Just moments ago, you accidentally called out your amnesiac husband's childhood nickname. The name slipped from your lips before you could stop it.
"Sunny."
A name only the people closest to Kent had ever used, a small piece of your eight years together that remained familiar even after everything had fallen apart. Before his amnesia, you had asked him for a divorce.
You had known Kent eight years and been married six. Together, you had a five-year-old daughter named Dagny, the one person who made your family feel complete.
Yet your marriage was far from perfect. You loved studying plants, observing how they grew beneath the sunlight, and finding peace in their quiet, natural beauty. Kent, on the other hand, loved chasing thrills. Extreme sports, dangerous expeditions, and high-risk adventures were his passion. He returned with another injury, another explanation, and another promise to be more careful.
You had begged him to stop countless times. You had explained how terrified you felt whenever he left for another dangerous adventure or returned home covered in bruises. You had reminded him that Dagny needed her father and that you couldn't bear the thought of becoming a widow while your daughter was still so young.
But Kent seemed to believe that his precautions were enough. He explained the risks, defended his choices, and returned to the same dangerous lifestyle. No matter how many times you pleaded with him, he could not understand the fear you lived with.
Eventually, you couldn't take it anymore. You asked for a divorce. Not because you hated Kent, but because you loved him too much to keep watching him gamble with his life. You planned to leave the house temporarily so both of you could cool off.
You had not imagined that, before you could even decide what would happen to your marriage, you would receive news that Kent had been involved in a severe car accident. The accident left him with an unusual form of selective amnesia.
"Who are you?"
Kent asked, his expression blank with confusion.
"I don't think I know you."
He remembered his parents, his younger brother Espen, his friends, and almost everything else about his life. Yet the memories of you and your marriage seemed to have vanished completely. He didn't remember your wedding, your shared home, or your years together. He even forgot you had a child together.
At first, you thought the situation might be a strange kind of relief. You wouldn't have to explain the divorce to a husband who couldn't remember your marriage, and he might not return to his dangerous lifestyle ever again.
Your in-laws are incredibly sweet, one of the main reasons you stayed in the marriage almost six years. They treated you well, encouraged you to stay, and scolded Kent whenever he hurt you.
With his amnesia, they saw an opportunity: they wanted him to become a devoted husband and take care of Dagny while his memories were missing, hoping he would make up for his past mistakes.
After the doctors, Kent's mother Ingrid and the rest of the family pulled you aside. They asked you to participate in an unusual plan. You asked what they had in mind, and Espen, Kent's younger brother, stepped forward.
"Don't you hate it when my brother throws himself into extreme sports and ignores his family?"
Espen asked, his arms folded across his chest.
"You've tried talking to him, and so have we. He does not seem to understand how much his decisions affect everyone around him."
He glanced towards the hospital room before continuing.
"Now he's lost his memories of you, and he has a chance to start doing things differently. We want all of us to keep him in the dark about who you are. We told him you're his personal assistant. He needs to learn to take care of Dagny himself. He needs to understand what being responsible for a family actually means, instead of assuming everything is fine as long as he comes home alive."
Espen's expression became more serious.
"If he gets his memory back and still hasn't changed, then I'll be the first to support your divorce. I'm not asking you to forgive him or pretend that he hasn't hurt you. I'm asking you to give him a chance to prove that he can be different."
You accepted the proposal. You weren't asking for a divorce because you had stopped loving Kent. You simply didn't want to become a widow and leave Dagny to grow up without her father.
That night, you spoke to Dagny about the little game the family wanted to play. You explained it to her gently: when she was with Daddy, she had to pretend that she didn't know Mommy, okay?
"Okay, Mommy,"
Dagny agreed innocently, trusting your explanation.
Next morning, you brought Dagny to Kent's hospital room. Before entering, you crouched in front of her and reminded her of the plan.
"Remember what Mom told you, sweetheart? When Daddy asks who your mummy is, just tell him you don't know her. You only know he's your daddy, okay?"
"Okay, Mom."
"Good girl."
You took Dagny's hand and led her into the room. Kent was sitting against the pillows of his bed. At twenty-eight he was a fit, athletic man whose usual confidence had been subdued by his injuries and the gaps in his memory. A bandage wrapped around his head, and bruises marked his arms.
When he saw you, his expression softened. Then he noticed the little girl holding your hand.
"Hey, you're here again,"
Kent said, his voice polite but distant.
"The last time you left without properly introducing yourself. My mom told me about you; she said you're my assistant. Did you come to check on me?"
His gaze settled on Dagny, and a faint, confused smile appeared on his face.
"And who is this little girl you've brought with you?"
He pushed himself up on one elbow and smacked the mattress beside his hip.
"Sit. Both of you."