always? in all ways.

by greyrosettes

Summary:

After Conrad gets into a car crash and loses his memory, Belly spends every waking minute of her life teaching him how to relearn everything — including how to love her all over again.

Featuring Belly and Conrad in a Rewrite of ‘The Vow’

Chapter 1

Conrad and Belly’s life together had just started; why did it feel like she was already about to lose him?

The days and nights moved slow but she still kept track like clockwork. They were already on day 18.

It had been 18 days since Belly has stepped foot out of the hospital. 18 days of being surrounded by endless beeps from machines and hoarse breaths from tubes attached to him. 18 days of Belly sleeping curled up in a rigid and uncomfortable chair or holding Conrad’s hand at his bedside and laying in his lap until she dozed off. 18 days of Belly having to put her grief on the back burner and put on a brave face whenever concerned visitors stepped in left and right.

It’s been 18 days since Belly fell to her knees screaming her lungs out in anguish after hearing the most haunting phone call that no wife should ever have to answer:

“Mrs. Fisher, your husband, Conrad, was in a terrible car accident. He was the only survivor at the scene and he’s been touch and go since he got here. We’re wheeling him into surgery right now and I give you my word that we will do our very best but I can’t make any promises right now. I hate to be frank and rather blunt, but I do suggest that you come to Massachusetts General as soon as you can and prepare yourself for all possibilities.”

The machines that breathed for him and kept his heart beating had more life in them than he did. Surely the world wasn’t going to be cruel and take him away from her, right? Conrad, the purest soul she’s ever known, had so much more to live for. Surely the world knew that too, right?

Belly’s mind clouded with far too many ‘what if’s’. What if this was it for her and Conrad? Was this her karma for all those years she spent denying her deepest feelings for Conrad? Was this the world’s way of saying that she was an idiot for spending all those years for a man who ended up cheating on her in the end, and that all that time they lost was something she could never make up for?

The silver wedding band that sat on her left hand was a painful reminder that they hadn’t even celebrated their one year anniversary of marriage. ‘Please wake up, Conrad,’ she’d repeat to herself everyday like a mantra, ‘I need you’.

Every time that Belly fell asleep at Conrad’s side — hunched over his bed all while sitting instead of fully lying down because sitting mean being as close to Conrad as possible — always slipped her hand into his. When she would wake up the next day, she would see how her hand never left his.

And every morning, she squeezed his hand gently. “Hi, Conrad. I know you're in there somewhere. Just... come back to me, okay? Please come back." She would pause to see if his hand would squeeze hers back. Instead, all she’d get was the light and barely-there, rhythmic pause in his wrist to respond. Even the heartbeat she heard on the monitors wasn't quite his own.

The words from this morning’s rounds echoed in her mind: “He's healing well physically and as we can see, his scans show significant improvement. It's just a matter of time before he wakes up.”

But when would that be? An hour? A day? A week? A month? They were already on day 18. Where does it go from here? And when he did finally wake up, what if the doctors were wrong about everything else? What if there was damage they couldn't see on the scans? Would they have to live the rest of their lives walking on egg shells, terrified that Conrad could relapse at any moment?

Belly tried to remind herself to focus on Dr. Reeves’, Conrad’s neurosurgeon, reassurance earlier when she asked why nothing was happening or changing. “That's not necessarily a bad thing, Mrs. Fisher. Stable is good. Stable means his body is healing. The brain works on its own timeline."

Belly took on a new reading challenge and read every journal article and study in Neurosurgery journals and clinical databases about brain injuries. She'd joined online support groups for people whose loved ones were in comas (she had to take extra precautions considering the ones she accidentally joined earlier on were actually for families who lost their loved ones while they were still in their comas). She'd learned about ICP monitoring and Glasgow Coma Scales and the difference between a traumatic brain injury and a hemorrhagic stroke. But medicine was her husband’s thing; after all, he was the doctor between the two of them. She had become an expert on something she'd never wanted to know anything about.

Belly talked to him everyday. She would sit by his side for hours on end, hand-in-hand, retelling all the little bits and pieces of their love story. Sometimes, she’d play their wedding video on her laptop and Belly would tell herself that it was just like the first time they watched the video together. On days where she felt like she had run out of words, she’d had his favorite food delivered. His portion would sit idly on his tray as they watched reruns of all his favorite TV shows on the room’s TV. She had turned the room into their own bubble, where even there, she tried to replicate date nights and even the ambience of their home.

And it didn’t matter that he was in a coma. One way or another, she knew in her heart that Conrad was always listening.

"Mrs. Fisher?” A nurse appeared in the doorway, pulling Belly away from her thoughts. It was Madelyn, the kind and bubbly nurse with red hair who always asked how she was doing, which was funny because nobody ever really wanted to know when they asked that. Ever since she was assigned to Conrad’s treatment, Madelyn became a safe space for Belly to confide in. It was nice to have a friend amidst all the chaos, especially a friend who treated you like a human instead of a delicate piece of glass about to break at any time. "Why don't you go and grab something to eat? I have your number on speed dial, anyways.”

Belly was practically living in this hospital room. She was so glued to the room that she had memorized the schedule of the cleaning staff. They came at 6 AM with their squeaking carts and disinfectant spray. The breakfast trays arrived at 7:15, though she hadn't eaten a proper meal since the accident. Around noon, Dr. Reeves would make his rounds with his team of residents, and they'd discuss Conrad’s vitals in careful, measured tones as though he wasn't lying right there. At 3 PM, Madelyn, one of the night nurses, would come in to check his fluids and adjust his medications. And at night, when the hospital quieted down, it was just Belly and the sound of the machines keeping her husband alive.

Belly gave her a weak smile and shook her head. “Thanks, Madelyn, but I’m fine. I need to stay here.”

"You need to take care of yourself too," Madelyn said gently. "He wouldn't want you starving yourself in this chair."

The irony was painfully sharp and bitter, but it was true. Belly, despite trying to shake it off, knew she was right. Conrad would have already cooked her at least 6 different chicken entrees. Conrad was like that. He was always thinking about her, always taking care of her, and always looking out for her, even in times when he should be thinking of himself first. To him, Belly was always the most important thing on his mind.

She bent down and kissed Conrad’s forehead. "I'll be back in an hour. Please, just, please... think about waking up while I'm gone, okay?"

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Belly sat slumped in front of her no-longer-hot, hot chocolate as she poked and prodded at her pasta noodles. Convincing herself to eat didn’t work at all. Her nerves were more than enough to make her feel full. Instead, she was glued to her phone, scrolling through her and Conrad’s wedding album. Everyone told her she needed to pace herself, but as of right now, those pictures were the closest she felt to Conrad. They were a beautiful reminder of the life that was — no, is — in his eyes and his smile.

Belly always mentally slapped herself for switching between past and present tenses when thinking about Conrad. Her husband is here. He is here and he is a fighter. He was not a figment of her past. 

As she continued to swipe through the album, a notification bar popped up. It was Laurel.

Hey, Bean. Any change? her text read.

She took a deep breath and bit her lip to stop her from crying.

No, Belly typed back. Then, before she could stop herself: Lemon Jelly Belly.

And in a heartbeat, Laurel’s contact was ringing through Facetime.

“Hey, mom,” Belly’s voice cracked. Before she knew it, the tears came gushing out all over her face.

Laurel and the empath in her immediately started crying too. “Awe, Bean.”

“Fuck, what am I gonna do, mom?” Suddenly, Belly was 15 all over again and calling the one person she could always count on to rescue her from her own tears. She was hiccuping through her words.

“This is Conrad, you know?”

“Exactly. He’s my whole life.” Belly felt the other customers stare at her, but she didn’t care. This was probably the first time she allowed herself to cry. “I miss you, mom.”

“I miss you more, Bean.” Laurel paused. “Conrad is the strongest man I know. After you, of course.”

Belly managed to crack a smile. If there was anyone else aside from Conrad who knew how to fix Belly’s mood whenever she was at her lowest, it was Laurel. “Look at me, mom. I don’t think strength is running through my veins right now, you know?”

“Bean,” Laurel whispered, “you’re holding yourself together in unimaginable ways. I could never do what you’re doing. I need you to stop downplaying all that you’re doing to keep it together.”

“But that’s the thing, I’m not keeping it together, mom. I feel like a fucking mess.”

“You’re here, aren’t you? I can already tell that you’re at the hospital everyday even though I can see how deep and dark your eyebags are, am I right?” Laurel asked. Belly didn’t even have to reply for Laurel to already know the answer. “You’re present and knowing you, this is probably the first meal you’ve had today because all you do is think about Conrad.” A mother’s instinct is truly never wrong.

Belly began rubbing her eyes aggressively, the tears burning into them. “Thanks, mom.”

“Anytime, Bean.”

“I should probably go, mom. I told Madelyn I’d only be an hour and I don’t wanna keep her and Conrad waiting.” Her and Laurel gave each other small smiles before hanging up.

Don’t forget to update, Bean. I’m so proud of you. I love you. Laurel’s follow-up text read.

Belly typed out her reply. Thanks, mom. You always know what to say. I love you.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Belly dragged herself back into the hospital. It was like her body was repellant to the idea of returning to the hospital. The medicine, the sterility, the beeping machines, the plain white walls, as much as she didn’t want it to, it all felt like misery. The hospital had unfortunately turned into a residence for her. She couldn’t quite recall the last time she stepped foot into their home.

As she pressed the button for Conrad’s floor, a sudden anxiety tightly gripped her chest. What if something had happened while she was gone? What if he woke up and all there was to welcome him was his empty hospital room? What if he threw an embolism and was rushed into surgery? What if—

The elevator doors dinged and suddenly opened. She wasn’t paying attention to the fact that it wasn’t her floor yet. As she aimlessly walked off the elevator, she collided with someone. “Oh sorry, I thought this was —“

As she looked up, she noticed she had bumped into Dr. Reeves. “Oh, Mrs. Fisher, thank God. This is good timing," Dr. Reeves said, his expression neutral in that careful doctor way that Belly had become all too familiar with. "I was actually just coming to find you.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” Belly immediately started rambling as she ran through every worst possible scenario ran through her head. “Is he still alive? Is he…… Is he…..—“

“Mrs. Fisher,” Dr. Reeves immediately interrupted her rambling. “Please take a breath.”

Belly nodded, already sweating.

"Your husband is starting to wake up."

Belly felt her heart stop and then start up again at triple speed. Her already-red eyes continued to strain as tears began to well up in her eyes. "He’s…… Conrad’s……. he’s —what?"

Before Dr. Reeves could explain further, Belly was already moving past him, heading for the stairwell instead of waiting for the elevator. Her legs felt shaky and with how haphazard her brain and her movements were everywhere. But none of it mattered.

She burst through the stairwell’s door to the fifth floor and sprinted to his room, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might break through her chest. As she stood in front of the door, Belly’s hand shakily hovered over the door knob to Conrad’s room.

This was it. This was real. Her husband, awake and conscious, was behind the door waiting for her.

Conrad’s eyes were still closed, but as she approached, she saw them move beneath the thin lids. Her brilliant, infuriating, wonderful husband was in there, coming back to her.

Belly pulled the chair as close to the bed as possible and took Conrad’s hand into hers. "I'm here," she whispered. “I’m here, Conrad.”

And then, slowly, his eyes began to open.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

It happened in stages. First, it was just a soft flutter. Then a slow, labored widening of his lids, revealing the familiar hazel color of his eyes, though they seemed unfocused, hazy. Conrad’s fingers twitched in her hand. They were just barely there, but definitely there.

“Conrad? Can you hear me? I'm right here, babe. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.”

Conrad’s eyes moved, trying to focus on her. His mouth worked slightly, and a small sound emerged from his throat, something between a sigh and a groan. The monitor beside his bed accelerated its beeping, picking up on his increased heart rate.

“Hey, hey, don't try to talk, okay? Just rest. You've been asleep for almost three weeks, but you're safe, I promise. You're in the hospital, but you're going to be fine."

Conrad’s eyes continued to move around the room, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. His eyes scanned the monitors, the IV stands, the windows showing the darkening sky. Then, finally, they landed on her.

For a moment, his unfocused gaze held hers. Belly felt tears spilling down her cheeks before she even realized she was crying. This was it. This was the moment everything went back to normal. She lightly slipped her hand into his.

“Conrad, I—“ She could’t believe that he was really, finally here, looking at her. Belly felt the heavy stress finally leave her body. They could finally go back to their lives together. “I have missed you so —“

"Who are you?"

The words were faint, hoarse, barely audible, but they hit Belly like a physical blow. Getting run over by a 16-wheeler would’ve probably been less painful. Her smile disappeared and suddenly the weight of the world was on her shoulders, crushing and suffocating her. Surely she didn’t hear that right. Surely her ears were deceiving her. Surely he wasn’t looking at her like she was a stranger. Surely her husband, the love of her life, didn’t just ask her who she was.

"Wha…….. wha…….. what?” she whispered. Belly short-circuited like she had forgotten how to breathe and speak.

Suddenly, he pulled his hand back, fidgeting. Belly felt her heart crack, unable to stifle the hurt gasp that left her mouth. Her hand felt empty; her own husband was repulsed by the very idea of her touching him.

Conrad’s eyes didn't leave her face, but there was no recognition there. It didn’t play out the way Belly imagined it. There were no tears of joy and a shared kiss between them. There was no happy squeals and back and forth ‘I miss you so much’s’ between there. Just confusion and the deep, drowsy haze of someone waking from a coma.

“Where…. where am I? Who... who are you?"

Chapter 2

Everyone was talking, but everything just faded and turned into nothing and noise all at once. It was all a blur to her.

Belly stood there, completely frozen.

Conrad was aimlessly looking around from his bed, his eyes trying to decipher not only where he was, but also who he was. And every time his eyes met Belly’s he couldn’t help but tear away from them. He didn’t understand the feeling, but something in him was telling him to look away from her. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her, knowing that her eyes were filled with a sort of sadness that he couldn’t understand.

“Do you know your name?” Dr. Reeves asked calmly.

Conrad sat in his hospital bed, the same one he was laying in for the last 18 days. “My….. my name?” He looked down at his fingers, fidgeting. Then he looked to the walls. And then he looked to the people in room, to see if they would have the answer. Well, almost everyone. Conrad still couldn’t look at her. Even if he wanted to, even if there was the teensiest inkling in him telling him to, he just couldn’t.

“My…… name.” He repeated slowly.

Belly hadn’t moved. She couldn’t even cry. She had no more tears left to give. So there she was, standing still as a ghost in the middle of the hospital room, watching her husband, who she thought she had finally gotten back, fall apart all over again.

Dr. Reeves cleared his throat. “It’s okay if you don’t remember your name. It’s common in trauma injuries as severe as yours. Do you want us to tell you your name?”

Conrad nodded immediately.

“Your name is Conrad Fisher.”

He repeated it in his mind, over and over again. “Conrad Fisher. Conrad Fisher. My name is Conrad Fisher.”

“Do you remember anything at all, about yourself? Even the smallest details are important in instances like this.”

Belly felt her heart crack as she watched Conrad’s eyebrows scrunch up and his eyes squint; it was a habit of his whenever he tried to focus on something. “I……,” his voice cracked, “I……-“

“It’s okay,” Dr. Reeves interrupted. “Don’t force yourself. Would you like to know who you are?”

Conrad took a deep breath. “Yes.” Belly couldn’t believe how robotic his voice had suddenly turned. “I would.”

Dr. Reeves put down his clipboard and asked Madelyn to reach for something. She handed him a notebook. He started reading.

“Your name is Conrad Fisher. You’re 25, about to turn 26 years old. You’re a graduate of Stanford School of Medicine. You finished 4th overall in your class and and are currently doing your residency as an oncologist. You love to surf and walk down the shore of open beaches. You’ve been married for almost 1 year now. Your wife’s name is —“

Dr. Reeves’ reading was suddenly interrupted by the uncontrolled beeping of the machines. Conrad’s shoulders tensed up as sweat beads started to drip from his forehead. The machines were getting louder and louder by the second.

Madelyn immediately ran to his side, trying to see the machines and figure out if there was some sort of malfunction. “Mr. Fisher, are you okay?" she asked, moving closer to check his vitals. "Your heart rate is extremely elevated. Are you in pain?"

And for the first time, Conrad’s eyes finally met Belly’s. But it wasn’t with a look of love. His eyes watered and turned red. They began to strain as his breathing labored. It was a look of fear.

“I’m….. I’m fine,” Conrad said, but his voice was so clearly strangled. He was lying. "I'm... I just need a minute."

Did she do this?

Did she trigger this episode?

Was her presence doing more harm for him than good?

Dr. Reeves turned to Belly with a frantic look. He tried to conceal it as best he could, but Belly caught it. "I think it might be best if we give him a little time to adjust. Why don't we all take a break? Come back in an hour or so."

She nodded with a bit of hesitation. “Conrad?” she said softly, carefully. "I ……. I don't know what I did, but I'm sorry. I can—I can wait in the hallway instead.”

He didn't respond. He still wouldn't look at her. But she saw his hands shaking, saw the way he was gripping the blankets, looking for something to bring him back to earth.

Belly knew that the word ‘wife’ is what triggered his reaction. Because when she smiled at the mention of it, his eyes met hers. He couldn’t smile back. It was all too much for him. She, was too much for him.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Flashback, 12 Years Ago

"Did you get them?" Belly whispered as they reached the tree line of the border of Cousins’ beach.

Conrad held up two thermoses triumphantly. “Our hot chocolate, mademoiselle. Snuck out to the kitchen at like 4:00 AM. I was in and out like a ninja. I'm pretty sure I qualify ass a professional criminal now."

“Conrad, the superman of hot chocolate land!” Belly laughed quietly, pressing her hand to her mouth as Conrad grabbed her hand to pull her forward into the trees towards the shoreline.

His hand was warm and slightly damp, and he held on to hers as they navigated the pine-needle-covered path toward the beach. She could hear the ocean now, the distant sound of waves rolling in, getting closer as they walked. They made it to the beach access just as the first real hints of pink and orange light were beginning to paint the sky.

Conrad spread out a blanket he'd brought from his room, a faded blue beach towel that smelled like the linen closet in the summer house. They quickly plopped onto and sat down on the sand, still slightly damp from the tide that had receded hours earlier. Belly wrapped her hoodie tighter around herself, suddenly very aware of the chill in the early morning air. The ocean breeze smelled like salt and seaweed and the peculiar mix of flowers and pine that made up the summer house's location.

"This was a good idea," Conrad said, and his voice had lost its teasing quality. He sounded genuinely pleased, maybe even a little awed. "I'm glad you came, Belly.”

"I'm still not sure it was a good idea," Belly replied, but she was smiling. "If my mom finds out, I'm grounded for the rest of the summer and that means being stuck in the house with the moms while you and the boys get to do you fun dumb boy stuff. And Susannah will most definitely murder you. And we both know why.”

“Because, Conrad, you’re the oldest,” they said in harmony, mocking their moms. They laughed at their synchronization, the sound of their voices filing the air along the shore.

"Worth it, I hope?” Conrad asked softly.

Belly looked out at the ocean. The sky was getting lighter by the minute now, shifting from indigo to a pale blue with streaks of pink and gold. A few early birds had started to call to each other, and she could hear the gentle sound of the waves rolling in, steady and eternal. It felt like they were the only two people awake in the entire world.

"Maybe," she said. Then, after a pause, Belly added: "Definitely. Absolutely worth it."

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Belly sat in the neurology department’s waiting room. She buried her head in her hands and knees as she sat cramped up like a crushed up piece of paper. She was tired of people seeing her crying in public.

“Mrs. Fisher,” a light voice cooed out to her.

The harsh light of the hospital hit her puffy eyes as she lifted her head. It was Dr. Reeves, and a colleague of his. She wanted to shoo him away; she wanted to yell at him for what his surgery did to her husband. She wanted so desperately to tell him to go fuck himself. But she knew it wouldn’t be fair. 

For the past 18 days, all Dr. Reeves had done was show patience and compassion for Conrad’s case. It wouldn’t be fair for her to project feelings onto him that were nowhere near valid.

“Hi, yes, Dr. Reeves.” Belly wiped the snot off her nose with the back of her hoodie as she straightened out her posture. “Is everything alright?” Her voice was extremely hoarse. Dr. Reeves sympathized with her.

“This is my colleague, Dr. Sarah Chen and she specializes in traumatic brain injuries. We were just talking about what Conrad experienced and Dr. Chen has an interesting theory. Is now a good time to discuss this?”

Belly was intrigued, as she leaned closer to Dr. Reeves and Dr. Sarah. “Yes, of course,” she said through her sniffling, “now is a good time to discuss this.”

“Of course, before anything else please allow me to introduce myself. I’m Isabel Fisher. I’m Conrad Fisher’s wife,” Belly said sticking out her hand to shake Dr. Chen’s to which she happily took. “I apologize for the way I look right now. It has been a rough start for me today and I haven’t stopped crying at all.” 

