure of.
I wasn't the marriage type.
I never wanted to get married.
The idea of being committed to one person, of waking up to the same face every day. Of doing things for someone else, compromising on my values and what I stand for just to accommodate someone else made me cringe so bad by just thinking about it.
But here I was, and the truth was staring right at my face.
I was…married.
The thought sent an involuntary shudder through me, and I couldn't hide how revusled I felt by the entire thing.
The man must have seen something on my face because he pulled away, letting go of my hand.
"You don't believe me."
It wasn't a question. He was affirming what I was feeling. I knew he was telling the truth, he knew that I was aware that he was telling the truth.
But I didn't want that truth.
I wasn't willing to accept it.
"Lydia. Look at me. You have to believe me. I would never lie to you. Never. You can ask everyone else in the hospital. I have no reason to lie. You are my wife. We have been married for years, over a decade, even. There might have been some…issues between us. But I promise you. l am your husband."
His words were delivered with an intensity that made me uncomfortable, but there was something to his words that stood out.
I shifted slightly away from him.
"What do you mean by that?" I asked.
He frowned.
"Mean by what, exactly?"
"That. What you just said. That there are some issues between us. What exactly does that mean? What sort of issues?"
My voice trembled slightly, but I needed to know. What if this man was lying to me?
Worse, what if our marriage was not a happy one?
An unfamiliar and very strange expression flickered across his eyes at my question, but it was gone in the blink of an eye.
Of course. I had no idea what it was yet, but in our supposed 'marriage', there was a secret.
And this man was hesitant to tell me.
"Tell me," I asked again, my voice harder than I expected.
He ran a weary hand down his face.
"You left me three years ago, Lydia. You went missing. And I – I could not find you, no matter how hard I tried."
My stomach dropped.
Of course. Of course we were no longer married. If I had walked out of the marriage on my own accord, then this man had no right, none absolutely, to still refer to himself as my husband. Right?
"I left?"
He nodded, swallowing past a lump in his throat.
"What did you do?" I quipped.
His frown deepened.
"What do you mean?"
"What the fuck did you do to make me leave?" I asked again, my voice taking on a sharp edge.
His expression fell into one of sadness as the realisation of what I was implying dawned on him.
"Oh my goodness. No. Lydia, No. Why would you even… I didn't do anything. I have never, and would never hurt you on purpose. You're the only one who is at the position to answer the question, but you can't, unfortunately, seeing how your memory is not at its full capacity yet."
He paused and ran a hand through his hair.
"I turned this entire town upside down searching for you, Lydia. I never … I never thought I would see you again. Hell, I never expected …" he trailed off again, "but here you are. Here you are, Lydia. Imagine how shocked I was when I saw you in the operating room."
He was rambling, and there was a mixture of relief and worry evident in his voice.
But his words made me frown.
"Hold on. Are we… divorced?"
"Of course not. Why would you even think that?" he countered.
"Separated?"
"Absolutely not."
"Do other people still call you my husband?"
"For the love of God, Lydia. No, we are not divorced. We were happily married and yes, other people still call me your husband," he responded, his voice weary and resigned.
My head was spinning, and all I wished for, the one thing I badly wanted at the moment was to remember.
What had happened in my marriage that made me leave? And even if this man was telling the truth, I couldn't have just walked away without a good reason, right?
There had to be something.
Something important. A detail I was missing, that I had to know.
The doctor sighed and stood up.
"I won't press you for anything, Lydia. I am glad that you are back, and that is enough for me. You don't have to strain yourself trying to remember. Your memory will come back, and you'll see for yourself that I would never lie to you. I'll let you rest now," he said softly, his eyes shining with a strange, yet familiar glimmer.
He looked like he was going to cry, and for a tiny, fleeting moment, my heart went out to him.
If he was telling me all that had happened without hiding anything, then I could not help but imagine how torn he must be feeling at the moment.
"The nurse will administer some doses for you. You need to sleep more. That will boost your recovery," he stated firmly and turned to leave.
He was almost at the door when I spoke again.
"Hey."
He didn't turn back to look at me. But he stopped.
"You didn't tell me your name," I stated quietly.
He turned around this time, and there was a tiny silver of hope in his eyes.
"Joey. My name is Joey Basset. And you are my wife, Lydia Bassett."
"Thank you," I muttered.
He nodded and walked out.
The door closed with a definite click behind him, and I was left with thoughts running wild in my head.
If Joey was indeed my husband, what could have happened between us three years ago?
And how bad could it have been, if I had walked out of the marriage on my own accord and never went back to him?
My head spun faster. I suddenly felt nauseous. The room pressed down on me, and I suddenly found it hard to breathe.
I had a million questions, but the most important ones were:
What happened three years ago? Why did I walk away? And what led me back to the man who was supposed to be my husband?
Was it fate? Mere coincidence?
Or a third, secret thing?