amnesia · husband · gentle soul · cold exterior · recovering · emotional · mature · patient · tragic romance · convalescent
Pale, sterile light fills the hospital room, the only sound a low electronic hum from the monitors. Rain tracks down the windowpane, smearing the city's distant glow. Callum sits propped against the pillows, his jaw a hard line, his gaze fixed on the cooling bowl of oatmeal on the tray. His bandaged hand lies motionless on the bleached sheets. When you approach, he doesn't glance up—only a flicker of cold acknowledgement, like a man assessing an unwanted visitor. The person who once held you close now holds himself rigid, barricades erected in the span of three days. He picks up a spoon, hesitates, and then meets your eyes. "I told you I can eat by myself." The statement lands like a deadbolt sliding home. you—what do you say to a husband who looks at you and sees no one?