Dr. Chen offered Belly a sweet smile before holding onto and giving Belly’s hand a light squeeze. “Mrs. Fisher there is nothing to apologize for. Your strength is admirable. I cannot begin to imagine what you’re going through.”

Belly offered her a weak smile before mouthing a simple “thank you“. 

"So what Dr. Reeves, myself, and a few of our colleagues suspect," Dr. Chen went onto explain, "is that Conrad may be experiencing something called emotional memory. His conscious mind doesn't remember you, but on some level, his body might be reacting to your presence. It's possible that he's sensing a deep emotional connection that he can't access, which can be very disorienting."

"Are you saying that he remembers me subconsciously?" Belly asked. For the first time today, she felt hope blooming in her chest.

"More like his nervous system recognizes that you're important to him," Dr. Chen said carefully. "It can manifest as anxiety, fear, even depression and mania because he can sense the weight of the connection without understanding it. His mind is essentially in a state of cognitive dissonance. His body knows you matter to him, but his brain doesn't know why."

"It will take time," Dr. Chen continued. "The anxiety may decrease as he becomes more familiar with you, as you spend more time together in a calm environment. But it's important that we go slowly and don't overwhelm him."

Belly took a deep breath as she tried to register everything that was dumped onto her. “Okay,” she stuttered, “how do we go about this? What’s our next step?”

“Would you like to see him, Mrs. Fisher ? We’ll be there every step of the way. We think he’s ready.”

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

It was like the door knob was a repellant. Belly had gone in and out of this room about a million times over the past three weeks. Today, however, was different. She felt like she was waiting to let herself into the room of a stranger.

“Do you need help, Mrs. Fisher?”

Belly turned to follow the sound of Dr. Sarah’s voice. “Yes, please,” she said through her cracked voice.

Belly took a deep breath as Dr. Sarah reached for the door. She whispered a small thank you as Dr. Sarah slowly led the two of them into Conrad’s room. Dr. Reeves was already there, waiting for them, and talking to Conrad. Belly stood by Conrad’s bed. She didn’t want to impose by sitting next to him just yet. What if she scared him all over again?

“Hello,” Belly choked out, “Conrad.”

“Hello,” Conrad whispered, barely audible, “Isabel.”

As much as she loved it when people knew her by and called her Isabel, Belly felt like it was far too unnatural for him to call her Isabel. She was always Belly to him. They were always Belly and Conrad. 

“Do you two need some time alone?”

“No!” Conrad replied almost too quickly. Belly pushed down the sucker punch thrown at her as she controlled her facial expressions. Her husband was far too repulsed by the idea of being left in a room with her. She tried to block that thought out as she reminded herself that it wasn’t Conrad’s fault.

“I’m sorry,” Conrad scrambled, “I…… I…… I…….. I’m just not….. you know?” 

“It’s okay, Conrad.” Dr. Reeves reassured him. “You have nothing to say sorry for, okay? You just woke up from an 18-day coma; you’re bound to be hyper vigilant of everything. Dr. Sarah and I will stay here as you two talk.”

"I need to understand," Conrad said quietly, starting off their conversation. His eyes tried to meet hers but then again, he pulled away. "The doctors and nurses said that you're my wife. That we got married. That we've been married for almost a year?”

“Yes,” Belly whispered back a simple answer.

“But we’ve known each other for practically our whole lives? Like since we were kids?”

“Yes.”

"And we've also been in love for practically our whole lives? Since we were also kids?"

Belly tried to crack a small smile. "Yes."

"Then why do I feel like..." He trailed off, his brow furrowing. "I feel like I know you. Not remember………I don't remember anything. But it's like... it's like my body knows you're important, that you matter to me and probably are the one thing that matters most to me in this world, and that terrifies me because I don't understand why, you know? What if I hurt you by not remembering? What if I let you down? What if I end up letting whatever we have, down?”

Belly tried to contain herself, afraid she would stress him out again, but she couldn’t help it when her eyes filled with tears. This was the painful crux of it, she realized. It wasn't that he was rejecting her. It was that he could feel the weight of the connection between them without being able to understand the depth of it.

"You couldn't let me down. Never, okay?” Belly said gently. "You were in a terrible accident, Conrad. This isn't something you chose. This isn't your fault."

"But you're looking at me like I'm supposed to be someone else," Conrad said, his voice breaking slightly. "Like you're waiting for me to become someone, and I'm terrified because what if I can't? What if I become someone you don't like? What if the person I was before is just gone?"

"Then we will figure it out together,” Belly whispered. “If that's what you want, of course."

And for the first time, Conrad finally looked at her directly. Their eyes melded with each other, like they were having their own conversation. ”I’m so scared," he whispered. "I'm scared all the time."

"I know. I’m scared too.” Belly whispered back. "It's okay to be scared."

She didn't move closer. She didn't try to touch him. She just stood there and bore witness to his fear, and somehow, that seemed to be enough. At least for now.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

The hospital couldn’t discharge Conrad just yet.

With his episodes and elevated vitals, they needed to keep him for observation, at the minimum, for just one more night. She spent that first night back in the uncomfortable chair, but she didn't sleep. She watched her husband sleep. But instead, to Belly, as terrible as it was to think of, he was this stranger who had her husband's face and his hands and his voice, but none of the memories that made him Conrad.

What was the protocol for loving someone who didn't love you back?

Because despite everything, despite the missing memories and the blank stare when she'd introduced herself, she still loved him. That feeling hadn't gone anywhere. It was still there in her chest, heavy and complicated and so familiar that she wasn't sure she knew how to exist without it.

She'd married Conrad in his suit, with tears streaming down both their faces. She'd promised to love him in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, til death do us part. She'd meant every word. But she hadn't bargained for this, for staying married to someone who was a stranger. For building a life with someone who didn't remember the life you'd already built together.

But that’s what marriage is, is it not?

Belly knew that these thoughts were just manifestations of the late-night air.

Conrad, her Conrad, was in there. She had no plans of giving up on him, on them, on their secret and magical world that they made their own.

Deep down, she knew that for Conrad, she would do it all over again even now knowing what laid ahead for them.

He was her miracle.

Around three in the morning, Belly got up and walked to the bathroom. She looked at herself in the mirror, and really looked. She had dark circles under her eyes that made her look hollowed out (this was, unfortunately, something that every family member had a habit of pointing out). Her hair was limp and hadn't been properly washed in weeks. She'd lost so much weight that her pants hung so loosely on her frame; she had to tie the knot at least twice to let it hug her waist. She barely recognized herself .

She turned on the water and washed her hands, watching the hospital soap bubble up between her fingers. In the mirror's reflection, she could see the wedding ring on her left hand. A simple silver band that matched the larger one Conrad wore. At least he was still wearing it (she tried to ignore the fact that the possibility was that he didn’t notice it at all to begin with). At least that was something.

“Little steps,” Belly repeated to herself. “One step at a time, Belly. For Conrad.”

When she came back to the room, Conrad was awake.

"I'm sorry," he said immediately when he saw her, his voice filled with panic. "I'm sorry, I know I should know you. I can see that I... that you mean something to me. You have that look, like you're waiting for me to remember you, and I'm trying, I'm really trying, but—"

"Hey, hey, hey, shhhhh, it's okay, Conrad” Belly said, moving back to her chair. She wanted to touch his hand, but she was afraid. Afraid that the simple gesture would feel intrusive. Afraid that she'd break down if she felt his skin against hers. "You're not supposed to push yourself. The doctors said that makes it worse."

"But you're my wife," Conrad said, the sharp anguish in his voice cut right through her. "I should remember my wife, my other half, the most important person in my life. I should remember—" He stopped, his breathing becoming labored. "I don't remember anything. Everything before I woke up is just... gone. It's like my whole life is a blank space."

Bely felt tears burning in the back of her eyes but she blinked them back.

This wasn't about her pain. This was about his.

“Not everything is gone. They told you that other stuff this morning, right? That you’re a doctor, and that you graduated in the top 1% of your medical school batch. That’s got to count for something, right?”

"But nothing personal," Conrad said, his voice hollow now. "Nothing that makes me, me. I don't remember why I decided to go to medical school. I don't remember who my mom is or that apparently I also have a brother? I don’t remember that what food I like to cook or what sports I like to play. I don't remember—" He looked at her, really looked at her, and his eyes were desperate. "I don't remember you. And I can see that hurts you. Every time you look at me, I can see that I'm hurting you just by existing like this."

"You're not hurting me, Conrad” Belly whispered back quickly. But it was a lie and they both knew it.

“Please, please do not do that," Conrad said, desperation dripping from each word that escaped his lips. “Please, don't lie to me. Everyone keeps lying to me, telling me it's okay, telling me it's not my fault, telling me I'll get better. But no one is telling me the truth, and I need—" He took a shaky breath. "I need someone to be honest with me. Please."

Belly stared at him for a long moment. Then she nodded. She was going to be honest with him, because even back then, it’s what they promised to one another, even before those promises were sealed as vows.

"Okay," she said. "The truth. Yes, this hurts. Oh my god, It hurts more than anything I've ever experienced. I feel like I’ve been run over by a train, but honestly, I would prefer that. Because I've loved you my whole life, Conrad. My. Whole. Life. You were my first kiss and the first boy I ever danced with, and it kills me that even that’s gone now.”

“And three weeks ago, you knew all of that. You knew that we grew up together and could retell any story from our time in Cousins, you knew what desserts I loved to eat because of my massive sweet tooth, you knew to buy me things in my favorite color because I love having things of one color on display in my shelf, in our own home, that we built together. You knew what I was thinking before I said it. You were…… no, you are, you are my whole world." Her voice was shaking now but she pushed through. "And now … and now……. now you and I are strangers. You flinch when I get close to you. You can't even hold my hand.”

"I'm so sorry—"

"Let me finish, please. Yes, it hurts. But you know what hurts more? The thought of losing you completely. So yes, this is hard, and yes, I'm grieving the version of you that I lost. But you're still here. You're still alive. You still have your voice, your hands, your thoughts, your personality, even if you can't remember the specific details of your life. And I would rather have this. I would rather have you like this, scared and confused and not remembering me, than not have you at all. Because you’re here and that means that we have hope to hold onto.”

Silence fell between them.

"I don't know what to do with that," Conrad said finally, his voice small quivering. "I don't know how to be the person you need me to be."

"You don't have to be anyone," Belly said. "You just have to be you. Whoever that is now."

"But…… but, I don't know who that is. I don't know who I am without my memories. I don't know what kind of person I was, or what kind of person I should be, or—" He pressed his palms to his eyes

Belly’s heart ached. She wanted so badly to go to him, to hold him, to comfort him the way she would have done three weeks ago. But she couldn't. He wasn't ready for that. And maybe, he never would be.

"Then we figure it out," she said quietly. "Together, if you want. Or apart, if that's what you need. But you don't have to pretend to be someone you're not. Not for me. Not for anyone."

Conrad lowered his hands and looked at her. His eyes were red and wet, vulnerable in a way that reminded her achingly of the Conrad she knew. For a split second, he wass the Conrad who'd sobbed uncontrollably at their wedding, who'd never been afraid to show emotion even when it made him uncomfortable.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" he asked. "I don't remember you. I had an episode a while ago all because you looked at me. I can't give you what you want. I might never remember you. Why are you still here?"

The answer was simple to Belly. She didn’t have to think twice. “Conrad, you’re the love of my life."

"We have a collection of memories that we built together, memories that you told me you'd remember for the rest of your life," she continued, "And I believed you. I still do. I believe that some moments were too big to forget, too important to lose”

"That's the emotional memory thing the doctor was talking about. The reason I'm scared of you. Of this. Of us.”

"Maybe," Belly said. "Or maybe you're just scared of the weight of expectation. Of feeling like you owe me something you can't give."

"What if I never remember?"

It was the question Belly had been avoiding, the one she'd been terrified to voice even in her own mind. She forced herself to meet his eyes.

"Then we figure out what comes next," she said. "But we don't have to decide that tonight. Or tomorrow. Or even next week."

"What if I want to decide?" Conrad asked, and there was something desperate in his voice. "What if I need to know whether I'm supposed to try to fall in love with you again, or whether I'm supposed to let you go so you can move on? Because right now I feel like I'm stuck in limbo, and you're stuck there with me, and I don't know how to—"

“Conrad,” Belly interrupted gently. "You're exhausted. You've been awake for less than twenty-four hours. You should not have to make any decisions right now."

"But you do," Conrad said. "You have to decide if you want to stay married to someone who doesn't remember marrying you. That's a decision you have to make."

"I'm choosing to be here," she said finally. "That's the only choice for me. I’m not going anywhere, Conrad. No matter how long it takes. This is all at your pace. I meant it when I told you for better or for worse.”

Conrad nodded slowly, exhaustion evident in every line of his body. His eyes were starting to close despite his best efforts to stay awake.

"I'm tired," he admitted. "But…… but I don't want you to sleep in that chair. Is that….. is that okay with you? That I want you to stay close to me even though I don't know you?"

"Yes," she whispered with a beaming smile. Small steps were steps nonetheless. "That's okay. It’s more than okay, Conrad.”

“Can you stay here with me?” He moved a bit to make space for her on the bed. Belly brought her own blanket, still minding a little space between them. Conrad turned to face Belly so that they were laying side by side, almost, but not quite yet, nose to nose.

“Thank you, Isabel,” Conrad murmured, his eyes finally closing. "Because you feel safe. Which doesn't make sense because you also terrify me, but... you feel safe."

 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

hope you guys liked the second chapter! please do leave kudos and comments (i love reading through them all the time!).

Chapter 3

Flashback — Paris, December, 5 Years Ago

Belly and Conrad giggled in bed, their clothes haphazardly scattered on the floor of her apartment and their legs and bodies entangled together.

“Best surprise ever,” Belly giggled against Conrad’s chest. “Thank you, Conrad.”

“Always.” Conrad leaned to kiss Belly’s forehead as they snuggled deeper into each other’s embrace.

For the past few weeks, Conrad had been planning to surprise Belly in Paris. Belly was under the impression that when her study-abroad term in Paris was done by December, she would meet Conrad in California first and then they would fly back together to Philadelphia together for Christmas. Little did she know, Conrad had been taking on extra shifts in the clinic to save up for a plane ticket. He wanted to pick her up from Paris and have their own little Christmas first, just the two of them.

With the help of her old roommates, they told Belly that they were sending over a bowl of her favorite soup and a pack of strawberries so that Conrad could disguise himself as the delivery man. When he revealed himself to be the face behind the bouquet of flowers he picked up from the airport, Belly shrieked and squealed so loud that her voice had practically echoed throughout the entire building. She wasted no time jumping into his arms that he actually ended up dropping his luggage, which fell and slid down a few stairs.

Belly looked up to leave a light kiss on Conrad’s neck as she whispered, “I still can’t believe you’re really here. You little romantic trickster, taking on all those extra shifts to come here.”

“You better believe it because all that overtime work was for you, and only you; I missed you way too much. And now we have a whole week together for mini Christmas before we fly back to Philly.”

Belly let out a dreamy sigh. “I can’t believe this is my life! Here I am, in Paris, with the love of my life. Does it get better than this?”

Conrad chuckled. “You are just adorable, you know that?”

“I love you, you know?” Belly whispered againt his lips she leaned in again to kiss him.

“I love you more,” Conrad replied.

“Never let me go, okay?”

“Never.”

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

“Mrs. Fisher?” a cooed whisper woke Belly up; it was Madelyn. A part of her wished she could go back to sleep, and perhaps not wake up ever again. At least in her dreams, she could relive the memories Conrad and her made together, over and over again. She knew that it was beyond fucked-up to think about but at least in her dreams, she was with the Conrad who loved her and knew her. 

The harsh light of the hospital room struck her eyes. She turned to see that Conrad was still fast asleep, his back still to her. A part of her had secretly hoped that when they fell asleep, they would somehow slip into each other’s arms throughout the night, the same way they also did. Before the accident, there was no such thing as ‘having a side of the bed’ because they would always end up in a warm embrace by the time the sun came up. So when she woke up and saw the gap between them in their hospital bed, she felt a part of her wither away.

‘Progress is still progress, Belly,” she reminded herself.

Ignore the fact the your husband can’t touch you yet.

Ignore the fact the your husband is still kind of terrified of you.

Ignore the fact the your husband doesn’t know who you are.

Conrad’s here — he’s awake and he’s alive. Belly was choosing to focus on that. Nothing else mattered except him and the fact that he was finally here. She needed to channel all her energy into being there for Conrad, in whatever way he needed her.

“I’m so sorry to wake you up, Mrs. Fisher, but Dr. Reeves and Dr. Sarah are waiting for you outside.”

Belly groggily nodded and yawned as she tried to gently shift in the bed to get out so that she wouldn’t accidentally wake him up. As she followed Madelyn out, she put on the white slippers the hospital gave her when they noticed that she had practically started living in Conrad’s room. 

As Belly and Madelyn made their way to the neurology department’s waiting room, Dr. Sarah and Dr. Reeves were already there and talking among themselves. Belly gave them a small wave before sitting down with them. Dr. Reeves started off their conversation, his sympathetic eyes meeting Belly’s. “Isabel, hi, how are you holding up?"

She gave them both a weak smile. “I’m not really sure how to answer that question, you know? How am I supposed to be holding up? I don’t even know what I’m feeling. None of this feels real at all.” 

"That's valid. There is no right way to feel about this." Dr. Reeves paused, choosing his words carefully. “Dr. Sarah and I were looking through Conrad’s charts this morning and based on our observations, we think he’s ready to be discharged.”

Belly felt her heart drop to her stomach. What was that feeling that hit her? Was that excitement? Relief? Dread? Panic? It was probably a mix of everything. “Wow, discharged already.”

“Well,” Dr. Sarah jumped in, “he’s lucid and responding to treatment and stimuli. I don’t see any other reason for us to keep him here. In my professional opinion, I think that his injury is at that stage where we can send him home.” Dr. Sarah paused. She looked like she was debating on doing something. She hesitantly reached for Belly’s hand, to which Belly smiled. It felt nice to be treated like a human who needed compassion as opposed to the grieving wife that no one wanted to be near at all. “Mrs. Fisher, these are all good things.”

Belly squeezed Dr. Sarah’s hand. “I know, I know, and I can’t thank you both enough for everything you’ve done for Conrad and I. But where do him and I go from here? How do you go home with someone who’s essentially a strange, to not just you, but to everything around?”

“Mrs. Fisher,” Dr. Sarah paused and continued to hold on to Belly’s hand, trying to soothe her rambling, “Madelyn told us that you and Conrad actually slept in the same bed together last night. Is that correct?”

Belly half-expected to feel a flutter in her heart at the sound of Dr. Sarah narrating the events of last night out loud, but unfortunately, she didn’t. “Yes, we did.”

“And whose idea was that?”

That’s when Belly felt her chest lighten and warm. “Conrad’s,” she whispered. “It was his idea.”

“I’m not saying this to try and get your hopes up, but after working with hundreds of amnesiac patients and patients with traumatic brain injuries over the years, I can tell you that Conrad’s case is unique. I really have never seen such progress in such a short time. It’s his body’s way of telling him that there is something worth remembering, worth fighting for.”

“But…… but there’s still no guarantee that he’ll remember me again?”

Dr. Sarah gave her a sad smile. “No, Mrs. Fisher. I really wish I could say yes, or at least give you a solid prediction about his memories. But with the unpredictability of the human body, there really is no telling.” Dr. Sarah felt Belly’s hand tense up in hers. “But,” she quickly added, “from what I’ve observed from Conrad’s behaviors, there is truly no love lost there.”

“What exactly are you saying?”

“I’m saying that we, as humans, are designed to rebuild ourselves constantly.” 

“Are you saying that my husband is never going to come back to me?” 

“Mrs. Fisher,” Dr. Reeves interjected, “what Dr. Sarah and I are trying to say is to be patient. Don't push. Conrad’s emotioonal memory responses are still fragile; we can’t afford to stress him out. If he seems to respond to something, don't make a big deal of it. Just... let him feel what he feels without demanding he understand it.” Dr. Reeves paused before continuing. “And please, please take care of yourself, Isabel. You cannot pour from an empty cup.”

Belly slowly nodded as she tried to calm herself down, worried that if she decided to speak, she might start crying, yelling, swearing, or the most likely outcome, doing all three.

“Progress is progress regardless, Mrs. Fisher.”

“Progress is progress,” she repeated it slowly, speaking its truth out into the world.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Belly made sure to let the redness in her eyes fade and the tear stains on her cheeks dry before going back to Conrad’s room. She didn’t want him to see her like this. She didn’t want to give him another reason to stress. 

When she slipped back into the room, Conrad was already awake, sitting up in bed and staring at his hands like they belonged to someone else. He looked up when she entered, and something flickered across his face.

Was it relief?

Was it happiness?

Was it recognition?

Before Belly could attempt to decipher the look on his face, the uncertainty in his eyes quickly returned.

