I Hurried to My Husband after the Accident, but He Recalled Only His Ex – Daily Story

My heart was pounding as I made my way to the hospital through the darkened streets of San Francisco, anticipating the worst. When I finally arrived, I found my husband, Nathan, with his head bandaged and his memory blurred. The sole person he could recall clearly was his ex, Cora, who was already by his side. I began to question if our love could survive this challenge of lost memories and an ever-persistent past.

In the midst of San Francisco, the golden hues of sunset bathed the city in a warm light as I stood by the window of our quaint apartment, dreaming of the day I would direct my first film.

The room around me reflected our shared life and interests. The walls displayed Nathan’s stunning photographs, many of which captured candid moments of me in laughter or contemplation.

The fragrance of freshly brewed tea filled the air, a comforting ritual Nathan insisted we maintain each evening. It was our special time to reconnect after a busy day, to share thoughts or simply revel in the quiet moments together.

Nathan was at his desk, his focus intense as he edited his latest photographs. The soft clicks of his keyboard were a familiar and soothing soundtrack in our shared space.

Our small but bright apartment overlooked the lively streets below and was more than just a place to live; it was a creative sanctuary where our dreams flourished.

As I turned away from the window, Nathan’s phone buzzed. He paused, the tension in his shoulders revealing the caller was unexpected.

He glanced at the screen and then at me, “It’s Cora.”

Cora, his former girlfriend, whose name had barely been mentioned in years, was now displayed on his phone, seeking a favor.

“Hey, Clara, Cora’s in town for a gallery event and she’s asking if I can help with a photoshoot tomorrow,” Nathan said casually, unaware of the unease flickering across my face.

“A photoshoot? With Cora?” I tried to keep my voice steady, but it was hard not to let the jealousy seep through.

Nathan walked over, taking my hands in his.

“I know it sounds odd, but it’s strictly professional. Remember, our anniversary is coming up. Let’s not let anything disrupt that, okay?”

I nodded, attempting a smile, but my heart felt leaden.

“I just… It’s difficult, Nathan. You and her… and now this?”

He held me close, “Clara, you are my present and future. Cora is just a part of my past. Trust me, alright?”

The following day, I tried to concentrate on my projects, but thoughts of Nathan and Cora together kept intruding. Unable to contain my curiosity and worry, I visited the photoshoot location late in the evening.

As I approached, I saw them through the large studio window—Nathan with his camera, Cora posing in a short dress, her laughter light and flirtatious as she smiled at Nathan.

Nathan’s gaze suddenly lifted, meeting mine through the glass. Our eyes locked. Panic overwhelmed me, and I turned and fled from the scene.

As I burst onto the street, the cool evening air hit me, sharpening my senses. I ran through the streets of San Francisco, driven by a need to escape.

I didn’t stop until the heel of my favorite sandals broke, sending me stumbling into a quiet alley. Sitting on the cold ground, I fought back tears.

“This is the worst night of my life,” I whispered to the indifferent shadows. Little did I know that darker times lay ahead.

That evening, I waited at home, the apartment filled with the warm glow of candlelight and the aroma of Nathan’s favorite meal simmering on the stove.

I had meticulously set the table, planning every detail to celebrate our first anniversary—a milestone I’d eagerly awaited. I placed a small, beautifully wrapped gift beside his plate.

The clock ticked loudly, each minute feeling like an eternity. Nathan was unusually late, and countless scenarios played out in my anxious mind.

Maybe he was planning a surprise? Or could he still be with Cora, caught up in old memories?

As the evening wore on, so did my carefully crafted plans.

At midnight, marking our anniversary, exhaustion overtook me. Despite my anxiety, I fell asleep in the chair beside our festive table, still waiting for Nathan.

The next morning, a sharp ring jolted me awake. Disoriented, I reached for the phone, expecting Nathan’s voice. But it wasn’t him—a nurse from the local hospital was on the line.

Her words blurred together: “accident,” “emergency,” and “come quickly.” My heart sank as I grabbed my coat and rushed into the early morning light.

When I arrived breathlessly at the hospital, Cora was already there, sitting by Nathan’s bed in her short dress, soothing him with tales of their past. Nathan lay there, pale and confused, his head bandaged.

I moved closer to Nathan, anxiety wringing my heart as Cora gave me a scornful look.

