The room was eerily quiet, except for the rhythmic beeping of the machines monitoring Lyla's vitals. Noah sat beside her, his fingers wrapped around her delicate hand as he watched her pale face, his heart heavy with the weight of the past days. The accident had shaken him to the core, but the worst blow came when the doctor finally spoke after the long, nerve-wracking surgery.
"She has short-term memory loss," the doctor informed them with a grave expression. "Her brain scan shows no permanent damage, which is a relief. However, she has lost a significant portion of her memory—approximately five years. She remembers her life until she was seventeen, but everything after that is gone. It's crucial that we don't overwhelm her. Any sudden shock might worsen her condition."
The words felt like a dagger to Noah's chest. Five years. The time they had spent together, their marriage, the love they had built—it was all erased.