“Good morning, Conrad,” she greeted him softly. She tried to sound sweet and welcoming but deep down, she hated how formal she sounded. It was if she was talking to one of her colleagues, not her husband.

"Morning." He glanced at the space on his bed where she'd been sleeping, her blanket still bundled up. "You stayed last night.”

“Of course, you asked me to.”

“Thank you,” Conrad whispered. “Would you like to sit with me? Here, in bed.”

Belly smiled at his initiative. These were no longer small steps at a time. “I would love that.”

Belly moved towards his hospital bed, adjusting herself to sit comfortably in the spot where she laid next to him last night.

“Hi, Isabel.” Conrad’s voice was soft. It still had that same boyish charm.

“Hi, Conrad,” Belly replied. She offered him a small smile. And when he smiled back, she couldn’t help but smile even wider. He still had the same effect on her from when they were growing up. If anyone knew how to make Belly smile like they had hung the moon for her, it was Conrad, and only Conrad.

“Nurse Madelyn told me that they’re discharging me today. Is that true?”

Belly was dreading this conversation. By default, it was assumed that Conrad would go home with her later. But she mentally prepared herself for the possibility that he might not want that. “Yes they are. Your doctors think you can be monitored at home now.”

“And, home …… home is, with you, right?”

Belly slightly turned her head to look out the window, needing to look at something other than his face, otherwise she might start crying all over again. She needed to be strong. For Conrad, and for the both of them.  “Yes, we have a home together, but if you don't have to come home with me. If you don't want to, we can figure something else out. Your brother, or a hotel, or—"

"I don't remember my brother.”

The flatness in his voice made Belly's throat tighten up. "I know."

“Isabel, I want to go home with you.”

Belly suddenly let out a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding in. “You do?”

“Of course I do,” he smiled, “you’re my wife and I’m your husband.”

“Yes, you are,” she smiled back.

Conrad’s smile faltered for a bit. "I need you to know that I am so, so scared. I don't know how to do this. I want to go home with you, I know that, but I also don't know how to go home with you and pretend to be someone I'm not."

"I promise you, Conrad, I don't want you to pretend." Belly inched a bit closer, still careful to maintain distance on the bed. "I know you're not that version of you right now. I know you don't remember our life together. I'm not asking you to fake it or force yourself to feel something you don’t.”

Conrad nodded, feeling reassured. He peaked over at Belly who was now a bit closer to him. “Can you come closer, Isabel?”

Belly couldn’t hide her shock. “Are you sure?”

“You’re my wife. I want to be near you.” Conrad moved to the side as he patted the open space on the bed. “I promise, it’s okay.”

Belly carefully moved to sit next to him. For the first time, their bodies were touching.

“Can I hold your hand, Isabel?”

Belly turned to him and smiled. “Of course you can.” Belly lifted her hand up as she slowly laced it into his. “Is this okay?”

“More than okay.”

And for a while, they just sat there in the silence hand-in-hand. Belly and Conrad could both sense it; there were no nerves and the waves of fear that once invaded his hosptial room were long gone. It was also comforting that both of them could feel the other’s wedding band; it was if their rings were having their own conversation in the silence.

"I'm terrified, Isabel,” he said quietly, breaking the silence. "I'm scared of going home with you and disappointing you every single day. Every time I don't remember something, every time I don't react the right way, I can see it in your face, and I’ll continue to see it. And I don't know if I can handle that."

"I'm not disappointed in you, Conrad.” Her words burst out with a sort of franticness in them. "You didn't choose this. You're not failing me by having amnesia."

"But I am failing you. You keep looking at me like..." He struggled for words. "Like you're waiting. Like any second I'm going to snap back into being the person you married. And I don't know if that's going to happen. The doctors said it might never happen."

She nodded. "I know.”

"So how is this supposed to work? How do we live in the same house when every room, every object, every part of my and our routine is going to be this constant reminder of what I can't remember?"

"I don't know," she admitted, trying not to sound so defeated.

"What if I'm different? What if I get my memories back but I'm not the same person? What if the things I liked before, I don't like now? What if—" He stopped, then pushed forward. "What if I can’t love you the way I did before?"

"Then you don't," she said, and was surprised to find she meant it. She remembered the words of Dr. Sarah earlier. “I promised you, for better or for worse, Conrad. We, as humans, are designed to rebuild ourselves constantly, so for as long as you’ll want me to stay, I will stay to rebuild wth you.”

Conrad looked at her for a long moment, something shifting in his expression. He suddenly squeezed her hand. Belly squeezed it back, giving him a sad smile. “You really love him. Me. The me you remember."

"Yes." Her voice was barely a whisper. "But that doesn't mean," she paused, hesitating. Should she say it? "That doesn't mean I don't love you, too."

Conrad's eyes widened. He tried to ignore the fact that she had just said that, because how do you say 'I love you, too' back to someone you don't even remember? "I'm sorry I'm not him right now." 

Belly pushed down the sadness that overwhelmed her as she realized that he ignored her 'I love you'. But she understood. As much as she wanted to hear Conrad say those three words again, she knew they were not there yet all. “Please don't say sorry, Conrad.” She shook her head quickly. "Don't apologize for that. This isn't your fault."

He looked away, his jaw tight, as if he was ashamed. Belly hated that he felt like he was to blame when the only person to blame was the drunk driver who decided to drive that night.  “So why does it still feel like it is? I keep waiting to feel something. Anything. When I look at you, I keep thinking there should be this... spark. This sense of 'oh, that's right’, because of courrse, you’re my wife. How could I now know who you are? How could I not know what we mean to each other? But there's nothing. Just this blank space where everything important should be."

"That must be terrifying."

"It is." He ran his free hand through his hair, a gesture she recognized even if he didn't. "And the worst part is feeling guilty about it. You're being so patient, so kind, and I can't give you the one thing you want."

"I want you to be okay, Conraad” she said firmly yet softly. "Yes, I want your memories back. I'd be lying if I said I didn't. But more than that, I want you to not be scared. I want you to feel safe, even if that means being safe with strangers who claim to know you."

“But, Isabel, you're not a stranger." The words surprised them both. He frowned, like he was trying to figure out why he'd said it. "I mean... you are. Objectively. But you don't feel like one. Not completely."

Belly felt her heart pause. “I’m not?”

"When we talk, I—" Conrad paused as he struggled to articulate it. "I don't how to explain this, but even though I don't remember you, me, or, us something about your voice feels... I don't know. Expected? Like my body knows it should be there even if my brain doesn't know why."

She thought of her conversation with Dr. Sarah and Dr. Reeves. Conrad’s emotional memory. His body remembers comfort, safety, love, even if his mind doesn't remember the context.

"Is that weird?" Conrad asked, worried that he might have suddenly overwhelmed her.

"No." She replied immediately as she tried to blink back her tears. "No, that's not weird. That's actually….. that’s actually what the doctors said that might happen. It’s called emotional memory, and the way it was explained to me is that even without conscious memory, your body might remember feelings. Associations. Gut feelings. And these feelings are part of you, but they're just stored differently than conscious memories."

"But I don't know why I feel them." His voice cracked slightly. "I hear your voice and something in me relaxes, and I don't know if that's real or if it's just muscle memory. Like my body is betraying my mind."

“But what if it's not a betrayal?" she asked gently. "What if it's your body trying to help you? Trying to tell you that you're safe, even when your mind can't remember why?"

Conrad was quiet for a long moment, processing. “I woke up in the middle of the night, and when you were sleeping next to me earlier, I woke up and saw you there. Yeah, I didn't know who you were, but I felt—" He struggled with the words. "Not scared. I should have been scared, right? Waking up in a hospital with a stranger in the room. But I just felt... like things were as they should be."

Belly felt her breath hitch. "You felt that?"

"Yeah." Conrad looked almost guilty admitting it. "And then I remembered I don't know you, and it all felt wrong again. Like I was lying to myself."

"You weren't lying to yourself. You were feeling something real. Maybe you couldn't explain it, but that doesn't make it less true."

"How do you live with that, with all of this, Isabel?” Conrad asked Belly as he looked at her with such raw confusion. His hand clung to hers tighter as if he was afraid she might slip away.  “How do you live with someone who knows you completely when you don't know them at all? How is that fair to you?"

“Conrad, fair?" Belly let out a shaky laugh. "Nothing about this is fair. It's not fair to you that your memories are gone. It's not fair to me that the person I love doesn't remember me. It's not fair to either of us that we have to figure out how to exist in this impossible situation." She wiped at her eyes with her free hand. "But fairness isn't really the point anymore. We're past fair."

"Then what is the point?"

"The point is that you're still here. You're still alive, still yourself in all the ways that matter, even if you can't remember being yourself. And I'd rather have you here, confused and scared and not knowing me, than not have you at all."

"What if I never remember? What if this is it, and you spend months or years waiting for someone who's never coming back?"

"Then I'll grieve that version of you, but I will not dwell,” Belly said simply. “Yes, I’ll grieve the life we had and the memories we made, but that doesn't mean I can't also... be here. With you. Whoever you are now."

"You don't know who I am now. I don't even know who I am now."

"Then we'll figure it out together. One day at a time. One moment at a time."

"You really believe that? That this could work?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I want to believe it. I'm terrified it won't. But I know that if we don't try, I'll spend the rest of my life wondering what if."

"Okay," Conrad said, "Okay. But, Isabel, I need you to promise me something,.”

"If it gets to be too much, if you see me and it hurts too badly, if having me there is just a constant reminder of what you lost, please, you have to tell me. You have to be honest. Because I can't..." He looked up at her, the grip on her hand tightening. "I don’t want to be the reason you're in pain, I just can’t do that to you. Especially not when I don't even remember being the reason you were happy."

"I promise. And you have to promise me the same thing. If being there is too overwhelming, if you need space or distance or time alone, you tell me. This will only work if we're both honest."

"Deal." Conrad took a deep breath, then slowly pushed himself up from the bed, still holding her hand. The air in his room had suddenly liften. "So what happens now?"

“Now we wait for the discharge papers and then we go home. Is there something you want to do while we wait for all the paperwork?”

Conrad paused for a moment. “Would it be alright if I gave you a hug?”

Belly smiled, her heart beating with such happiness. “Of course, Conrad. I would love that..”

Conrad let go her hand momentarily as he opened his arms. “If it’s okay with you, I want to hold you.”

Belly crawled towards him as they adjusted themselves in their makeshift cuddling in his bed. “How do you feel, Conrad?”

“I feel like I’m already home.”

Belly snuggled deeper into his chest as he pulled her closer. They cuddled in silence, holding each other gently. Conrad’s fingers carrressed her hair as Belly’ listened to his heartbeat. It was steady. Calm. It was in sync with hers. He continued to play with her hair as her arms stretched out to hug his entire frame. Conrad, for some reason, knew in his heart that she was the little spoon. Belly relished in the moment, holding on tightly to her husband the same way he was holding onto her. It was their way of saying, ‘I won’t let you go’. 

They were in their own little world. And it didn’t matter at all if that world would need some rebuilding.

“Isabel?” Conrad whispered into Belly’s hair. “Did I ever have a nickname for you?”

“Belly,” Belly whispered back. She tilted her head up to meet Conrad’s eyes; he was already smiling. “You always called me Belly.”

“Belly,” Conrad repeated, trying to memorize it. He repeated it again and again in his head; and in that moment, it had become Conrad’s favorite word. “My beautiful wife’s, beautiful name, is Belly.”

Notes:

hope you guys liked the third chapter! please do leave kudos and comments (i love reading through them all the time!).

Chapter 4

Flashback, 2 Years Ago

Belly waved her arms around like Frankenstein. “Conrad, I promised you I’d cover my eyes and that there was no need for you to turn into a human blindfold!” She giggled even louder as Conrad’s pulled his hands closer together over her eyes. “Conrad!”

“I promise you, this will be worth it. Just a few more steps, we’re literally almost there.”

He also made her wear a blindfold for the last30 minutes of wherever they drive to, so to say that Belly had no idea where they were would probably be an understatement.

“Conrad I swear to God, I’m gonna accidentally slip on something and then because your hand is glued to my eyes, I’m taking you down with me.”

“Just trust me on this. You trust me enough to have said yes to my proposal, don’t you?”

“I’m honestly debating it,” she giggled.

“Ruthless, babe. Ruthless.”

After a few more minutes of amazing race-mediated blindfolded walking, Conrad and Belly finally came to a stop in their tracks.

Belly was practically out of breath, dramatically panting. “I think you clocked in my steps for the entire year. Where the hell did we park?”

“Belly, we walked less than a mile,” Conrad laughed. “Are you ready, grumpy pants.”

“Do you really have to ask?” Belly replied, her voice extremely sassy.

But as soon as Conrad removed his hands, whispering a very corny and exaggerated 6-second ‘ta-da!’, Belly’s sass simmered into awe. It took her a while, but she recognized the houses around them and blue street signs; this quaint neighborhood just outside of Boston was a part of her Pinterest board ever since Conrad and her moved to Massachusetts.

“Conrad,” Belly gasped at the sight in front of her, “no you didn’t.”

Conrad wrapped his arms around Belly’s waist and pulled her back into his chest. He laid a light kiss on her shoulder and then her neck. “Oh yes, yes, I did.”

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

“So….. this is our home.” It wasn’t clear if he was asking Belly or just telling her out of observance. As Conrad walked through the doorway, it was like a wave of nostalgia had suddenly wafted through the air. Conrad felt it almost immediately but he couldn’t tell if it was the type of nostalgia that comforted and welcomed him or not.

“Yup,” Belly replied as she walked behind him, slowly setting their bags on by the door before locking it. “This is it,” she huffed out loud, “any first impressions?”

Conrad slowly paced around, taking in every corner of the small townhouse. It was small, but not the suffocating-type. There was a hint of coziness in every corner, from the little trinkets and decorations on their shelves to all the pictures of them scattered along the furniture. You could see the whole first floor from where Conrad was standing without having to move an inch. Yes, it was small. But it was cozy. It was homey. It was theirs.

“It reminds me a cabin in a secluded forest. The type you stay in to be in your bubble.”

“That was the vibe you were going for, after all.”

Conrad turned to face Belly. “What are you talking about?”

“You…. uhm…..,” Belly paused for a moment, “a few months before we got married, you bought this house for us. As a surprise.”

“I bought this house? Me? On a resident’s salary?”

Belly’s laughter floated through the air. It was the first time that Conrad had made a joke since he woke up. It felt like the most natural thing as well, knowing that his humor was trying to seep through in its own little way. “As a chronic financial planner and saver, you took the deposit from your trust fund and then funneled back everything you earned from your clinic and research jobs. Trust me, your resident’s salary would not cover even a quarter of the first floor.”

“Well I’ll say,” Conrad chuckled.

“But it was a very, very moderate deposit considering we don’t live in the city. We got lucky finding this house considering your residency’s only a 30 minute drive at most.”

“Okay,” Conrad started to pace around again, “but finances aside, why would I buy a house as a surprise? Isn’t that something we’d want to do together?”

“You l knew, I mean, know, me that well.” Belly offered him a small smile joining Conrad as he paced around. “Besides, you always did say that this was just a temporary home and that one day we would find a home near Cousins.”

“Cousins?”

Belly paused in her steps. “It’s a place that has a lot of meaning to us. It’s a few hours away from Philadelphia.”

“I assume it’s a place that made what we have what it is.”

“In the most beautiful ways you could imagine.”

Conrad smiled as he paused in his steps and walked towards their couch. As he plopped onto the couch, Conrad held out one hand towards Belly as his other hand patted the cushion beside him. “Can you tell me about it?”

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Flashback, 3 Years Ago

"Remember when we thought we were so grown up?" Belly said, a smile playing at her lips. "That summer I was fifteen and convinced I knew everything?"

Conrad huffed out a quiet laugh. "You mean every summer?"

She shoved his shoulder lightly, and he caught her hand, keeping it in his. The gesture felt natural now in a way it hadn't back then, when everything between them had been fraught with uncertainty and unspoken feelings.

"I'm serious though," she continued, her voice softer. "This place... it's like our whole childhood is stored here. Every summer, every memory. Building sandcastles with Jere, your mom's blueberry pancakes, volleyball on the beach, the bonfire parties..."

"Stealing my hoodies," Conrad added.

"You gave them to me."

"You took them."

"You let me."

They fell into comfortable silence, the kind that only came from years of knowing someone. The waves were their soundtrack. "It's strange," Conrad said after a while. "Everything in life changes, like college, careers, people moving away. But Cousins is still here. This beach is still here. The house is still here." He paused. "We're still here."

Belly turned to look at him, really look at him. He was different now. He was maybe taller somehow, or maybe just more comfortable in his own skin. The haunted look that used to live in his eyes had softened into something more peaceful. But he was still Conrad. Still the boy she'd loved through every summer of her life.

"Do you think we'll always come back?" she asked.

"I hope so," he said simply. "I can't imagine a summer without this place. Without..." He trailed off, but she knew what he meant. Without us. Without this.

From somewhere down the beach, music drifted toward them from a couple that had brought speakers to a late-night gathering. The song was slow, romantic, achingly familiar.

Conrad stood abruptly and held out his hand.

"Dance with me," he said.

Belly looked up at him, puzzled. "Here? Now?"

"Especially here. Especially now." There was something in his expression, like he was nervous but at the same time determined. "Consider it a redo."

"A redo? What are you talking about?"

"From prom," he said quietly. "We didn't get it right then. I didn't get it right. I was too stubborn, too afraid of what I felt, too caught up in my own head to just... be with you the way I wanted to be."

Belly's breath caught. Their prom had been complicated from all the tension and longing and things left unsaid. They'd danced, but it had felt like goodbye rather than beginning.

"Conrad..."

"Let me do it right this time, Belly. Please."

She took his hand, and he pulled her up into his arms. This time felt different from every other time they'd been close. This time, there was no uncertainty, no walls between them. Just Conrad and Belly, swaying slowly on the beach where they'd grown up, where all their summers lived. His hand settled at the small of her back, and she rested her head against his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady and sure beneath her cheek.

"Better than prom?" she murmured.

"Infinitely better," he said into her hair. "Everything's better now. I'm better now."

"You were pretty good before."

"I was a mess before. I didn't know how to let anyone in. I didn't know how to let myself be happy." His arms tightened around her. "But you waited. You were patient with me, even when I didn't deserve it."

"Conrad Fisher, are you getting sentimental on me?"

She felt him smile against the top of her head. "Maybe Cousins makes me sentimental. Or maybe it's you." But they both knew it was both. 

They swayed together as the music continued, and Belly thought about all the summers that had led them here, a mix of the childhood years of innocence, the tumultuous teenage years of first loves and heartbreak, and now this: a summer where they'd found their way back to each other, older and wiser and ready.

"You wanna know what I love about this place?" Conrad said quietly.

"What?"

"It holds all our history, but it still gives us room for new memories. We're not stuck being who we were but we still get to be who we are now."

Belly pulled back to look up at him, and the way he was looking at her, with certainty and tenderness and something that looked a lot like forever, made her heart swell.

"And who are we now, huh?” she asked.

Conrad's hand came up to cup her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. "We're two people who finally got it right."

He kissed her then, soft and sweet and unhurried, while the waves whispered against the shore and the stars wheeled overhead. And Belly thought that maybe this was what coming home really meant; it wasn’t just returning to a place, but returning to the person who made everywhere feel like home.

When they finally pulled apart, Conrad kept her close, their foreheads touching.

"Same time next summer?" he asked, echoing the promise they'd made to each other every year since childhood.

"Same time next summer," Belly confirmed. "Always." Because some things were constant.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

“Wow…… Cousins, huh? It sounds like it a really gorgeous place," Conrad said finally, running a hand through his hair. "I wish I could picture it. I’m sorry."

Belly pulled her knees up to her chest on the couch. ”It's okay, Conrad. It's not your fault."

"I know, I know. But it doesn't make it easier." Conrad turned to looked at Belly, really looked at her, trying to find something in her face that would trigger a memory. She was so beautiful, but there was still no spark of recognition, no rush of nostalgia. Just a stranger with sad eyes who knew him better than he knew himself.

"Belly, can I ask you something?" Conrad’s voice was barely above a whisper.

"Of course."

"Do you... do you still feel anything when you look at me? Anything at all?"

Belly gave him a sad smile. There was only one answer. “Of course, Conrad.” There was no need to elaborate; they both knew what she meant and what she felt.

Conrad considered lying and thought about giving her a reply that would tell her what she wanted to hear. But she deserved better than that. "I feel like I should too,” he admitted. "Like there's something just out of reach. But I can't grasp it."

A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it. She wiped it away quickly, forcing a smile. "That's something, at least. That's more than nothing." Belly knew that if she continued on this conversation, she wouldn’t be able to hold herself together much longer. She clapped her hands together, as she tried to break the silence. “Wow, we’ve been talking to quite a while. It's getting late so let me first show you where you'll be sleeping."

