my father said, the words swirling around in my head as the air was sucked out of the room. “In fact, you had a restraining order issued against him that expired just a day before the accident.” I stared at his familiar features, trying to make sense of what he was saying. I knew him, knew every inch of his face. There were a few new wrinkles that weren’t there the last time I remembered seeing him, but he was still my father. And my mom, sitting beside me holding my hand, was the same as she had always been. And then there was the man standing just inside the room, a shadow darkening his handsome features. Less than ten minutes ago I was kissing that man, touching him. Convinced that he was the man I pledged to marry months ago. But the thing is, I don’t remember him. In fact, I remember very little about the last three years of my life. More than I did when I woke from a medically induced coma, but not enough. I was in an accident weeks ago.