Nathan turned to me with a blank stare, “Who are you?”

“Nathan, it’s me, Clara,” I said, desperately hoping for recognition.

A doctor approached, explaining, “He has a concussion and partial amnesia, which is common after such accidents. He’s experiencing shock. We need to keep him under observation overnight.”

The doctor ensured I grasped the seriousness. “If he stabilizes and his tests are normal by morning, he can be discharged. But at home, he needs a calm environment and strict bed rest to aid his recovery.”

Before I could speak to Nathan again, Cora pulled me aside. “Nathan remembers me and our happy times. There’s no place for you now,” she whispered coldly.

I met her gaze, determined. “His memory will return, and you’ll have to leave.”

Cora’s eyes narrowed, a smirk on her lips, “We’ll see. Until then, I’ll make him love me so much he’ll never want another woman.”

Anger flared within me, “Cora, this is my husband’s room. You should leave.”

The doctor intervened, “If he recognizes her, it might aid his recovery.”

Nathan, looking between us, finally spoke. “Cora is my girlfriend. Please stay,” he said, reaching out to her.

Tears welled up, “I’m your wife, Nathan. I’ll come back for you. You will remember.”

His gaze remained distant, “I… I don’t remember.”

Seeing Nathan’s panic and distress, I realized I needed to leave to avoid worsening his condition. “I’ll go, but I’ll be back in the morning.”

I turned to the doctor, “Please take good care of him.”

He reassured me, “Of course. Come back tomorrow after getting some rest. Space might help.”

Reluctantly, I left, my mind racing with worry. But I resolved to return prepared to help Nathan recall our life together.

As I exited, Cora caught up and sneered, “I won’t lose this chance.”

The next morning, I rushed to the hospital, my heart filled with hope and fear, only to find Nathan’s bed empty.

“Where’s Nathan?” I asked a nurse, trying to stay calm.

“He was discharged early this morning. A woman named Cora took him home,” she replied sympathetically.

My heart sank as I noted the address listed in his discharge papers. I needed to know where Nathan was.

Despair settled as I drove to work. I chose not to create a scene or forcibly bring Nathan home. A careful approach was necessary for his recovery.

At work, my boss’s cold demeanor greeted me.

“Due to your absences and missing a key presentation, we’re letting you go,” he said without compassion.

“I just need time to sort things out. It’s a personal emergency,” I pleaded.

“We need commitment. I’m sorry,” he said firmly.

Turning away, tears flowed freely. Once a place of ambition, the office felt cold.

“I need to fix this for Nathan and me,” I whispered. I believed in our love and was determined to fight for it.

Over the next week, I turned our living room into a makeshift studio. Determined to channel my creativity and close the gap between Nathan and me, I found strength and worked through the nights, fueled by desperation and hope.

A week later, as twilight fell, I stood outside Cora’s house, clutching a projector. I rang the bell, hoping for peace.

Cora’s face tightened as she saw me. “What are you doing here, Clara?”

“I need to see Nathan. It’s important,” I pleaded.

“You need to leave. Nathan is moving on,” she said, closing the door.

I set up the projector on the lawn, pointing it at the garage wall. The first video flickered to life, casting a soft glow.

The film showed our travels, Nathan and me exploring markets, his laughter filling the air.

“Look at us! We were so adventurous!” I exclaimed, smiling despite the tension.

Next, our secret beach wedding, the sound of waves mingling with our vows.

“I remember this day,” I said softly. “We promised forever in the sand.”

Scenes of everyday life in our apartment followed. Nathan flipping pancakes, ending in laughter.

“Oh no, not the pancakes!” I chuckled.

Then, a dance-off in our living room, goofy moves filling the space.

“And you thought you could dance better than me!” I teased loudly.

Nathan, drawn by our joyous memories, stood outside, his face wet with emotion.

After the film ended, he turned to me. “I don’t remember all this, Clara, but it’s beautiful. I want to be with the woman I chose, even if I can’t remember her,” he said, voice thick with emotion.

“You really think it’s good?” I asked, hopeful despite the ache in my heart.

“It’s incredible, your best work,” he affirmed, warming me against the cool night air.

Under the stars, with our story shining on the wall, I felt hope. Love might truly remember what the mind forgets.

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