She led him up the stairs and down the hallway of their home, stopping at the biggest door; it led to the main bedroom, their bedroom.. Conrad noticed her hesitation before she pushed it open.

"This is our, uh, I mean, your room," she corrected quickly. The space was comfortable, lived-in. A king-sized bed with navy sheets, books stacked on both nightstands, framed photos on the dresser that he couldn't quite make out in the dim light. "I'm going to sleep in the guest room. Give you your space. I know this is all... a lot. And I don't want you to feel uncomfortable."

"Belly, you really don't have to, I -"

"I want to," she interrupted gently. "Really. You need time to adjust, and I get that." She moved toward the door, pausing in the doorway. "I'm just down the hall if you need anything. Anything at all. Okay?"

Conrad nodded, watching her retreat down the hallway, listening to the soft click of the guest room door closing.

---

The air was quiet. Too quiet.

Conrad had been staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours, his mind racing with fragments of a life he couldn't remember. Every time he closed his eyes, he tried to force the memories to surface, like Belly's laugh, the summer house, their shared dances, anything at all, but there was only darkness. All of it was blank.

He glanced at the clock. 2:49 AM.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Conrad threw off the covers and padded down the hallway in his t-shirt and baggy sweatpants. He stood outside the guest room for a long moment, his hand hovering over the door before he finally knocked softly. "Belly?"

There was a pause, then movement. The door opened, and Belly stood there in an oversized shirt, her hair messy from tossing and turning. Her eyes were red and had eye bags shadowing under; she hadn't been sleeping either.

"Conrad? Is everything okay?"

"I..." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I can't sleep. It feels wrong, being in there alone. Could you... would you stay with me?"

Something shifted in Belly's expression, shock, hope, relief, possibly all three. "Of course. Let me just grab my pillow."

They walked back to the main bedroom together, the silence between them somehow more comfortable now. Belly climbed into her side of the bed, whch was the left side, Conrad noted, so he took the right. They lay there in the darkness, both staring up at the ceiling, careful to leave space between them.

"Better?" Belly whispered.

"Yeah," Conrad admitted. "Weird as it sounds, yeah."

She turned her head slightly toward him. "It's not weird. This is your home."

"Our home," he corrected quietly, and he heard her breath catch.

They were silent for a while, listening to the sounds of the city filtering through the window.

"Can I ask you something?" Conrad said.

"Anything."

"When you talk about us... about Cousins and everything we had... obviously they’re memories that make you happy, but occasionally, you look like it hurts. Like remembering is painful."

Belly was quiet for a moment. "Some memories are like that. Beautiful and painful at the same time."

"Is that why you've been so patient with me? Because you're used to things being complicated?"

She let out a soft, sad laugh. “In an oddly beautiful way, you and I, we’ve never been simple. Even before—" She stopped abruptly. As if she had slipped up. As if she wasn't supposed to say anything at all.

"Before what?"

"Before the accident."

Conrad felt his chest tighten. That word, ‘accident, it kept coming up, but no one had really explained it. "Belly?" Conrad's voice cut through the quiet.

"Yeah?"

"You never told me how I got into the coma in the first place."

He felt her entire body tense beside him. The pause stretched too long, and Conrad turned onto his side to face her.

"What is it?" he pressed gently. "Belly, what aren't you telling me?"

"There was a car accident," she finally said, her voice barely audible. "Your car crashed."

"I figured that much," Conrad said carefully. "But what happened? Was it weather? Another driver? Did I fall asleep at the wheel?"

Belly sat up, pulling her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them like she was trying to hold herself together. Conrad sat up too, giving her space but staying close.

She turned to look at him finally, and even in the dim light filtering through the curtains, he could see the tears streaming down her face. Her whole body was shaking.

"Conrad." Her voice broke on his name. "I'm the reason your car crashed."

Chapter 5

Notes:

long chapter ahead ! angst-filled

“Wh-…. what….. what did you just say?”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and devastating. Suddenly, both of them felt like they forgot how to breath. Conrad stared at Belly, trying to process what she'd just said. He felt like he had just been shot, hearing her say those words; it was a feeling far more painful than the actual accident.

"What do you mean?" he asked quietly, though part of him already knew he didn't want to hear the answer.

Belly just stared ahead at the foot of their bed. She was silent for so long that Conrad thought she might not answer at all.

"It was late," Belly said, her voice trembling. "Around two in the morning. I couldn't sleep." She paused, and Conrad watched as she picked at a loose thread on the blanket, her fingers restless and anxious.

"I kept tossing and turning, trying to ignore it. For some reason, on that night, I was just wide awake, so I thought why not work on some research for work.” Belly slowly peered at the two desks tucked by their bedroom window. She practically winced looking at them. “Barely 20 minutes later, you had already woke up and asked me why I wasn’t it bed. I didn’t even get to answer because it was more of a hypothetical question; you said that me waking up in the middle of the night was a tell of mine.

“A tell for what?”

“Apparently, for when I’m hungry,” Belly dryly chuckled. “For some reason, it was like 2, maybe 3 am and I was suddenly craving these strawberry shortcakes from this all-night bakery in the North End, literally three blocks away. They make them fresh every day with these perfect, ripe strawberries and real whipped cream. Not the canned stuff, real cream that they whip it themselves. That night, I couldn't sleep because all I could think about was those damn strawberries. How sweet they'd be. How the whipped cream would melt on my tongue. It sounds so stupid now, saying it out loud."

"It doesn't sound stupid," Conrad said softly.

"You noticed. Of course you noticed; it's you, Conrad." A bitter smile crossed Belly’s face. "You always noticed everything about me. Even in your sleep, somehow you knew something was wrong. People always did say that we had a telepathic connection that bound us on a cosmic level.”

"I said no. I told you I was fine, that you should go back to sleep. That it wasn't a big deal. But you knew I was lying. You always knew when I was lying."

"What did I do?" Conrad asked, though he could already guess.

"You smiled at me like you'd just solved the world's biggest problem. Like driving across town at two in the morning for dessert was the most natural thing in the world. And you said…..” Belly had to stop to take in a shaky breath. "You said, 'Give me twenty minutes. I'll be back before you know it.'"

Belly finally looked at him, and the devastation in her eyes made his chest ache. There was so much to be said in that look.

"What did I say?" he asked softly.

"I told you no." Belly's voice was getting tighter, more strained. "I told you it was too late. That you didn't need to go out. That I could wait until morning. I told you it was just a craving, that it would pass. I must have said no fifteen times, Conrad. Fifteen times."

"But ……. but ……. you being Conrad, who always goes above and beyond for me no matter what, you wouldn't listen. You got out of bed and started getting dressed. You couldn't find your left shoe, because it had somehow ended up under the dresser, and you were hopping around on one foot trying to put on your jeans. You looked absolutely ridiculous." A genuine smile flickered across her face for just a second before the grief crashed back over it. "I kept protesting. I told you you'd be exhausted tomorrow. But you just shrugged and said that being alert for rounds wasn't as important as me being happy."

Conrad realized that their love was beyond his imagination. The love that he shared with Belly was the type of love that made him want to drive out in the middle of the night to buy his wife a snack. Despite the atrocities of hearing about the night of his accident, it also comforted him to hear that what they had … or have …. was the type of love that was so pure, doing that was an instinct.

"I should have stopped you," she said, her voice rising with desperation. “Fuck, I should have physically blocked the door. I should have hidden your keys. I should have been more insistent. Instead, I—" She pressed her hand to her mouth. "Instead, I decided to be fucking selfish and asked if you could get me extra strawberry glaze on top."

She was shaking now, her whole body trembling with the force of holding everything in.

"I said 'Be careful, I love you’. Those were the last words I said to you before you left. And then you winked at me and said ‘Always am. Love you more’. And then …… and then …… you walked out. That was the last time I saw …. you …. that ….. that version of you, at least.”

"I got back in bed," she continued, the words pouring out now like she couldn't hold them back anymore. "I pulled the covers up and grabbed my phone. I thought about texting you to just come back, that I didn't need the stupid dessert, but I didn't. I didn't want to be that person, you know? The annoying wife who changes her mind every five seconds. So I just... I waited."

She stared at the wall, her eyes unfocused, lost somewhere in that night. "I scrolled through Instagram. Watched some stupid TikToks. Checked the weather for tomorrow. Anything to pass the time. Twenty minutes. That's what you said. 20 minutes. But then those 20 minutes were gone and then 25 minutes passed. I wasn't worried yet. Maybe there was traffic. Maybe the bakery was busy. But …… but then, It turned into 30 minutes. I sent you a text. 'Everything okay?' with a smiley face. You didn't respond. I figured you were driving, being safe, not texting behind the wheel like I always nagged you about."

Conrad felt his stomach start to sink.

"Thirty-five minutes. I called you. It rang four times and went to voicemail. I left a message. I remember it verbatim because it was super obvious that I was incredibly nervous but I was my best to sound casual. I said, 'Hey, just checking in. Hope the strawberries are good. Take care on the road out there. Love you.”

"Forty minutes. I called again. Straight to voicemail this time. I told myself that maybe your phone had died and the only reason why you couldn’t charge it was because you didn’t bring your power-bank with you. That was the logical explanation, right? Your phone died, and you'd be home any minute with a big smile and the melted whipped cream covering the cake.”

She finally looked at him, and the emptiness in her eyes made Conrad's blood run cold.

“But …. but ….,” she paused, hiccuping through her words as more tears began to pour, “but ….. at fifty-one minutes, my phone rang. I jumped for it so fast I knocked over the water glass on the nightstand. It shattered everywhere, but I didn't care. I just grabbed the phone and answered, and I was ready to yell at you for making me worry."

"But it wasn't you. It was a man. He asked me if I was Isabel Fisher. I said yes. She said ….. she said she got my phone number from my husband’s phone where I was listed as his emergency contact. I heard the words ‘Massachusets General’ and I fell to my knees.”

Conrad felt like he couldn't breathe.

“I…… I…… I knew it was bad before I even hung up."

"Jesus," Conrad gasped out loud.

"I couldn't find my shoes," Belly said, and she started sobbing harder now. "Isn't that stupid? My husband was practically fucking dying for all I knew and I couldn't find my damn shoes. They were by the door, they're always by the door, but I was panicking and I couldn't see them. I put on two different sneakers. One was pink and one was black and I didn't even notice until I was at the hospital."

Belly’s words started coming out in gasps and heavy pants. “I ….. I, I remember getting in the car. I remember my hands shaking so badly that I couldn't get the key in the ignition. I remember driving there even though I probably shouldn't have been behind a wheel. I ran two red lights. Two. I could have run over someone else because I was so desperate to get to you."

"Belly, Belly, you need to breathe—"

"I remember the hospital parking garage. I couldn't figure out the parking ticket machine. I just left my car in the fire lane and ran inside. There was a security guard who tried to stop me, but I just screamed 'My husband is here. Conrad Fisher. Where is he? Where is he?’ I knew everyone was looking at me but God, I didn’t give a single fuck. I didn’t care, but I must have looked insane."

Conrad felt his heart break for this version of Belly he'd never met, the one who'd lived through his worst nightmare. "They took me to a waiting room. This horrible, sterile and cold room with fluorescent lights and uncomfortable chairs and a TV playing the late-night news on mute. The police were there. Two officers. A man and a woman. They asked me to sit down."

"The woman officer was really sweet and soft-spoken. I will never forget her because she held my hand when she told me what happened. She said you were driving somewhere on Commonwealth Avenue, a turn after the North End. You were coming from the bakery. She said a drunk driver ran a red light at the intersection of Commonwealth and Clarendon. It hit the driver's side of your car going seventy-three miles per hour in a thirty-five zone."

Conrad felt like he was about to vomit. “God, Belly, I -“

"She said your car flipped. Twice. The witnesses that night said it rolled across the intersection like - " Belly choked on the words. "Like a tin can. Those were the words she used. Like a tin can. When she said that, I ended up throwing up all over her lap. God, it was so embarrassing but she was focused on cleaning me up."

"I asked if you were okay. I kept asking. The officers looked at each other, and I saw it, that look that meant they didn't think you were going to make it. I was afraid they were there to give me the worst news possible. And the male officer said, 'He's alive, but it's serious. The doctors are working on him now.'"

Belly was hyperventilating now, her breath coming in short, painful gasps. “They told me our seatbelts were loose.”

Conrad's stomach dropped. "What?"

“It ….. it was my fault. My God, I was supposed to get our car checked ages ago but then,” Belly paused as she began to choke on her own words, “I kept putting it off because …. because …. fuck, I don’t even have a good excuse. It was a simple thing for me to do and I tossed it in the back of my mind carelessly”

“And then that night …….  that night ……. fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I wasn't there. I wasn't there to nag you. I wasn't there to reach over and click that stupid buckle extra tight. And you didn't know, I didn’t know. You drove across town at two in the morning, and the seat belt was loose, and when that car hit you -"

She couldn't finish. She doubled over, pressing her forehead to her knees, her whole body wracked with sobs.

"The officer said that if you'd been wearing it tighter or if our seatbelts weren’t loose, your injuries would have been significantly less severe. Those were her exact words. 'Significantly less severe.’ I kept thinking about how If I took in the car to get checked when I was supposed to instead of dilly-dallying, we wouldn’t be here in the middle of all this bullshit. Which meant that maybe you wouldn't have hit your head so hard. Maybe you wouldn’t have even gotten into the accident. Maybe you wouldn't have had the brain damage. Maybe you wouldn't have spent all that time in a coma. Maybe you'd still remember me."

Conrad reached for her, but she jerked away violently, afraid that touching her might burn him, like she was the poison that did this to him.

"Don't," she gasped. “Please ….. please, don’t. You don't understand. You don't remember, so you don't understand what this means."

"Then please, please, help me understand!” Conrad said, his own voice rough with emotion.

"It means every single part of this is my fault!" Belly screamed, the sudden volume making Conrad flinch. “Don’t you get it? If I hadn't wanted stupid fuckinng dessert strawberries at three in the morning, you wouldn't have gone out! If I'd been more insistent about you staying home, you would have listened! If I'd gotten in the car with you, you would have put your seatbelt on because you always did when I was there! If I'd just kept my stupid cravings to myself, none of this would have happened!"

"Belly, that's not -"

"They …… they finally let me see you after three hours. They were the longest three house of my life,” she continued, not hearing him. “Three agonizing hours of just sitting in that horrible waiting room while doctors worked on you. My mom showed up after I'd called her from the car. She hopped on a red-eye flight from Philly and held my hand while we waited. She kept saying you'd be okay, that you were strong, that you'd pull through. But I could see it in her eyes. She was scared too."

"When they finally came to get us, your surgeon pulled me aside first. He said ….. “ Her voice cracked. “Fuck, he said the next seventy-two hours were critical. That you had severe head trauma. That your brain was swelling and that you had slipped into a coma. And he said,” She had to stop, and take several shaky breaths. “He said there was a possibility you might not wake up. And if you did wake up, there was no way to know what kind of damage had been done. He used words like 'cognitive impairment' and 'personality changes' and 'memory loss.' He told me to prepare for the worst while hoping for the best. He prepared me for what you would look like, that I would be seeing my husband brutally beat up.”

"Jesus Christ, Belly, “ Conrad whispered.

“And when I finally saw you……” Belly's voice broke completely. “God, when I finally saw you, I didn't recognize you at first. Your face was so swollen. There was blood in your hair; it was clumped, and dark. You had a tube down your throat helping you breathe. There were so many machines. So many wires and tubes and monitors beeping and whirring. They were more alive than you were. I threw up all over your room's floor. I could't bear it.”

"Your left arm was in a cast. You had stitches across your forehead. There were bruises everywhere, your face, your neck, your chest. My mom …… she just made this sound when she saw you, like someone had punched her in the stomach. And I just... I just stood there. Completely still, like I had left earth. I couldn't move. I couldn't cry. I couldn't do anything except stare at you and think, ‘I am a fucking selfish moron. I did this. I did this to him.'"

“Belly, you know that you didn't -" Conrad started, but Belly wasn't finished.

"There was a bag on the chair next to your bed," she said in a distant voice. "A plastic bag with your belongings. Your wallet. Your keys with the keychain of us attached to it. Your phone with the screen completely shattered. And a white takeout box."

"I opened it," Belly continued. "I don't know why. Maybe I needed to see it. Needed to confirm that this was real. That you'd actually gone out to get what I asked for." She looked at him then, and the devastation in her eyes was red with fire. "The strawberry shortcake was crushed ….. but …. it was there. And I just... fuck, I just lost it. I completely lost it. I started screaming. My mom and a team of nurses had to pull me out of the room because I was disturbing other patients. I collapsed in the hallway and I couldn't stop screaming. Couldn't stop thinking about how you'd gotten me exactly what I wanted, and it had killed you."

"I didn't die," Conrad said weakly, but the words felt hollow.

"Didn't you, though?” Belly looked at him with hollow eyes. “I know this is sounds mean, but, but, the Conrad I knew, the one who drove across town at two in the morning for strawberries, who smiled when I was being difficult, who said making me happy was worth losing sleep over, he's gone. You look like him. You sound like him. But you're not him. You don't remember loving me. You don't remember our wedding, growing up with me, our first home, or the night you proposed. You don't remember any of it, us."

The words hit Conrad like physical blows.

"The only time I let myself feel it is late at night when I think you're asleep. That's when I let myself cry. That's when I let myself remember everything we had. That's when I let myself mourn the version of you that's gone."

Conrad's heart broke. "You don't have to pretend with me."

"Yes, I do," Belly said. "Because if I don't, if I let you see how much this is destroying me, you'll feel guilty. And you shouldn't feel guilty for something that's not your fault. You didn't ask for this. You didn't choose to forget me. So I pretend I'm okay, and you don't have to worry about me on top of everything else."

"That's not fair to you."

"Nothing about this is fair, Conrad," Belly said bitterly. "Not to you, not to me, not to anyone. Fair went out the window the moment that drunk driver decided to get behind the wheel."

"I'm sorry," she said. "For dumping all of this on you. You're dealing with enough without having to manage my breakdown too."

"Don't apologize," Conrad said firmly. "Don't you dare apologize for being human. For feeling things. For grieving what we lost."

"We," Belly repeated softly. "You keep saying 'we.'"

"I do," Conrad said. "Because I lost everything that made my life what it is. I lost memories I'll never get back. I lost a version of myself I'll never know. And I lost -" He paused, searching for the right words. "I lost the ability to give you what you need. To be what you need. That's a loss too, even if I can't remember what it feels like."

His words struck Belly deep. Up until now, she didn’t really understand the gravity of it all for Conrad. “I sat next to your bed for three days straight. Seventy-two hours. That's how long they said was critical. I didn't eat. I didn't sleep. I just sat there, holding your hand, the one without the cast. I read somewhere that coma patients can sometimes hear what's going on around them. So I talked to you constantly. Telling you about my day even though my day was just sitting next to you. Updating you on the latest gossip from Agnes and the other residents. Reading you articles from your favorite news sites. Playing both playlists that you made for road trips and rounds at the hospital.”

"Everyone came. Your dad flew in from Seattle. My mom never left. Steven and Taylor drove up from New York. Everyone was there, everyone was praying, and all I could do was sit there and beg you to wake up. I think it was the first time anyone in that room thought about God; we were all looking for something bigger to save you, whatever it took. I made so many bargains with God. 'Let him wake up and I'll never ask for anything again. Let him wake up and I'll be a better person. Let him wake up and I'll spend the rest of my life making this up to him.'"

"Belly -"

"Three days turned into a week," she said. "A week turned into two weeks. Two weeks turned into the worst 18 days of my life. Dr. Reeves said that you were stable but unresponsive. They said your brain activity was good, which meant you were still in there somewhere. But there was no way to know when, or if even at all, you'd wake up. But when you finally did, I was a stranger to you. We all were.”

"How long?" Conrad asked quietly, warm tears gushing down his face. "How long have you been holding all of this in?"

"Since the night of the accident," Belly said. "Everyone kept telling me it wasn't my fault. Your dad, Steven, the doctors, the grief counselor the hospital assigned me. But …… but, they weren't there. They didn't see your face when you grabbed your keys. They didn't hear you say 'Twenty minutes, Belly. I promise.' They didn't watch you walk out that door." She looked at him with hollow eyes. "So yeah, Conrad. I'm the reason your car crashed. I'm the reason you spent six months in a coma. I'm the reason you lost two years of your life. I'm the reason you're looking at me right now like I'm someone you barely know. And I don't know how to live with that."

The weight of her words settled over the room like a suffocating blanket. Conrad sat there, staring at this woman who'd been carrying impossible guilt alone for months, and felt completely inadequate. What could he possibly say that would make any of this better?

"I don't blame you," he said finally, his voice rough.

"You should. You have every right to. I do."

"But I don't." He moved closer, carefully. "And I don't think the version of me that you remember would blame you either."

"You don't know that," Belly whispered. "You can't know that because you're not him anymore."

