Chapter 5

Shawn

The second I see her eyes, I know I’ve found the woman of my dreams.

And judging by her reaction, she knows me.

She’s even more beautiful than how I picture her every day in my mind. Intense green eyes seize me up before they widen in disbelief. Wave after wave of emotion washes over her face.

When I first knocked and there was no response, I thought she must be out or I had the wrong address.

It had been a long shot, calling the person handling my file in the military. But persistence paid off.

As far as I’m concerned, it’s persistence, hard work, and a positive attitude that sets extraordinary apart from ordinary. At least, I think that’s part of my beliefs. It may be that I acquired this over the last few years, but I think deep down, I have held this belief for a long time.

I’d like to think my core values are still there. It would be fucking awful to find that, once I get my full memory back—if I ever do—that I’m some selfish, narcissistic prick. It seems highly unlikely.

I mean, whilst I can’t say I’ve worked hard all my life and been persistent at the same time, I can confidently say I’ve worked hard over the last few years and been persistent in getting to the bottom of who I am.

If I hadn’t been persistent, I would not be standing here right now.

“Can I come in?” I ask again, since the beautiful woman is just staring at me.

For a second or two, I thought she was going to slam the door shut. It was as if she’d seen a ghost.

I hope she’ll be able to help me shed light on some of my dark past.

By now, part of me has come to terms with not remembering. In fact, on some days, I think it’s almost a blessing. Let’s face it: apart from being haunted by this exquisite face, I’ve got no baggage to carry around.

Some people have so much, I pity them.

“Okay.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

She takes a step back, and I walk straight into the hallway of her house.

It looked massive from the outside, and now that I’m standing inside, I see it’s huge.

“This way,” she uses her right arm to point straight ahead.

“Lead on, and I shall follow,” I say and try to smile a little.

Truth is, I don’t much feel like smiling—at least, not until I know who she is and why I remember her.

Now that I’ve laid eyes on her, I fear she may be an ex-girlfriend.

I mean, if she were current, she would have…

I stop the thought.

It’s fucking hard not to jump to conclusions.

She leads me through the hallway and turns left. There are no photographs on the wall, nor are there paintings or any other type of decoration. Right at the door where I came in stood a small wooden shelf with shoes at the bottom and keys and a torch on top.

Out of the corner of one eye, I can see the kitchen. It looks more lived in, with papers piled up on the bench, a mug on the table, and an open book next to it. The room gives off warmth.

We’re now standing in a massive lounge room.

Actually, I’m not sure if it’s a lounge or a dining room.

There’s a white leather couch, some armchairs, and a dining room table able to fit more than ten people. I wonder why she needs such a large table.

Again, I notice the absence of pictures, photos, or works of art. The walls are bare. Cushions are scattered on the lounge, but the wooden coffee table is bare. One shelf, with books and a television, complete the room.

“Care to sit down?” The way she has her arms folded in front of her chest leaves me to think she’s not overly pleased to see me. If I’m not mistaken, there’s a slight tremor running through her.

“I prefer to stand, if you don’t mind.”

Her right eyebrow arches upward a tiny bit.

And so, I take a seat.

“Look…” I’m not quite sure how to start this conversation. To say it’s awkward is a fucking understatement.

Whenever I tell people I’ve lost my memory, there’s instantly this look of pity in their eyes.

I don’t need anyone’s fucking pity. I need my fucking life back.

“Why now? Why now?” She’s speaking so quietly I can barely hear her.

“I need to know if I know you.” I decide it might be best to get straight to the point. If she’s an ex-girlfriend, I don’t want to hang around.

My words obviously cut her deep because she flinches as if I’ve struck her.

Had someone hurt her?

“I…” It’s not like me to be at a loss for words, but those emerald eyes of hers are boring into me with such intensity, I feel as if any second, I’ll go up in flames. “Let me start at the beginning…well, maybe not the beginning beginning, but a bit earlier.”

It could be the way I’m stumbling over my words or something else, but her lips curl up ever so slightly at the corner.

“Afghanistan was the pits, from the bits I remember. Sometimes, I think it might be a good thing I don’t recall much. Anyway, since the accident, I do know that we were driving in a jeep.

“All around us was a fire war. It was relentless. We’d been inserted in the most insane way. It was over a hundred degrees with no fucking shade. I reckon most people would have given up by now, but not SEALS. No fucking way.”

I pause. I have to. The pounding in my head is starting. Some deep breathing will help me.

Those few memories I have are fucking painful. Guns firing, shells exploding, and screaming. I think the screaming was the worst.

“SEALS aren’t swayed by odds. Oh, no. Neither are SEALS worried about the number of enemies or the awful battle conditions. Apparently, SEALS prevail—or die.”

Her eyes are boring into me. Her mouth is a tiny bit agape, so I can just see the tip of her tongue. I have to suppress the urge to get up and kiss her.

Right now, she’s vulnerability personified.

“I was riding in the back of the jeep. I’ve got little memory of what happened before, but apparently, we were shot at. How some of the others made it out is still not clear. Anyway, I was left behind. When I came to, I was in some makeshift hospital.”

It’s difficult to tell her all this. All I came for is answers.

Why do I remember her face? Is she important to me?

But I can’t expect her to answer without a bit of background.

“I was treated by Doctors Without Borders, and then I worked with them for a while. Eventually, I made my way back to the U.S. I worked as a security guard and suffered another injury. This time, though, some of my memory came back.

“Not a lot, but a little. And one thing that always stayed with me was an image of this exquisite woman. She was beautiful beyond description. Somehow, I knew she was important, but I don’t know why.”

It may be the light, but I think I can see a tiny tear roll down her cheek.

“So, I had no way of working out how to find this woman until the other day. I watched television and saw her. So, now, I’m here to ask you personally: are you important to me? Is there a reason I remember your face?”

I watch her face for any clues. The air feels thick, and even though I’m not wearing a shirt with a collar, I feel like loosening something around my neck.

For a while, she just sits and keeps her eyes on me. It’s difficult to work out what exactly is going through her mind.

Eventually, she drops her gaze and stares at her hands. They’re resting in her lap.

“Yes,” she whispers, and I find myself leaning forward in my seat.

A thriller could have me no more on the edge of my seat than this real-life scenario playing out right here, right now.

“You…I-I mean we’re…no…we’re…” she stops.

I hang on her every word, waiting, willing her to tell me about her, me, us.

For some reason, I feel my heart racing in my chest. I know whatever she’s going to tell me is going to be of utmost importance and will add another piece to my very own puzzle.

“I’m your wife. At least, I think I still am your wife.”

At her words, my stomach turns inside out, and I’m torn between wanting to shout for joy or go and throw up.

Those words—my wife—hit me like a speeding truck hits a brick wall.