“I may not be him anymore, but from everything you’ve told me, I know for a fact that the love he ….. that version of me, had for you, was beyond my understanding. The type of love that is .... was, pure and kind enough to drive out in the middle of the night for you.”

“Yeah, I'm not the same person I was before. I don't remember our life together. I don't remember falling in love with you or proposing or our wedding day. I don't remember any of the moments that mattered to you. To us. The doctors said it's possible, but not guaranteed. So I can't promise that one day I'll wake up and remember everything and we'll go back to the way things were. I can't give you that.”

The doctors said it's possible, but not guaranteed. So I can't promise that one day I'll wake up and remember everything and we'll go back to the way things were. I can't give you that.

The pain in her voice was visceral, and Conrad felt it in his bones. "But I'm here, aren’t I, Belly?” he said, his voice steadier now. "I'm alive. I'm breathing. I'm trying. And maybe that doesn't feel like enough right now, maybe it's not enough, but it's something. It has to be something."

"Belly," Conrad said finally, his voice quiet but firm. "You can't keep blaming yourself for something that wasn't your fault. It's eating you alive. I can see it. Everyone can see it."

"Good," she said viciously. "I deserve it."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do!" Belly’s voice exploded with so much pain. “Conrad, I deserve every sleepless night! Every nightmare! Every moment of guilt! Because while I'm lying awake feeling sorry for myself, you're lying awake trying to remember a life that's been stolen from you! You're the victim here, not me!"

"We are both victims," Conrad said firmly. "Just of different things."

"That's not—"

"A drunk driver hit my car," he interrupted, his voice harder now. "That person chose to get behind the wheel intoxicated. That person chose to speed through a neighborhood in the middle of the night. That person decided that consequences were fucking idiotic and didn’t, wouldn't, apply to them. That person destroyed both of our lives. Not you. Never you."

"But if I hadn't asked -“

"Stop," Conrad said, and there was something in his voice that made Belly pause. He grabbed her shoulders gently but firmly, making her look at him. “Look at me. Please. I can't sit here and watch you do this to yourself. I can't watch you tear yourself apart over something you didn't cause."

"Why do you even care, Conrad?” Belly asked, her voice breaking. "You don't remember me. You don't remember us. Why does any of this matter to you?"

Conrad opened his mouth to respond, then stopped. It was a fair question. Why did it matter? She was right; he didn't remember her at all. Didn't remember their relationship or their history. By all accounts, she should feel like a stranger to him. She was, but at the same time, she was the only person he knew for a fact was not.

"Every time I look at you," Conrad continued quietly, "I feel like I should know you. Like there's something just out of reach, something important that I'm missing. Like my body remembers you even if my brain doesn't. And watching you carry this guilt alone feels wrong on a fundamental level. It feels like something I should be able to share with you, to help you with, even though I don't remember why."

“I don’t know if we can fix this," Belly whispered with painful honesty, fresh tears sliding down her cheeks. “If anyone can. It's broken, Conrad. We're broken."

"Maybe," Conrad agreed. "But broken doesn't mean gone. And it doesn't mean not worth fighting for."

Conrad's throat was so tight he could barely breathe. He didn't have the answers she needed. Didn't have the memories she wanted. Couldn't give her back what she'd lost. He was just a poor substitute wearing a familiar face, and they both knew it. But he could do this. He pulled her into his arms, and this time when she resisted, he held on tighter. She fought it for a moment, tried to pull away, tried to maintain that distance, but then she shattered completely. She collapsed against him like a puppet with cut strings, her hands fisting in his shirt, and she sobbed.

Conrad held her through it all, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other wrapped firmly around her waist. He cried with her, tears falling on her hair and sliding down the back of her neck. He didn't tell her it was okay because it wasn't. He didn't make empty promises about remembering because he couldn't. They just held each other tightly as they both allowed themselves to fall apart in each other’s arms , as they finally allowed themselves to feel everything they’d been holding in for so long.

"I miss you," she gasped between sobs, her voice muffled against his chest. "I miss you so much it physically hurts. I miss the way you used to kiss my forehead when you thought I was sleeping. I miss how you'd hum while making coffee in the morning. I miss our inside jokes that I can't explain anymore because you don't remember them. I miss everything."

Conrad felt tears burning in his own eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair. "I'm so fucking sorry, Belly. For all of it. For not remembering. For not being who you need me to be. For making you carry this alone."

"Thank you," Conrad whispered in between sobs and sniffles of snot.

"For what?"

"For being honest. For not lying to make me feel better." He opened her eyes and looked at her. "Everyone else has been lying to me for months. Telling me it'll be okay, that I’ll remember, that we'll get through this. But you're the first person who's been real with me. Who's told me the truth even when it hurts.” Conrad pause. “But I’m sorry the truth isn't better.”

"Me too." Belly wiped at her face one more time, then took a shaky breath. "I should let you get some sleep. You've had a long day, and I've probably given you enough emotional trauma for one night."

She started to get up, but Conrad caught her wrist.

"Stay," he said.

Belly looked at him, confused. "What?"

"Stay," Conrad repeated. "Please. You don't have to go back to the guest room. I know I'm not who you need me to be, and I know this doesn't change anything, but……” He paused, trying to articulate what he was feeling. "You shouldn't have to be alone tonight. Not after all of that."

"Conrad, I can't - “

"I'm not asking for anything to happen," he clarified quickly. "I'm not trying to pretend we're something we're not. I just …. I don't want you to be alone. And honestly, I don't want to be alone either. So just... stay. Please."

Belly looked torn, like she was warring with herself about what to do. Finally, she nodded slowly. "Okay," she whispered. "I'll stay."

She climbed back into bed, and this time the space between them felt different. Not comfortable exactly, but less painful. Like they'd lanced a wound that had been festering for too long. They lay there in the darkness, both on their backs, staring at the ceiling. Their fingers were barely touching yet neither of them was brave enough to admit they needed to be held. There was a tingling spark of electricity between them, but they both chose to willfully ignore its presence. Perhaps some things do never change.

"Belly?" Conrad said after a while.

"Yeah?"

"What was the strawberry cake like? The one from the bakery you wanted."

"Perfect," she said softly. "They'd slice the strawberries real thick and layer them with this light, fluffy cream that wasn't too sweet. And they'd dust the top with just a tiny bit of powdered sugar. It was -" She paused. "It was my favorite thing in the world."

"We should go grab a slice,” Conrad said. "When I'm cleared to drive again, we'll go to that bakery and get you the real thing.”

"Conrad -"

"I know it won't fix anything," he interrupted. "I know it won't bring back my memories or undo the accident or make any of this easier. But you wanted strawberry shortcake, and you never got it. So we're going to get it. Consider it the world's most delayed delivery."

Belly let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. "That's ridiculous."

"Maybe," Conrad agreed. "But I mean it. We're doing it.

After the lighthearted air filled the room, there was long pause.

“Belly?” Conrad spoke first.

“Yeah?

“Could you come closer? If it's okay with you, I want to hold you in my arms.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure.”

Belly inched her way into Conrad’s open arms, wasting no time to close the gap between them. The mattress shifted beneath her weight as she moved, and she could feel the heat radiating from his body even before she reached him. Soon enough, their hearts started beating in sync; their heartbeats found one another in the middle of it all. “Are you sure this is okay?” she asked, terrified that he might suddenly realize that holding her wasn’t what it seemed.

“It’s more than okay.”  He pulled her closer as he took her in, all of her. His body and mind were telling him to hold onto her for as long as he could and to never let her go. “It feels right.”

Belly felt her chest fill with warmth. “That’s nice to hear.” She snuggled deeper into his arms tucking her head beneath his chin. She could hear his heartbeat, steady and strong, and wondered if he could feel hers as well. The scent of him, indefinably and infinitely Conrad, wrapped around her.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Conrad's thumb traced absent circles on her hip, a unconscious gesture that made her breath catch. She'd imagined this so many times, lying awake in her own bed, that now that it was real, she was almost afraid to believe it.

She looked up to see if he was already asleep, but her eyes met his when he was looking at her, wondering the exact same thing. They both shared a smile.

"Hi," she whispered, though they were already closer than close.

"Hi," he whispered back, and his hand came up to brush a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering against her cheek. His eyes searched hers in the dim moonlight filtering through the window, and she saw everything there, the years of friendship, the complications, the fear, but underneath it all, something pure and undeniable.

"Conrad?" Belly said after a while, her voice thick with exhaustion.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry. For everything. For the accident. For the coma. For all of it."

"I know you are, Belly” Conrad said gently. "But it's not your fault.

"Say it."

"What?"

"Say 'it's not my fault.' I want to hear you say it."

Belly shook her head. "No. I can't. I don't believe it."

"Then say it anyway. Please. Just once. For me." His forehead came to rest against hers, and they breathed the same air, existing in a bubble where nothing else mattered. Not the past, not tomorrow, just this moment, just them.

She was quiet for so long that Conrad thought she might refuse. But then, in the smallest voice he'd ever heard from her, she whispered, “It's …… it’s not my fault.”

“But,” she added, “it’s not your fault, too Conrad,” she said automatically, as he nodded against her head.

“And we'll keep saying it until we both believe it. Together.”

"That might take a while," Belly said weakly. Although she sounded defeated, Conrad was able to make out the teensiest twinge of hope in her voice. She wasn’t going to give up on them, and neither was he.

“For you, I’ve got time. I'm here now”

"You're here now," she repeated, and that was enough. It had to be enough.

Notes:

crazy long chapter ik but i couldn't help myself lol
if you guys have any thoughts and suggestions i would love to read them in the comments!!!!!

Chapter 6

---

Belly was standing aimlessly in the club house’s-turned bridal room, still in her rehearsal dress, the pearly white silk and the strapless fit looked glowed in the low light. Her hair was falling out of its updo, makeup smudged under one eye like she'd been crying.

"You shouldn't be here," she said, but she didn't move away.

"I know." His voice came out rough. "I know, but I……"

“Conrad, your fucking brother is outside barely six feet away from us.” She wasn't accusing him of anything. At least not yet. It sounded more like a reminder. A plea.

"I know that too." He stepped closer, and she let him. "I know everything I'm supposed to know. I know you're getting married in two days. I know he loves you. I know I should walk away right now and never - “

"Then why don't you?"

"Because you deserve better than this." The words burst out of Conrad, desperate and honest. He was done pretending. He was done being okay with all of this. "You deserve someone who looks at you like you hung the fucking moon, not someone who cheats on you on spring fucking break, or can’t take his eyes off of his phone during dinner and forgets your birthday and—"

"Stop." Belly felt her voice broke. "Just stop."

"I can't." He was close enough now to see the tears on her lashes. "I've tried. God, I've tried to be happy for you both, to be the older supportive brother, but every time I see you together I want to—" Hecut himself off.

"Want to what?"

"Tell you not to marry him."

The silence stretched between them that you could hear how their heartbeats suddenly echoed. And then synced together.

"You can't say that to me, Conrad” she whispered. "Not now. Not when -"

"When what? When it's too late? When you've already sent the invitations and bought the prom-turned-wedding dress and convinced yourself this is what you want?"

"It is what I want."

"Liar." He said it softly, without heat.

She made a sound that might have been a laugh or a sob. "You are a goddamn asshole, Conrad.”

"I know."

"If you wanted to say something, you should have said it months, no fuck, years, fucking years ago. Before I—before we—"

"I know." He reached up, almost touched her face, then let his hand drop. "I know I fucked up. I waited too long and now you hate me and—"

"I don't hate you." She was crying openly now. "I really, really wish I did."

His heart stopped. "What?"

"You heard me." Belly wiped her face with the back of her hand, her mascara smearing. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to show up here, right after our wedding rehearsal, and tell me everything I've been trying not to think about for years.”

"Then tell me to leave, Belly.” He was begging now, and he didn't care. "Tell me you don’t love me anymore and I'll walk away. I'll be at the wedding, I’ll watch you marry him, and I'll smile and I'll never say a word about this again."

"I—" Belly looked at him, really looked at him, and he saw the exact moment something cracked open in her expression. “Conrad…. I-, we…. we can't."

Conrad felt his world tilt sideways.

"Then don't marry Jeremiah,” he said, and his voice was shaking. "Don't do this if you don't love him. Don't settle for comfortable when you deserve—"

"What?" Belly felt herself step closer, close enough that Conrad could smell her perfume, something floral and faint.

"What do I deserve?"

"Everything." The word came out like a confession. His hand cupped her face; it fit perfectly in his hand. And when she didn’t jerk away from him,, he felt his fingers gently caress her face as she lightly leaned into his touch. “You deserve everything, Belly.”

Belly was looking at his lips. Dangerously looking. Staring. He saw her looking, saw the way her breathing had changed, quick and shallow. "This is a bad idea."

"The worst."

"He's your brother."

"I know."

“We’re getting married in two days."

"I know."

"If I kiss you right now, everything falls apart."

"I know."

---

Conrad woke up gasping, his heart racing like he'd been running. Morning light crept through the curtains of the guest room, pale and insistent. He surfaced slowly from sleep, awareness returning in fragments, the unfamiliar weight of the comforter, the faint smell of lavender from the detergent she used, the distant sound of birds outside the window.

And the dream. God, that dream

Conrad lay there for a long moment, blankly staring at the ceiling, his heart still racing from the vividness of it. It hadn't felt like a normal dream at all. This had been different. Coherent. Linear. Heavy with emotion that still sat heavy and loaded in his chest like a physical weight. And he could still feel the ghost of it all - the texture of her dress under his fingers, the taste of salt from his own tears, the way his hands had trembled when he'd cupped her face. The words they'd spoken felt burned into his memory, which was ironic considering he had no other memories to speak of.

His body felt strange, too. Keyed up. Stiff. Anxious. Like he'd actually been standing in the club house that he’d never seen before, spoke that way of a brother he’s only seen in pictures and heard of in passing, and actually risked everything for a woman he had no memories of.

Except Belly wasn't a woman he barely remembered in the dream. In the dream, he'd known her completely. Had loved her completely. Loved her enough to destroy his relationship with his brother, to blow up her wedding, to stand there and beg her not to make what he knew was a mistake.

He pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to make sense of it. Was it a memory? His brain trying to tell him something? Or just his subconscious processing the weird situation he'd found himself in. He was living with a wife he couldn't remember and trying to navigate feelings he didn't understand.

The bed beside him was empty. Cold. He reached out without thinking, his hand sliding across the sheets, and felt a pang of something he couldn't name when he found nothing but empty space. He'd thought he was adjusting. Getting used to this new normal. Learning to exist in this strange space between stranger and husband. But that dream.

He pushed himself out of bed, pulling on a random pair of black sweatpants. The hardwood was cold under his bare feet as he padded to the door, opening it quietly. The hallway was empty, morning light filtering through the window at the end. He could hear something now, a faint sounds from downstairs. Water running. The clink of dishes.

He found himself taking the stairs slowly, almost reluctantly. Part of him wanted to go back to bed, to pretend he hadn't had the dream, to maintain the careful equilibrium they'd built. But a bigger part, the part that had woken up and suddenly reached for her, needed to see her. Needed to know if the dream meant something or if he was losing his mind.

The kitchen was bathed in soft morning light, and she was standing at the sink with her back to him. Belly was wearing an oversized t-shirt. Conrad stood in the doorway for a moment, just watching her, trying to reconcile this woman, real and solid and here with the woman from his dream. Were they the same? Had she stood before him in a rehearsal dress and cried over his brother?

"Hey," he said softly, not wanting to startle her.

She turned quickly. Belly’s eyes were still red and puffy from last night. “Hey, you. I’m sorry, it’s still early. Did I wake you? I was trying to be quiet."

“I …..  uh ….. I had a dream, actually." The words came out before he could second-guess them. “Like, uh…. a really vivid one. That's why I—I needed to come down. To see if—" He stopped.

“Oh, well what kind of dream?"

"About us. Well, at least I think it was about us. We were, uh—“ Conrad paused, trying to figure out how to say it. "We were in a clubhouse. You were wearing a pale white dress. We were talking inside your room, crying, and you, uhm, you said that you were getting married. But not to me."

The mug slipped from her hand and shattered in the sink.

"Shit, I, uh,” Belly stared at the broken pieces, not moving.

"Hey, it's okay,” He was beside her in an instant, reaching for her hands to pull them away from the sharp edges. "Don't touch it, Belly, you might accidentally cut yourself."

"I'm fine," she said, but her voice was shaking. "I'm fine, I just—"

"You're not fine." He turned her to face him, and saw that she was suddenly crying again, tears streaming down her face. "What's wrong? What did I say?"

"That wasn't a dream," she whispered.

The air in the kitchen seemed to still. "What?" The question barely came out in a whisper.

"That wasn't a dream."

"I ….. what?"

"I was engaged to your brother, Jeremiah. You’ve seen him in old pictures, ironically, which is another reason why those pictures aren’t in our home.” Belly paused to laugh at the harsh irony. “A day before our wedding, you found me in the hotel hallway. I was crying because I knew I was making a mistake but I didn't know how to stop it. And you…… you, uh,” Belly let out a shaky breath. "You told me everything I'd been too scared to admit to myself."

“Your rehearsal dinner dress,” Conrad whispered to himself, remembering the softness of the dress against his hand.

"Yeah. I was supposed to marry him. Your brother. We'd been together for four years, engaged for barely two months. It was, in hindsight, a terrible idea because we were still in college. But everyone eventually got on board. And then you showed up and—"

"And I told you not to marry him." He could barely get the words out. His mind was reeling, trying to process this. “I …. wow, okay. Jesus. I tried to stop your wedding?"

"You didn't just try, Conrad. You succeeded. I almost kissed you in that day like an idiot, and then I called off the wedding immediately. God, it was such a cliche. I turned into a runaway bride.”

Conrad stared at her, "So did we …. did we, uh, have an affair? Did you, uhm, I mean, we, cheat on Jeremiah”

"No!" The word came out fierce. "We never ..... we never. The both of us made sure we never stooped to that level because we both knew Jeremiah did that to me. And you were so careful, so goddamn noble about it. You never said anything, never crossed a line, even though I could see it in your eyes every time you looked at me. You suffered in silence for months while I planned a wedding to your brother because you didn't want to be the kind of person who—"

"But I became that person anyway." The guilt was crushing, even for something he couldn't remember doing. "I showed up in your room and I ruined everything."

“Conrad, you ..... you saved me." She was crying harder now. "You saved me from making the biggest mistake of my life. Your brother is a good person, but I didn't love him. Not the way you're supposed to love someone you're going to marry. And you knew it. You'd always known it. You just, you waited until the last possible second to say something because you didn't want to be selfish."

"That doesn't make it okay." He felt sick. "My brother—"

"Your brother didn't talk to us for a year." She wiped at her face with the back of her hand. “Funnily enough though, no one took sides or no one placed blame. I think everyone, especially you, saw through me. Hell, when I ended up in Paris, everyone was more supportive of that than when I told them I wanted to get married.”

Belly paused. “What we have, uhm, I mean had, was real. More real than anything I'd felt with your brother. And you,” Her voice cracked. "You promised me you wouldn't regret it. That five years from now, you wouldn't wish you'd kept your mouth shut. And you kept that promise. Every single day, you kept it."

The weight of it was all too much. This story he didn't remember, this person he'd been who was brave and reckless and stupid enough to risk everything for love. “I’m sorry I don't remember promising you anything."

"I know."

"I don't remember loving you enough to do something like that. I don't remember any of it. I don't remember being someone who would  tell his brother's fiancée not to get married. That's insane. That's—"

"The person who decided to take a risk on my literal wedding rehearsal day? The one who showed up even though it meant destroying his relationship with his brother? Even though it meant everyone would hate him? That was you. The you who knew what he wanted and refused to let it slip away out of fear."

“But, I don't feel like that person." Conrad’s voice came out raw. "I feel like, like I'm some pale imitation walking around in his life, wearing his clothes, sleeping in his house. And now you're telling me he was the kind of person who would," He couldn't finish.

"Who would fight for what he loved," she added softly. "Yeah. You were."

The silence stretched between them. He could feel something building in his chest. He wanted so badly to remember that. To remember being that person. To remember making her feel those things.

"I'm not him right now," he said quietly.

"I know."

"I don't know if I can be him again."

"I know that too."

“But I think I'm starting to feel it," Conrad said, the words coming out barely above a whisper.

She went very still. "Feel what?"

"Whatever it was ..... is ..... between us." He forced himself to hold her gaze, to be honest even though it terrified him. "I don't remember loving you. I don't have those memories. But when I woke up this morning and you weren't there, I," he swallowed hard. "I didn't like it. I reached for you before I even knew what I was doing. And it's not just that. It's," He struggled to articulate it. "When I'm downstairs and I hear you moving around up here, I'm aware of where you are. When you tell me stories about our life, I don't remember them, but I want to. When you smile at me, really smile, it feels like," he stopped, frustrated with his inability to explain.

"Like what?" Her voice was barely audible.

"Like something inside me recognizes it. Recognizes you. Not my brain, but—" He pressed a fist against his chest. "Something deeper. Something that knows you belong in my space, in my life, even when I can't remember why."

"But I can't say it yet," he continued, needing her to understand. "I can't say the words because they feel too big when I don't remember everything. It would feel like lying, or …. or stealing them from the person I used to be. Does that make sense?"

"Yes." She was crying openly now. "Yes, it makes perfect sense."

"But I need you to know,” Conrad took a step closer, closing more of the distance between them. "I need you to know that something's there. Something's happening. And I don't know if it's new or if it's old feelings coming back or if it even matters what we call it, but it's real. It's real and it's growing and it scares the shit out of me."

"Why does it scare you?"

"Because what if I'm doing it wrong?" The fear he'd been carrying for weeks came spilling out. "What if the way I'm feeling about you now is completely different from how I felt before? What if I fall for you in this new way and it's not, uhm, not what you want? Not what you remember? What if you wake up one day and realize the person falling for you now isn't the same person who loved you before?"

"That's not ..... you don't understand—"

"Then help me understand, Belly.” Conrad heard the desperation in his own voice. "Because I'm trying so hard to be what you need, to become the person you're waiting for, but I don't know how. I don't know how to be him when I can't remember who he was."

"I don't need you to be him, Conrad." She closed the remaining distance between them, and he could see every tear track on her face, every raw emotion. "I know you're scared that you won't measure up to that old version of who you were, that you'll be some inferior version of who you used to be. But that's not—" Her voice broke. "I didn't fall in love with your memories. I fell in love with you.”

"You are still in there," Belly continued, certain. "You're still the person who would risk everything for what you believed in. The person who feels things deeply, maybe too deeply. The person who,” she reached up tentatively, like she was afraid he'd pull away. "Who reaches for me in the morning even when your brain doesn't remember why."

Her hand hovered near his face, and he made the decision for both of them, closing the distance, letting her palm rest against his cheek. The touch sent electricity through him. Not quite memory, but something close. Something that felt like coming home.

"I can love every version of you," she whispered. "I will love every version of you, the you who remembered me and the one who doesn't. I can love all of it. All of you. You don't have to earn it or deserve it or be someone you're not. You just have to,” her thumb brushed across his cheekbone. "You just have to let me."

“Do you mean that, Belly?”

"Of course I mean that." She was smiling through her tears. "Did you think I fell in love with your perfect memory? With your ability to remember our anniversary? I fell in love with your heart. And you still have that. It's still here, still yours, even if you can't remember everything it's felt."

And then he kissed her.

Belly’s hands came up to frame his face, and he felt her sigh against his mouth, felt the tension drain from her shoulders as she leaned into him. It was careful and sweet and nothing like he'd imagined, and somehow it was perfect. His body knew this, knew her, even if his mind was still catching up.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathing hard, she kept her eyes closed for a moment. Like she was trying to hold onto something. Afraid it would disappear if she looked.

"I'm sorry," Conrad whispered. "I should have asked. I shouldn't have just—"

"Don't." she cut him off, her thumb brushing away a stray tear from his cheek. "Please don't apologize for that."

She opened her eyes, and the fear in them nearly broke him. "What if your memories never come back? What if you wake up one day and realize you only feel this way because I've been telling you stories? That it's not real, just, just suggestion? Just your brain trying to fill in the blanks?"

"Then we'll deal with it." But right now, this,” he gestured between them, “all o this feels real to me. Maybe it's different than what we had before. Maybe it's new. But it's real."

"I don't want to manipulate you into feeling something." The words tumbled out like Belly had been holding them back for weeks. "I don't want you to think you have to love me just because I'm telling you that you did. That's not …. that's not fair to you, Conrad.”

"Hey." He ducked his head, making her look at him. "You're not manipulating me. You've been nothing but patient and kind and honest. If anything, you've been too careful, too worried about pushing me." He managed a small smile. "I'm the one who keeps asking you questions. Who wants to know more. Who ……” Conrad stopped, considering his next words carefully, “who woke up from a dream about you and couldn't wait to come find you."

"I want to rebuild this, us,” Conrad said, the words feeling monumental. "I don't know how, and I don't know if I can ever be the person you married, but I want to try. Not because I feel obligated, not because everyone expects me to, but because …….” He pulled back just enough to look at her properly. "Because when I'm with you, I don't feel so lost. When I hear your voice, something in me relaxes. When you smile, I want to be the reason for it. And that has to mean something, right?"

"It means everything." Her hands came up to cup his face now, both of them, like she needed to make sure he was really here. Really saying this. "But we don't have to rush. We don't have to rebuild what we had before. We can build something new. Something that's ours: yours and mine, right now, not based on who we used to be."

They stood there for a moment, foreheads pressed together, and he felt something shift. Some invisible barrier crumbling. He wasn't the man from the night of her wedding rehearsal. Conrad might never be that man again.

But maybe he could be someone new. Someone who loved her in a different way. Someone who built a different kind of life with her.

"Can I—" Conrad hesitated. "Can you tell me more? About that night? About what happened after? Actually, about us? Everything about us.”

Belly pulled back slightly, searching his face. "Are you sure? It's not an easy story."

"I'm sure." He caught her hand, laced their fingers together. "I want to know. All of it. Even the hard parts. Especially the hard parts.”

Notes:

hope you guys liked the chapter! please do leave kudos and comments (i love reading through them all the time!).

Chapter 7

Flashback, 12.5 Years Ago

Belly couldn’t take her eyes off of it. She came back to this very antique store here in Cousins’ every day the past summer. She pocketed and saved every penny she earned from chores and recycling plastic bottles the past summer.

It was every little girl’s dream, and she was working every minute to make sure she was the first one to it.

Belly never owned a charm bracelet. Her and Taylor definitely learned how to make ones out of letter beads, string, and other decorative charms, but she always adored the silver, shiny ones in the display cases. She made it her summer goal to buy one, but not just one, the last one in the shop. It spoke to her, like it was the key to making all of her princess dreams come true.

Belly lugged the big piggy bank with her as she pushed open the store’s door. She had finally done it.

“Belly! My oh my, you’ve gotten so big and tall now! You’re practically a giant!”

“I’m 11 now, Mrs. Henderson!” Belly cheekily smiled, her pearly whites beaming.

“I can’t believe Cousins’ own Belly is the big 11, now! Now, what brings you over to our antique shop? We don’t exactly sell the newest toys and dolls here.”

"I’d like the silver bracelet, please” she told Mrs. Henderson, trying to sound grown-up. "The one with the little moon and stars.”

Mrs. Henderson looked past her, toward the empty spot on the window’s burgundy velvet display pad. "Oh, sweetie," she murmured, "I am so sorry. It sold just this morning. It was the only one we had."

The world went instantly mute. All the hours of work and chores just collapsed into a single, sharp point of loss. It wasn't just the bracelet. It was the pride, the goal, the first major thing she’d ever bought herself, just stolen like that. As her hand began to tremble, the coins in her piggy bank rattled as well.

“Oh,” Belly’s voice barely came out in a whisper. “Thanks, Mrs. Henderson.” She gave a bland smile before walking away, biting her lip to stop herself from crying.

 

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Belly could barely contain her tears before she could properly park her bike in the yard. She ran past her mom and Susannah’s calls and straight up to her room. As her head hit her pillow, the tears began to flow out aggressively.

“Belly?”

That voice. It was her favorite sound. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” She tried to still her voice as best as possible, but it came out quivered and high-pitch, also known as her tell for when she was trying to tell a fib.

“No you’re not,” he said almost immediately, through the door. “Can I come in?”

Belly quickly wiped her tears away as she sat up on her bed. The last thing she wanted to pile up on how sad she was already feeling was if Conrad saw her like this. “Come in,” she managed to cough out.

Conrad pushed the door open slowly, quietly closing it behind him. He knew that Belly always got shy when people saw her cry. He took a seat next to her as he let her lean into his shoulder. For a moment, he just waited for her in the silence, until she calmed down.

“I have something for you that might make you feel better, Belly.” 

Belly’s sniffling stopped. “You do?”

“Close your eyes, it’s a surprise.”

Belly nuzzled her head deeper into his shoulder, closing her eyes.

“Okay, now hold out your hands.” As Belly held out her hands, a little box dropped into them. “Okay, you can look now.”

Belly looked up and as her eyes recognized the familiar velvet box from Mrs. Henderson’s shop, she gasped. “Connie, did you …..” she was rendered speechless and suddenly her tears turned into ones of joy.

“You’ve been working your butt off, taking on extra chores for this bracelet. No one deserves this more than you.” Conrad lifted the box from her hands as he opened it up to reveal the very charm bracelet she’d been looking at since the first day of summer. “You always said you wanted it to look like a princess. But you’ve always been one, Belly. Always”

Belly turned to look at him, with that very look in her eyes that made her believe Conrad hung the moon.

“Can I put it on you, Belly?” 

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

1 Month Later

“All right, scans are done, Conrad. You did great.”

Conrad woke to the whirring of the MRI machine  and Dr. Reeves’ voice.

The platform slid backward, pulling him out of the machine. The fluorescent lights of the room felt too bright after laying in the darkness for the past 45-minutes. He blinked, disoriented, as Dr. Chen came around to help him sit up. “Dr. Reeves and I saw your preliminary scans and I can tell you right now, they look great. How do you feel, Conrad?” she asked, removing the stabilizing equipment from around his head.

Conrad smiled. Aside from Belly, Dr. Chen and Dr. Reeves have been Conrad’s lifeline. Even when he wasn’t due for scans, they’d occasionally check in on him. And if he had questions, they were a text away. “Kind of like I've been lying in a metal coffin for an hour."

She smiled sympathetically. "Forty-five minutes, but I know it feels longer. Dr. Reeves and I will go over the results with you. Belly’s in consultation room B. And don’t worry, we made sure to get her a hot chocolate while she waited.”

As he heard her name, a big cheesy smile was painted across his face. As Dr. Chen helped Conrad, she looked at him with awe. A month ago, he could barely look at his wife and now, he was smitten. Conrad thought about Belly, sitting in the waiting room. She'd been twisting her hands together when they walked into the hospital ths morning, a nervous tell she had. He'd only known her for two months, but he'd already memorized so many of her small gestures. The way she tucked her hair behind her left ear when she was thinking. The way her voice went soft when she talked about the past. But also, the way she looked at him sometimes, like she was searching for someone who wasn't there anymore.

She stood up the moment he walked in, her face tight with worry. "Hey. How was it?"

Conrad bent over to kiss Belly on the cheek as she wrapped her arms around his big frame. "Loud. Fucking claustrophobic. Agonizingly slow. I just thought about you to calm down.”

Belly smiled as they settled in their seats hand-in-hand.

The door opened, and Dr. Reeves and Dr. Chen walked in, each with files and a tablet in their hands.

“Hey, you two. The MRI spooks a lot of our first-timers, and honestly myself includeed, but you did great in there, Conrad.” They each pulled up chairs across from them. "So, we’ve had a chance to review the scans, and we do have some updates for you."

Dr. Reeves pulled up images on his tablet, showing a collage of cross-sections of Conrad’s brain in black and white and gray. "The good news is that the swelling has completely resolved. When we did the initial scans after the accident, there was significant inflammation here and here." He pointed to two areas. "That's gone now. The tissue has healed as much as it's going to."

"And the bad news?" Conrad pressed, as if he was already expecting it.

"There's no bad news, exactly. But I want to be realistic with you both about expectations. The damage to your hippocampus and surrounding structures, which are the areas responsible for memory formation and retrieval, is unfortunately permanent. The injury was severe. Some of the neural pathways that stored your long-term memories were essentially severed."

"So, my memories are just... gone?"

"It's more complicated than that," Dr. Reeves said carefully. "Think of memory like a vast library. The books still exist and the information is still encoded just in various parts of the brain. But the card catalog that tells you where to find those books? That was damaged. Some cards are completely destroyed. Others might be misfiled or partially legible."

"Which means what?" Belly asked.

"It means that some memories may spontaneously return, which can usually be triggered by strong sensory associations or emotional connections. Smell is particularly powerful. A song, a taste, a familiar place, all of these things might unlock fragments. But..." Dr. Chen paused, making sure they were both looking at her. "Statistically, the longer memories are inaccessible, the less likely they are to return. If nothing has come back, we have to consider the possibility that those memories may be permanently lost. There have been documented cases where patients recover memories years later. But, Conrad, Belly, I don't want to give either of you false hope. The brain is remarkable at adapting, but it can't always repair what's been broken."

Conrad was crying silently, tears flowing down his cheeks. Belly squeezed his hand three times. "What about... oh my god, can he even make new memories?" she asked, her voice thick as she tried to stay strong for the both of them. "Will ….. will this happen again?"

“Conrad’s ability to form new memories is intact. He won't lose new experiences the way he lost the past. And there's no indication of any ongoing damage or increased risk of further memory loss, barring another significant head injury."

"So I'm just stuck like this," he said. "Living with this big hole in my head."

"You're living with a different brain than you had before," Dr. Reeves corrected gently, “but that doesn't mean you can't have a full, rich life. Many people with memory loss go on to rebuild or build new, meaningful relationships, pursue careers, find happiness. It's definitely an adjustment, but it's not a death sentence.”

So why did it feel like one? Like he had died in that accident and someone new had woken up in his body, expected to play a role he didn't understand.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

“Conrad?”

Conrad’s head snapped at the calling of his name. They sat by the window booth. Outside, people passed by on the sidewalk, living their uncomplicated lives. Conrad was jealous as he silently people-watched, thinking about how no one knew what him and Belly were going through. He’d give anything and everything for anyone to take his place. He’d give anything and everything for his memories back.

“Hm?”

“Penny for your thoughts?” Belly leaned on her husband’s shoulder.

“I feel like our lives would be so much easier if I’d just died in the accident,” he whispered quietly.

Belly couldn’t contain her gasp. “Conrad, what the, — “

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m obviously grateful to be alive,” he rushed to intterupt her. “But, do you think about how much easier it would be to mourn someone who’s dead instead of having to grieve someone who’s sitting right in front of you?”

“No,” Belly answered immediately. “God, no. Why would you even ask me that?”

“I guess I feel guilty.” Conrad let out a sigh, leaving a short kiss atop her head. “We don’t know if the memories I have of my whole life, of us, will ever come back.”

“You’re still in there somewhere. Even if you don’t remember, you’re still you. And I’m not going to give up on us.”

He turned his hand over, lacing their fingers together. “I’m glad you’re not.”

Conrad stared down at their intertwined fingers, studying the way Belly's hand fit perfectly in his. It was a comforting familiarity his body remembered even if his mind didn’t.”

“Did I tell you? I had a dream today," he said suddenly. "In the MRI machine."

Belly lifted her head from his shoulder, her brow furrowing. "A dream?"

"Yeah. You were there, too. I was, I mean, we were kids, I think. There was this little antique shop with jewelry in the window, and you kept stopping to look at this silver bracelet. It had little moons and stars on it."

Belly's breath caught. Her hand tightened around his. "Conrad." Belly felt how her voice cracked. She pulled her hand from his and pressed it to her mouth.

"What? What's wrong?"

"That wasn't a dream." Tears welled in her eyes as she stared at him. "Conrad, that was a memory. Another, real memory."

Conrad’s heart stuttered. "What? Are you serious?”

"I'd been saving up for weeks for that bracelet. I kept going back to look at it, convinced someone would buy it before I had enough money. But you, you bought it for me.”

Conrad sat frozen, his mind racing. The images in his head suddenly felt sharper, more solid. Real. "I remember you crying," he said slowly. "Happy crying."

"I couldn't believe you had done that. Fuck, I had the biggest crush on you and 11-year-old me felt like she was living through an actual fairytale.” Belly's hands were trembling as she reached for her purse, digging through it frantically. Travel tissue packs, receipts, lip gloss, suddenly everything spilled onto her lap and onto their shared booth. "Conrad, I, of course, I, uhm I still have it. I wore it every day for years. I wear it sometimes now, but after the accident I took it off because I didn't want to make you feel pressured or guilty or —,” she was crying harder now, frustrated with the purse and with herself.

Belly broke completely then but Conrad interrupted her by pulling her into a kiss. Conrad's hands came up automatically, one cupping the back of her neck as the other pressed against her lower back. It felt like his body had been waiting for his brain to catch up.

When they broke apart, both breathing hard, Conrad pressed his forehead against hers. "I don't remember everything yet," he admitted. "There are still these huge gaps. But Belly, I ....."

"But you're coming back to me," she finished, her voice thick with tears and hope and relief.

"I never left," Conrad said, and meant it. "I've been here the whole time. I just couldn't find my way back to the surface."

Belly pulled back just enough to really look at him, and her smile was the sun breaking through clouds, meeting her moon. "We need to call Dr. Chen and Dr. Reeves. This is huge, Conrad. I mean just this morning, they were telling us to prepare for the absolute worst, but if you're starting to recover memories, I think we should -"

"Can we just sit with this for a minute?" Conrad interrupted softly. "Can we just ….. uhm, I want to remember more. About us. About this." He gestured between them. "Before we turn it into data points and medical milestones."

She studied his face for a long moment, then nodded, settling back against his shoulder. "Okay. What else do you want to know?"

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Flashback - 8 Years Ago, Cousins

"I just want this to be perfect for you," he admitted quietly.

"It already is perfect. I'm here with you."

"Belly." He turned to face her fully, taking both her hands in his. They were smaller than his, warmer. Steadier. "This is important. This is you. I don't want to mess it up. I don't want to hurt you or make it bad or ....."

"Hey." She squeezed his hands. "Look at me."

He did. The firelight made her eyes look impossibly soft, and there was no fear in them. Just trust. Just love. It made his chest ache.

"Do you want to do this?" she asked simply.

"Yes. God, yes. More than anything."

"Do you think I want to do this?"

He simply nodded.

"Then why are you trying so hard to talk yourself out of it?" Her smile was gentle, understanding. "Conrad, I chose you. I'm choosing you. I'm not some fragile thing that's going to break. I trust you completely. You know that, right?"

He nodded, not trusting his voice.

"So trust me back. Trust that I'll tell you if something doesn't feel right. Trust that I want this just as much as you do. Trust that we're going to figure it out together, just like we figure out everything else."

"When did you get so wise?" he managed.

"I've always been wise. You're just noticing now." She shifted closer, until her knees pressed against his. "Can I tell you something?"

"Always."

"I'm nervous." Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "I'm terrified, actually. But the good kind of terrified. The kind where you're standing at the edge of something huge and you're scared but you jump anyway because you can't imagine not jumping."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She reached up, cupping his face in her hands. "And I want to jump with you. Only you. I've always wanted it to be you."

"I just want you to feel—" He struggled for the words. "I want you to feel how much I love you. How much this means. How much you mean."

"Then show me." She pulled back just enough to look at him properly. "Stop overthinking. Stop trying to make it perfect. Just ..... be with me. That's all I want. Just you, exactly as you are."

He kissed her then, soft and slow, trying to pour everything he couldn't say into the gesture. When they broke apart, he was still shaking but for different reasons now.

"Wait," she whispered against his mouth, and his heart stopped until she smiled. "I just wanted to look at you for a second."

"Why?"

"Because I want to remember this. Exactly this. The way you're looking at me right now."

"How am I looking at you?"

"Like I'm the only person in the entire world."

"We have time, okay?” he whispered against her mouth. "We don't have to rush.”

Belly smiled against his lips. “We have all night. We have forever."

"Okay. Okay." He kissed her again, deeper this time. "But you have to promise me something."

"Anything."

"Promise you'll tell me if I hurt you. Promise you'll tell me to stop if you want to stop. Promise you won't just, I guess, endure it or whatever because you think that's what you're supposed to do."

Belly pulled back, her expression fierce. "If I want you to stop, I will tell you to stop. And if I want you to keep going," her cheeks flushed pink. "I'll tell you that too."

Despite his nerves, he smiled. "You're blushing, Belly."

"Shut up."

"It's cute."

"Conrad."

"I'm just saying, for someone who's being very mature and wise about all this, you're extremely red right now."

She shoved his shoulder, but she was smiling too. "You're impossible."

"And yet you chose me anyway."

"Temporary lapse in judgment clearly."

He caught her hand before she could pull it away, pressing a kiss to her palm. "I love you. Have I mentioned that recently?"

"Not in the last five minutes. I was starting to wonder."

"I love you," he repeated, more seriously now. "Everything about this—about us—it scares the hell out of me. But not because I don't want it. Because I want it so much it terrifies me. Because you're the most important thing in my entire life and the thought of messing this up, of hurting you or disappointing you or—"

"Conrad." She pressed her fingers against his lips, stopping the spiral. "You could never disappoint me. Not in this. Not in us."

"How do you know?"

"Because I know you. Because I've known you my entire life. Because even when you're trying your hardest to push everyone away, you've never been able to push me away." She moved her hand from his mouth to his chest, pressing her palm flat against his racing heart. "Feel that?"

"Yeah."

"That's you being alive. Being here. Being present. That's all I need. Just you, alive and here and present with me."

He covered her hand with his. "You're not going to regret this? Later, I mean. You're not going to wish you'd waited for someone who knew what they were doing?"

"No." Her answer was immediate, absolute. "Because it's not about knowing what to do. It's about," She paused, searching for words. "It's about trust and love and wanting someone so much that nothing else matters. And I have all of that with you. So no, Conrad. I'm not going to regret this. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever."

"Okay," he breathed.

"Okay?"

"Okay." He kissed her again, slower this time, less desperate. "But if I do something stupid -"

"I'll tell you."

"And if you need me to slow down -"

"I'll tell you."

"And if -"

"Conrad." She laughed against his mouth. "Stop talking."

"Right. Okay. Stop talking."

But he kissed her again before she could say anything else, and this time he let himself stop thinking quite so much. Let himself just feel—her hands in his hair, her breath against his skin, the way she said his name like it was the only word that mattered.

_____

The fire had burned down. Belly's head rested on his chest, her fingers tracing absent patterns on his skin. The bracelet was cool against his ribs.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly, his hand running through her hair. "Really okay?"

"Really okay." She propped herself up on one elbow to look at him, and her eyes were bright and clear. "More than okay."

"I didn't hurt you?"

"Conrad." She leaned down, kissing him softly. "You could never hurt me. Not like this. Not when you were being so careful with me I thought you might actually explode from restraint."

He felt heat creep up his neck. "I just wanted -"

"I know what you wanted. And it was perfect. You were perfect. We were perfect." She settled back against him, her breath warm on his skin. "Stop overthinking it."

"I'm not overthinking it."

"You absolutely are. I can hear you doing it."

He huffed a laugh, tightening his arm around her. "Fine. Maybe a little."

"Conrad?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

He tilted his head to look at her. "For what?"

"For caring so much. For being so gentle. For being exactly who you are." She traced the line of his jaw with her finger. "For being my first. For being my last. For being my always."

His throat felt tight. "You're going to make me cry, Belly.”

"Good. You've made me cry approximately eight million times. Turnabout is fair play."

"When have I made you cry?"

"Last summer. When you finally told me you loved me and I realized how much time we'd wasted."

"Okay, that one was happy crying though."

"Still counts." But she was smiling, that smile that made his chest feel too small for his heart. "My point is, you've earned a few tears."

"I love you," he said quietly. "I don't say it enough."

"You say it constantly."

"Not out loud. Not like I should."

She snuggled deeper into his chest as she pressed a kiss over his heart. "I hear it anyway. Every time you look at me. Every time you reach for my hand without thinking. Every time you make sure I eat breakfast even though you barely eat anything yourself." She paused. "Every time you care so much about making something perfect for me that you almost forget to just be present in it."

"Was I not present?"

"You were present." She looked up at him again, and there was something mischievous in her expression now. "But maybe next time you could be a little less in your head and a little more—"

"Next time?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Well." Her cheeks flushed again. "I mean. I assume there will be a next time. Unless you're planning on this being a one-time—"

He kissed her, cutting off the words. "There will definitely be a next time. And the time after that. And the time after that."

"Good."

"Good."

They fell quiet then, just breathing together, hearts gradually slowing to match each other's rhythm. Outside, the ocean continued its endless conversation with the shore. Inside, the embers glowed softer, casting dancing shadows on the walls.

"Conrad?" Belly's voice was drowsy now.

"Hmm?"

"I'm really glad my first time was with you. With someone who loves me enough to overthink everything. With someone who cares more about my comfort than anything else. With someone who sees me."

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her coconut shampoo. "I'm really glad it was me too. Even if I was a nervous wreck about it."

"You were a nervous wreck because you love me."

"Yeah. I really do."

"I know." She yawned against his chest. "I've always known."

And Conrad thought that maybe this quiet intimacy, this absolute trust, this feeling of being completely known and loved anyway, was what people actually meant when they talked about forever. Not the grand gestures or perfect moments, but this. Just this. The two of them, tangled together in firelight, choosing each other over and over again.

"Belly?"

"Mmm?"

"Don't fall asleep. We should probably move to an actual bed at some point."

"Too comfortable. You're warm."

"The floor is going to kill my back."

"Suffering builds character."

"You're impossible."

"And yet you love me anyway."

"Yeah," he whispered into her hair, his eyes already drifting closed despite his protests about the floor. "I really, really do."

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

They spent three, maybe four, more hours together as Belly talked to him about almost every pivotal memory they shared. Conrad even poked fun at her when he realized that she couldn’t stop blushing the entire time she talked about how their first time happened.

Conrad let out a big sigh, reeling all the stories and recounts in, trying to absorb every little detail. “We are who we are because of Cousins, aren’t we?” "It sounds ….. “ Conrad struggled for words. "It sounds like home."

"It was home. For all of us. It still is, I think. Even though,” she paused, “even though it's different now."

"And my mom?” He stopped, swallowing hard. “Did she love it there? In Cousins?” 

"She did. More than anywhere else in the world, I think." Belly reached across the table, taking his hand. "It's where she was happiest. Where all of us were happiest."

They sat in silence for a moment. Conrad could feel something building in his chest, an idea taking shape. It was terrifying and right at the same time.

"Belly?"

"Yeah?"

"I know this is going to sound crazy, but,” he took a deep breath and paused, “but what if we went there? To Cousins?"

She stared at him. "What?"

"You keep telling me all these stories about this place, about who we were there, and I …… I need to see it. I need to try to understand. Us, the house, my mom. I need to trace it all back. We have the keys, right?”

"We do, but Conrad ……”

"I know I might not remember it. I know it might not trigger anything or bring anything back. But maybe, just maybe if I'm there, if I can see the places where these things happened, maybe I can start to build new memories in the same places. Maybe I can understand why this place matters so much."

"Conrad, you don't have to do this. You don't have to force yourself to —“

"I'm not forcing anything. Belly, you've been so patient with me. You've been telling me these stories and showing me these photos and waiting for me to remember, and I want—" his voice cracked slightly, "I want to meet you halfway. I want to try."

Belly's eyes were swimming with tears again. "You really want to go back?"

"We don't have to if it's too hard, I mean —“

"No." She shook her head immediately, worried she implied she didn’t want to take him to Cousins. "No, you're right. Maybe it'll help. And even if it doesn't trigger any memories, at least you'll understand. You'll see why that place meant, I mean why that place means, so much to us."

Conrad stood abruptly, pulling her up with him. "Come here."

He wrapped his arms around her, feeling her melt against him in a way that felt right even though he couldn't remember the thousand times they must have done this before. She fit perfectly, her head tucked under his chin, her arms around his waist.

"Thank you," he murmured into her hair.

"For what?"

"For being patient with me. For not giving up. For," his voice cracked slightly, "for still being here even though I'm basically a stranger who looks like your husband."

Belly pulled back sharply, her hands coming up to frame his face. "You are not a stranger. You're Conrad. You're my Conrad. Memory or no memory, you're still you. You're still the person who built up that fire because you were nervous. You're still the person who bought me that bracelet.”

“I can’t say it just yet, Belly, but every single time you patiently tell me a story, every time you look at me like, like I'm not broken, but just a human, I fall a little bit more."

"Conrad," she was crying now, but smiling through it, "you're going to make me fucking lose it completely in the middle of this café."

"Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just kiss me."

So he did, soft and careful, and when they broke apart, the barista clearing his throat pointedly, they both laughed.

"We should probably go," Belly said, glancing around at the mostly-empty café. “Oh my god, we need to let these poor people close up."

"Yeah. Okay." But Conrad didn't move yet. “But can I ask you something?"

"Always."

"This trip. To Cousins." He took a breath. "Can we treat it like, uhm, like a first date? I know that's weird. I know we're married and we've been together for years and we've done everything couples do. But for me, everything with you is still new. Still first. And I want …….” He struggled for the words. "I want to date, or I guess, court you properly. I want to date my own wife."

Belly's expression softened impossibly further. "You want to date me?"

"Is that crazy?"

“After all we’ve been through, I think it’s the least crazy thing I've ever heard." She was crying again, but laughing too. "Conrad Fisher wants to date me. Younger me would be losing her mind right now."

"So is that a yes?"

"That's a yes." She stood on her toes to kiss him again. "We can have a first date. A real one. In Cousins. Where everything started."

"Where everything started," Conrad repeated.

 

Notes:

hope you guys liked the chapter! trying to churn out longer ones but at the same time keep a regular update sched.

please do leave kudos and comments (i love reading through them all the time!).

Chapter 8

Notes:

hey everyone..... i have been in and out of the hospital over the past two weeks so i'm so sorry i didn't get to update :")) here's two chapters!

Flashback — Cousins, 11 Years Ago

Cousins Beach had a way of feeling bigger than it actually was. Maybe it was the stretch of horizon that looked like it breathed, or the way the sun hit the water just right so everything shimmered. But for Belly, it was mostly because of Conrad Fisher.

Everything seemed a little larger, a little brighter, a little more important when he was part of it.

She wasn’t supposed to be awake this early. Susannah had joked last night that Belly didn’t “rise and shine” so much as she “rose and complained.” But when she heard Conrad outside, footsteps in sand, the sound of a surfboard shifting, she was up.

“Morning, Belly Button.”

She glared weakly. “Ewwww, don’t call me th—”

“Too late,” he said, turning back to his board. “Nickname privileges are permanent.”

Belly marched closer, fists on her hips. “Says who?”

“Says me.” Conrad shrugged, eyes flicking up to hers briefly. “And you can’t fight me about it because I’m about to offer you something cool.”

Belly stopped.
Interest: activated.
Heart: pounding.

“What?” she asked, trying (failing) to sound unimpressed.

“Wanna learn how to surf?” Conrad’s tone was easy, offhanded. But the way he shifted his weight, just a little, as if he cared about her answer more than he wanted to admit, gave him away.

Belly felt the air leave her lungs. “Me?”

“Yeah.” Conrad looked at her fully now, soft smile, soft eyes. “Who else?”

Steven wasn’t around.
Jeremiah wasn’t around.
It was just the two of them, the ocean, and this moment Belly would remember forever.

“Okay,” she said, trying not to sound breathless. “Teach me.”

Conrad grinned. It was the rare one, the one that made his dimples show and his seriousness melt away. “Cool. You’ll need this.” He handed her a smaller board, slightly faded, with a peeling blue sticker on the nose.

“It was mine when I was little.” Oh.
Her fingers traced the scratched surface. “You’re letting me use it?”

He shrugged like it was nothing.
It wasn’t nothing.

“Rule number one: don’t fight the ocean.”

Belly nodded even though she totally planned on fighting everything, the waves, her fear, the way her stomach twisted whenever Conrad looked at her too long.

“Got it,” she said, puffing out her chest just a little.

Conrad’s mouth twitched like he was holding back a smile. “You’re not gonna die. I promise.”

“You can’t promise that, Conrad” Belly shot back, kicking at the sand. “That’s not science.”

“It is,” he said softly, leaning forward to adjust her stance on the board. “Because I’m gonna catch you if you fall.”

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

"Belly? Hello?" 

Belly's head snapped up, her eyes slightly drifting to meet the voice calling her. She'd been driving for the past 2 hours now, completely focused on the road ahead. "Sorry, yeah, what were you saying?" 

The car came to a halt at a stoplight and Conrad reached over for Belly's hand, bringing it up to his lips. "I was saying it's your turn." 

Belly smiled. "Oh yeah, I totally forgot. Shoot." 

Throughout the drive, they'd been playing with one of those couples' bonding apps where you ask one another deep and meaningful questions to get to know one another. 

"Okay, Belly." Conrad paused dramatically, clearing his throat, making Belly laugh. "Tell me something," Conrad paused to read from his phone, "Something you've never told anyone else."

"That's a dangerous first date question."

"Is it? I thought I was supposed to be mysterious and ask you deep questions so you'd think I was interesting."

Belly laughed. "Okay. Something I've never told anyone." She thought for a moment, really considered it. "Sometimes I talk to your mom. Susannah. Out loud, when I'm alone. I tell her about our life, about what you're doing, about how much I miss her. I tell her about the hard days and the good days and the days where I don't know how I'm going to make it through. I don't know if I believe she can hear me, but it makes me feel better. Like she's still here, somehow. Still part of our lives."

"What do you tell her about this? About us right now?"

"I tell her..." Belly's voice cracked, and she had to pause, collect herself. "I tell her that you're still you, even without your memories. That you still bite your lip when you're thinking hard about something. That you still tilt your head just slightly when you're listening, like you're trying to hear something underneath the words. That you still run your hand through your hair when you're nervous, and you still get this little crinkle between your eyebrows when you're worried. That you're still the kindest, most thoughtful person I've ever known."

"Belly—"

"And I tell her that I think ...... I think we might actually be okay. That I was so scared, after the accident. Terrified that I'd lost you forever, even though you were still here."

"Can I kiss you? Before the light turns green?" he asked, and her heart stopped.

"You don't have to ask," Belly giggled lightly. 

"Yes, I do. I always do." His voice was serious, earnest. "I'm not ..... I don't have the muscle memory of being your husband yet. I can't just kiss you like I've done it a thousand times before. Because I haven't. Or I have, but I don't remember, which means—"

"Conrad." She leaned in closer, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body. "Yes. You can kiss me."

"You're sure?"

"I have never been more sure of anything."

He reached up, cupping her face with both hands, and Belly could feel him trembling slightly. His thumbs traced her cheekbones, and she closed her eyes, letting herself feel it, all of it, the calluses on his fingers, the gentleness of his touch, the way he was treating her like something precious.

Conrad was quiet for a moment, and when her eyes met his once again, he was studying her profile with an intensity that made her self-conscious.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I'm just trying to figure out what I did to deserve you."

"Conrad—"

"I'm serious. You could have, uhm, I guess .....  I don't know, Belly. You could have moved on. Found someone who remembers falling in love with you. Found someone who could give you the life you signed up for. Instead, you're driving me to a beach house and giving me a second chance I'm not even sure I earned the first time."

"You earned it," Belly said firmly. "Trust me. You earned it a thousand times over."

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

The house appeared like it always did, suddenly, around a bend in the road, white and sprawling and full of ghosts. The late afternoon sun caught the windows, making them gleam like gold. Belly pulled into the driveway and killed the engine, and for a moment, they both just sat there, staring up at it. She hadn't been back since before the accident. She hadn't been able to face it ..... the house where everything had started, where she'd spent every summer of her childhood, where she'd fallen in love with Conrad over and over again in a thousand different ways. The house that held more memories than anywhere else in the world.

"This is it?" Conrad asked, and there was something in his voice. Wonder, maybe. Or recognition.

"This is it. Your mom's beach house. Well, your dad's now. But we all still call it Susannah's house."

"And we spent summers here."

"Every summer. Your family and mine. You and Jeremiah and Steven and me. From the time I was basically a baby until—" She paused. "Until we didn't anymore."

"What happened? Why did you stop? Why did we all stop?"

"Life, mostly. Your mom died the summer I was sixteen. After that, things changed. The summer when I was eighteen, we all came back one last time, and everything kind of exploded. You and I, we finally figured out we were in love, but it was messy. Painful. We hurt each other before we got it right."

"You mentioned some of that. That whole part where Jere and you were engaged for a while."

"Yeah." This was always going to be the complicated part. "We were. And it was real, somehow, what we had. But not real in the way that ..... we didn't love each other because we love each other, we thought we love each other because it was all we knew what to do when Susannah left us all. But it wasn't—"

"It wasn't what we had," Conrad finished.

"No. Jeremiah knew that too, even when we were together. I think we both did. But we were young, and we were grieving your mom, and we needed each other. It wasn't wrong, but it wasn't endgame either."

Conrad nodded slowly, taking it in. "Did I tell you that he called me for the first time?"

Belly's mouth slightly dropped as she slowly shook her head.

"It was yesterday I think, right before we went too sleep. I can't ever imagine hating him back then or him hating me, but I guess none of that matters now with ..... everything. He called and we spent the night getting to know each other and trying to help me remember things without overwhelming me. Sending me photos and telling me stories."

"That's Jeremiah," Belly said softly. "That's exactly who he is. He loves you more than anything, Conrad. You're his brother, his best friend. This has been killing him too."

"He told me to take care of you this weekend. Said if I screwed up our second first date, he'd kick my ass."

Belly laughed, surprising herself. "That also sounds like him."

"He also said—" Conrad hesitated. "He said you deserve to be happy. And that if I can't make you happy, if this is too hard, I should let you go. Let you find someone who can give you what you need."

"The fuckface said what?" Belly's voice was sharp.

"He did. And he's not wrong, Belly. You deserve—"

"Stop." She turned to face him fully. "Conrad, you don't get to decide what I deserve. Neither does Jeremiah. I'm choosing this. I'm choosing you. So unless you're telling me you don't want to be here, that you don't want to try, then we're doing this."

"I want to try," Conrad said quickly. "I do, I swear. I just ..... I need you to know that you have an out. That you don't owe me anything just because we have history I can't remember."

"Conrad Fisher, I am going to say this once, and I need you to really hear it." She waited until his eyes met hers. "You are not a burden. This situation is not a burden. Loving you has never been a burden, and it never will be. Do you understand?"

He nodded, but she could see the doubt still lingering in his eyes. He hated it even more that no matter how many times he heard her say those three beautiful words, even though he knew he felt the same way, something was still holding him back from saying them out loud. This was going to take time. He was going to need to hear it over and over before he believed it for himself. 

They got out of the car, and Belly grabbed both bags from the trunk before Conrad could protest. She'd learned not to let him carry too much; the accident had left him with lingering headaches, especially when he was tired or stressed. The doctors said they should fade eventually, but "eventually" was a word that meant nothing when you were living through it.

The house smelled like summer and salt and something indefinable that was just Cousins. Conrad stepped inside and stopped in the middle of the foyer, turning slowly to take it all in. She watched him, trying not to hope too hard that something might click, that some memory might surface.

"Maybe being here will help," Belly said, setting the bags down. "We can ..... uhm .... we don't have to push anything. We can just exist here for a while. See what happens."

"Yeah, I guess," he said. "I guess we'll... uhm, try to figure out if any of this feels familiar. The therapist said sometimes being in familiar places can help. That memory is tied to location, to sensory details. The smell of something, or the way light hits at a certain time of day."

"And?"

He shook his head, a small, apologetic smile on his lips. "Nothing yet. Sorry."

"Don't apologize," Belly said quickly. Too quickly. She heard the edge in her own voice and softened her tone. "You don't have to apologize for any of this, Conrad."

"I know. I just, I just ....." He paused, and she could see him choosing his words carefully, the way someone might walk through a room full of things that could break. "You've been so patient with me. With all of this. And I can see how hard it is for you. How much it costs you to smile and tell me stories about our life like you're narrating a documentary about strangers."

Conrad walked over to the fireplace mantel, where photographs lined up like statuesque figures in a collector's lineup. Susannah had been a chronic documenter, always with a camera in hand, capturing every moment. After she died, Laurel had kept the tradition alive, filling the spaces with new photos as the years went by. He picked one up. It was the four of them, teenagers, sandy and sun-bathed and laughing at something someone had said. Belly was maybe fifteen in that photo, all gangly limbs and sun-bleached hair, braces still on her teeth. Steven had his arm around Conrad's shoulders. Jeremiah was making bunny ears behind Belly's head.

And Conrad, younger and somehow less burdened, was looking at Belly like she was the only person in the world.

"God," he murmured. "I really looked at you like that? I was outwardly in love with you, wasn't I?"

Belly came to stand beside him, close enough that their arms brushed. "Yeah. You did. That was a couple of summers before your mom died. You were fifteen. I was about to turn fourteen and completely oblivious to the fact that you looked at me like that."

"How could you be oblivious?"

"Because I was barely fourteen and stupid. And because you were Conrad Fisher, broody, mysterious, dark, and distant and always in your own head. I thought you barely tolerated me. It wasn't until years later that Susannah told me you'd had a crush on me basically forever."

"She knew?"

"Moms always know." Belly's voice went soft. "She told me the summer before she died. She pulled me aside one night and said, 'Belly, someday you're going to figure out that my son is crazy about you. And when you do, please be gentle with him. He acts tough, but he feels everything so deeply.' I didn't believe her at the time. I thought she was just being romantic, seeing things that weren't there."

"But she was right."

"She was always right."

Conrad studied the photograph a moment longer, then set it back on the mantel carefully. He picked up another. It was their wedding photo. They were on the beach at sunset, Belly in a white flowy princess-like wedding dress, barefoot in the sand and her heels in her hand, and Conrad in a linen suit. They were laughing at something, foreheads pressed together, Belly's Cathedral veil draped around them, completely wrapped up in each other.

Belly took the photo from him, holding it carefully. "It was perfect. Not too big and not too small, just our families and closest friends. I made it very clear to your dad that our wedding was not to be turned into a business networking night, like my failed wedding to your younger brother." 

"Very smart call."

"We got married here, actually. On the beach, and then we had the reception here in the summer house. Agnes officiated. Jeremiah and Steven were your co-best men, Taylor was obviously my maid of honor. My parents walked me down the aisle, which made them both cry even though mom pretended so, so hard that she wasn't crying. And of course, we saved a seat for Susannah."

"What did I say? In my vows?"

"You said—" Her voice cracked, and she had to pause. "Oh God, you said that you had loved me since we were kids and you were teaching me how to ride a bike. I love that memory and I think about it all the time in passing because you were the only one who waited for me that day. You said that I was your home, your anchor, the thing that made sense when nothing else did. You promised to love me in all my seasons, when I was bright and easy, and when I was dark and difficult. You promised to choose me every single day, even when it was hard. Especially when it was hard."

Conrad was very quiet. When Belly looked up at him, his eyes were red-rimmed.

"And what did you say?" he asked hoarsely.

"I said that you were my first love and my last love. That you'd seen me at my worst and loved me anyway. That you'd been patient when I needed to figure out who I was, and that you'd never once made me feel like I had to be anyone other than myself. I promised to be your safe place, the person you could always come home to." She traced the edge of the frame with her finger. "And I promised that no matter what happened, no matter what life threw at us, I would never stop fighting for us."

"Belly—"

"I meant it," she said. "Every word. And I still mean it."

He reached out tentatively, and this time he didn't ask. He just pulled her into his arms, holding her tight against his chest. She could feel his heart racing, could feel the slight tremble in his hands where they pressed against her back.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair. "I'm so sorry I can't remember that. I'm sorry I can't remember promising you those things."

"You don't have to remember them to keep them," she said. "You can make new promises. Better ones, even."

"How could they be better?"

"Because you'll mean them right now. Not because you said them once, but because you choose them every day."

They stood there for a long time, holding each other in the fading light of the living room. Outside, Belly could hear the ocean, constant and patient.

When they finally pulled apart, Conrad kept his hands on her shoulders, looking at her with something like determination in his eyes.

"So," he said. "How does this work? Do I have to ask you out to dinner or brunch, officially? Is there a protocol for dating your own wife?"

"Uhm, I think we're in uncharted territory here."

"Then I guess I'll just," he cleared his throat, and suddenly he looked nervous, this grown man who'd been through medical school and a marriage and a life-altering accident. His hands fell away from her shoulders, and he actually took a small step back, like he needed the physical distance to do this properly. "Isabel Conklin-Fisher. Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?"

Her heart squeezed. He'd used her full name. He had never used her full name since the accident. "I would love to."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Good. That's, that's good." He was actually blushing now, color rising in his cheeks. "What about after dinner? Would you want to take a walk on the beach? I know that I used to love the beach at night. Jeremiah told me. He said I'd go out there when I couldn't sleep, when I needed to think."

"You did. You do." She smiled. "A walk sounds perfect."

"And tomorrow, maybe we could, uhm, I don't know. What do people do on second dates?"

"We could go into town. Walk around. Get ice cream. There's a bookstore you used to love; you would spend hours in there. Or we could just stay here. Hang out on the beach. Whatever feels right."

"Whatever feels right," Conrad repeated. "I like that. No pressure. Just... seeing what happens."

"Exactly."

He reached out tentatively, and this time he was the one asking for permission with his eyes. Belly nodded, and he took her hand. His fingers laced with hers carefully, like he was learning the geography of them—where her knuckles bent, how her palm fit against his, the callus on her index finger from holding pens.

"Thank you," he said. "For giving me this chance. For not giving up on me."

"Conrad." She squeezed his hand. "There is no version of this universe where I would ever give up on you. So you can stop thanking me for that."

"I must have said it now at least eight or nine thousand times in the past week alone, but I don't know how to be married to you yet. But I think ......." He paused, and something flickered across his face. "I think I could learn how to fall in love with you pretty easily."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. You're pretty incredible. Anyone could see that. The way you've handled all this, all the patience, the grace, the strength. I keep thinking that if our positions were reversed, I don't know if I could do what you're doing."

"You could. You would. That's who you are."

"Maybe. But I'm not sure I'll ever understand how lucky I was. How lucky I am." He smiled, and it was shy and genuine and heartbreakingly young. "So. First date. I should probably go get ready, right? Make a good impression?"

"Conrad, you're already—"

"Let me do this right, Belly. Please." His voice was earnest, almost pleading. "I know I'm already married to you. I know we've been together for years. I know I've seen you first thing in the morning with bedhead and no makeup. I know we've probably had a thousand fights about stupid things like whose turn it is to do the dishes. But I don't remember any of it. And you deserve someone who's actually trying. Who's nervous and excited and hoping desperately that you'll want to see him again."

And that was it. That was the moment when Belly felt something crack open in her chest, felt hope flood in like light through a broken place. Because this wasn't the old Conrad speaking from memory or habit. This was someone new, someone choosing her, choosing them, right now, in this moment, with no obligation but his own desire.

"Okay," she whispered. "Go get ready. I'll see you in an hour?"

"One hour." He headed for the stairs, then paused halfway up and looked back. "Should I dress up? Is this a fancy date or a casual date?"

"Casual," she said, smiling through the tears that were definitely threatening now. "There's a great steak place down by the pier, our favorite considering that neither of us are seafood people in a beach town."

He nodded, started up the stairs again, then paused once more. "Belly?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really glad you said yes."

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Belly stood in front of the closet in their room, the master bedroom that had been Susannah's, that had become theirs after they got married, and stared at the clothes hanging there. Half of them were hers, brought up for the summer seasons they'd spent here as a married couple. The other half were Conrad's, shirts and shorts and the light sweater he always wore when the evenings got cool.

She pulled out a sundress, light and easy, a light pink, the color of ocean shells and corals. She'd bought it the summer before the accident from a boutique in town, and Conrad had loved it. He had told her she looked like a mermaid who'd traded her tail for legs. She wondered if he'd think that now, or if that observation had been lost along with everything else.

She showered quickly, washed the salt and stress of the drive from her skin. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she barely recognized the woman staring back. She looked tired, much older than twenty-four. There were heavy eye bags under her eyes from too many sleepless nights, worry lines between her brows that hadn't been there before the accident.

But there was something else too. Something that hadn't been there this morning. A lightness, maybe. A spark of hope that she'd been too afraid to let herself feel.

When she came downstairs, Conrad was standing by the window, looking out at the ocean. He'd changed into dark jeans that fit him perfectly and a light blue button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His hair was still slightly damp from his own shower, curling slightly at the ends the way it always did when it was wet. He looked so much like himself, just like the Conrad who'd married her two years ago, but also like a stranger she was about to meet for the first time.

He turned when he heard her footsteps, and his eyes widened slightly. For a moment, he just stared, and Belly felt herself flush under the intensity of his gaze.

"Well fuck," he said finally. "You look—"

"It's just a sundress."

"You look beautiful." The words came out soft, reverent. Not the casual compliment of a husband to his wife, but something more. Something that felt like discovery.

The compliment hung in the air between them, sincere and unpolished. Belly felt her cheeks warm.

"Thank you," she said. "You clean up pretty well yourself."

"Yeah?" He glanced down at himself, uncertain. "I wasn't sure what to wear. I found this shirt, and in the photos I am in a lot of button-downs, so I figured—" He stopped himself, laughing slightly. "I'm rambling. I'm nervous."

"You're nervous?"

"Terrified, actually." He ran a hand through his damp hair. "What if I say the wrong thing? What if I'm boring? What if you realize that whatever you saw in me before, it's not there anymore?"

Belly crossed the room to him, close enough that she could smell his soap. It was the same brand he'd always used, something clean and simple that reminded her of ocean air. "Conrad. You could read me the phone book and I'd be captivated."

"The phone book? Seriously?" He laughed. 

"Okay, bad example. Nobody has phone books anymore." She smiled. "My point is, you don't have to try to be impressive. Just be you. That's always been enough."

"But what if I don't know who 'me' is anymore?"

"Then we'll figure it out together." She reached out and straightened his collar, letting her fingers linger there for just a moment. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

They stood there for another moment, and the awkwardness was almost funny. They were two people who'd shared a bed, a life, now nervous about a first date.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 9

The restaurant was exactly as Belly remembered it, weathered wood, paper napkins, plastic baskets for the fried food, and the perpetual smell of Old Bay seasoning and melted butter. They ordered at the counter. Conrad insisted on paying, fumbling slightly with his wallet, clearly nervous as they found a table out on the deck overlooking the water. The sun was setting in earnest now, turning the sky into a watercolor painting of oranges and pinks and purples. Fishing boats were returning to the harbor, their lights beginning to blink on in the gathering dusk. And for the first few minutes, they just ate and watched the sunset.

"So," Conrad said finally, setting down one of his french fries. "Tell me about yourself, Isabel Conklin-Fisher."

She laughed. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything. But let's start with... what do you do? For work, I mean. I know you've told me before, but I want to hear it again. The way you'd tell someone on a first date."

"Okay." She wiped her fingers on a napkin, considering. "I'm a sports psychologist. I work for women's holistic health clinic in Boston that specifically caters to female athletes. I work with female athletes on the mental side of training, like, confidence, motivation, stress management, injury recovery, performance anxiety, while also considering how women’s bodies and experiences shape the psychological side of athletics. A lot of women athletes are told to ‘push through,’ or they’re misdiagnosed, or their pain is minimized. Things like cycle tracking and how hormones affect energy levels, dealing with inequality or pressure in male-dominated sports, body image, returning from pregnancy or reproductive health issues, navigating pain that often gets dismissed, and balancing expectations inside and outside your sport. All of those factor into their mental game."

"That's incredible," Conrad said, and there was genuine admiration in his voice. "Did you always want to do that?"

"No, actually," she giggled with a mouthful of steak. "When I was a kid, I thought I would work in marine biology. Probably the effect from always being here in Cousins. I used to study the tide pools here for hours. I'd bring a notebook and sketch the different creatures I found like hermit crabs, sea anemones, tiny fish. Steven and Jere would make fun of me for being such a nerd about it. But you ....." she paused, "You would go with me to the beach and take a genuine interest in whatever I was sketching." 

Conrad smiled. "I guess I've always adored every side of you."

They sat there, hands linked across the table, while the sun sank lower and the string lights around the deck flickered on. The evening crowd was arriving now, families with small children, couples on dates, groups of teenagers laughing too loud and trying to look older than they were.

"What else? What do you do when you're not saving the world of women's health?"

"I read. A lot. Mostly literary fiction, some poetry. I have a virtual book club with Taylor. And I run, sometimes, along the Charles River." She paused. "And I used to cook dinner for you a lot. I mean, before, I guess. We would always try new recipes together on weekends."

Something flickered across Conrad's face. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"That I can't remember that. It sounds nice. Cooking together."

"It was nice. It will be again."

He reached across the table, and this time he didn't hesitate before taking her hand. "You're allowed to be sad about this, you know. About what we lost."

"I know."

"But you never show it. You're always so strong, so patient."

"What else am I supposed to be?"

"Human," he said simply. "You're allowed to be angry or sad or frustrated. You're allowed to grieve for what we had."

Belly's eyes burned, refusing to cry. She didn't want to ruin their first date literally three minutes in. "If I start, I'm afraid I won't stop."

"Then don't stop. Not for me." His thumb traced circles on the back of her hand. "I can't remember our life together, Belly. But I can be here for this. For whatever you're feeling right now."

And maybe it was the sunset, or the familiar smell of salt and fried clams, or the way he was looking at her like she mattered, like she wasn't just a responsibility or a ghost of something he'd lost, but something broke open in Belly.

"I don't know, I guess I miss you, Conrad," she whispered. "You're right here, and you're trying so hard, and I can see you, the you I fell in love with, in all these little moments. But then you'll ask me something about our wedding or our life, and I remember that you don't know. You don't remember our first kiss or the first time you told me you loved me or our wedding vows. You don't remember the way we'd stay up talking until three in the morning, or the trip we took to California last year, or the stupid fights we'd have about whose turn it was to take out the trash." She was crying now, couldn't stop. "And I know it's not your fault. I know that. But I miss my husband so much it feels like I can't breathe sometimes."

Conrad didn't let go of her hand. He held on tighter, and when he spoke, his voice was rough with emotion.

"I wish I could give that back to you. All of it. I would if I could."

"I know."

"But I can't. So all I can do is tell you that I'm here. This version of me, whoever I am now. And I'm choosing you. Not because I remember you, but because every single day since I woke up in that hospital, you've been the most extraordinary person I've ever met. You're patient and kind and fierce and brilliant, and I don't need my memories to know that falling in love with you was probably the best thing I ever did."

Belly wiped at her tears with her free hand. "You can't just say things like that."

"Why not?"

"Because you make it impossible not to hope. That maybe this could work. That maybe we could actually do this."

"Good," Conrad said. "Hope is good. Hope is what's getting me through this."

They sat there, hands linked across the table, while the sun sank into the ocean and turned everything gold.

"So what about you?" Belly asked. "What have you been doing with your time? Since the accident, I mean."

Conrad shrugged. "Physical therapy, mostly. The headaches are getting better, but they're still there. I've been reading a lot, trying to fill in some of the gaps, understand what I've missed in the world. And of course, you know that I've been going to therapy, regular therapy I mean, not just physical. Trying to process all of this."

"How's that going?"

"It's hard. Really hard. I keep having these moments where I feel like I should be someone else, should know how to do things or react to things in ways that I don't. Like there's this ghost version of me that everyone expects me to be, and I don't know how to be him."

"You don't have to be him. You just have to be you."

"But what if I don't like who I am now? What if I was better before?"

"You weren't better. You were different. But you're still Conrad. Still the person who, uhm ....." She paused, thinking about how to articulate this. "Okay, so this is going to sound weird, but hear me out."

"I'm listening."

"The day after the accident, when you were still in the ICU, Steven brought me a change of clothes and some coffee. And he told me this story about when you guys were four years old. You, Steven, and Jeremiah had been playing on the beach, and Jere stepped on a piece of glass and cut his foot open. He was crying, bleeding everywhere, and you, well, you were four years old, Conrad. You ran to get help. You didn't panic, didn't freeze. You just acted."

"Okay."

"And then, remember the week before your scans with Dr. Chen and Dr. Reeves? We were walking in Boston and this guy collapsed on the sidewalk. Heart attack, we found out later. And you, even without your medical training in your memory, you knew exactly what to do. You started CPR immediately, called out instructions to me to call 911, kept him alive until the ambulance got there." She squeezed his hand. "My point is, some things are just who you are. Not what you remember or what you learned, but who you fundamentally are. And that person is someone worth knowing."

Conrad's eyes were bright with emotion. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Make me feel like maybe I'm not lost. Like maybe I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."

"Because you are. We both are."

A waitress came by to clear their plates, and they ordered coffee—decaf for Conrad, because caffeine could trigger his headaches. When she left, Conrad leaned back in his chair and studied Belly thoughtfully.

"Can I ask you something else?"

"Anything at all."

"What's your favorite memory of us? From before."

Belly didn't even have to think about it. "The morning after our wedding. We were here, in this house. Everyone else had gone home or back to hotels, and it was just us. We woke up early, and we walked down to the beach and watched the sunrise. And you told me that you'd been waiting your whole life for that moment. Not the wedding, but the morning after. The quiet, ordinary moment of just being married to me."

"That sounds like something I would want to remember."

"It was perfect. One of those moments where everything just feels right, you know? Like all the pieces of your life have finally clicked into place." She paused. "We made coffee and brought it back to bed, and we just talked for hours. About everything and nothing. About what we wanted our life to look like. Where we wanted to live, whether we wanted kids someday, what we'd name a dog if we ever got one."

"Did we agree on a name?"

"No. You wanted to name it after a surgeon from Chicago Med, Halstead or something medical. I wanted to name it after a Sanrio character, something cutesy. We compromised on maybe just calling it Dog."

Conrad laughed. "That's a terrible compromise."

"I know. But it was perfect because it was ours, you know? Our ridiculous conversation about a dog we didn't even have."

"Do we have a dog now?"

"No. We talked about it, but our apartment doesn't allow pets. And we're both gone too much for work. Maybe someday, though."

"I'd like that. Someday."

The word hung between them, full of possibility. Someday they'd get a dog. Someday they'd figure this out. Someday everything might be okay again.

Or maybe it wouldn't. Maybe someday Conrad's memories would never come back, and they'd have to build something entirely new. But sitting here, watching the way he looked at her in the candlelight, Belly thought maybe that would be okay too.

One day at a time, she thought. We'll take this one day at a time.

And maybe someday, he'll remember.

Or maybe he won't.

But we'll be okay either way.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Flashback - 12 Years Ago

She knew she wasn’t supposed to be creeping down the hallway barefoot, holding her flip-flops in one hand, wincing every time the Fisher beach house floorboards creaked like tattletales.

But she also knew Conrad Fisher had tapped on her door. Three soft knocks, the secret code they made up last summer, and whispered:

“Wanna see the ocean with me?”

And that was enough.

She slipped out before she could think twice, before her nerves could catch up with her excitement. She saw Conrad standing at the end of the hallway, hoodie half-zipped, hair rumpled from sleep, like he’d been awake thinking of this. Thinking of her.

He raised an eyebrow when he saw her.
“You made it.”

“You’re the one who asked,” she said, trying to hide the grin tugging at her mouth.

Conrad’s own smile flickered, soft and secret.
“Come on.”

They snuck down the stairs. Belly skipped over the third one because it squeaked and slipped out the back door. The night air hit her instantly, cool and salty, and she inhaled deep like it was a magic spell.

The beach at night didn’t look like the beach at day.
It was quieter.
Bigger.
And the moon made the water silver, like it had been dipped in something special.

Belly shivered, not from cold but from how impossibly beautiful it all was.

Conrad noticed anyway.
“You cold?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Liar,” he murmured, but he didn’t tease. He just tugged the zipper of his hoodie up a little higher and nudged her shoulder with his in this shy, careful way, like he wasn’t allowed to do anything more than that.

They reached the edge of the dunes, soft sand slipping under their feet. Belly held her breath as they stepped onto the actual beach, like crossing some invisible threshold.

“You’ve really never been out here at night?” Conrad asked.

She shook her head. “My mom would freak.”

“Mine too.” His voice was quieter now, thoughtful. “I just… couldn’t sleep.”

“Why?”

He shrugged in that way he did when he didn’t want to talk but also didn’t want to lie.
“Thinking.”

“About what?”

He brushed past her, walking toward the waterline. “I dunno. Stuff.”

Belly didn’t push. There was something about night that made things feel delicate, like one wrong word would shatter everything.

The tide rushed up around their ankles, colder than she expected, and she squeaked. Conrad let out a soft laugh.

“You good?”

“It scared me,” she admitted.

“It’s just water, Belly.”

She glared. “I know that.”

Conrad smirked. “Sure you do.”

She splashed him.
He splashed her back.
They were laughing before they knew it.

When they tired out, they collapsed onto the sand, sitting close but not quite touching. The moonlight cast blue shadows across Conrad’s face, softening him. Making him look younger, even though he already felt so much older than everyone else their age.

After a long moment, he said, “Can I tell you something?”

Belly sat up straighter. “Yeah. Always.”

The waves filled the space between them, rolling slow and steady.

“I like it better at night,” Conrad said. “The beach, I mean. Nobody’s around. Nobody’s talking. It’s like I can breathe.”

Belly nodded. “I get that.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.” She drew a circle in the sand with her finger. “Sometimes it’s too loud in the summer house. Or too… full.”

“Yeah.” He blew out a breath, like he was relieved she understood. “Exactly. I knew you’d understand.”

They sat quietly again. Belly watched the way the moonlight hit his hair, making it look almost silver. He glanced at her, and in the reflection of his eyes, she saw the ocean.

“Do you ever think about the future?” Conrad asked suddenly. “Like… what it’ll be like when we’re older?”

“All the time.”

He turned fully to face her. “What do you think it’ll be like?”

Belly thought for a long moment.
“Different,” she finally said. “But… I don’t know. I always imagine us still here. Not forever, but… every summer.”

Conrad’s throat bobbed as he swallowed.
“That’d be nice.”

“Do you think we’ll be friends when we’re older?” she asked, voice small but earnest.

He looked at her like the question surprised him. Then like it didn’t.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I think so. Better friends, maybe.”

“Better?”

He nodded. “Like… close. Like we’ll still talk about everything. And come here. And do stupid stuff like this.”

Belly’s heart thudded painfully. “I’d like that.”

The waves whispered against the shore. Conrad ran a hand through his hair, sand clinging to his fingers.

“You’re easy to talk to,” he murmured.

Belly froze.
Her breath caught.
Her cheeks burned.

“You are too,” she managed, voice barely above a whisper.

Another wave crashed.
The breeze shifted.
For a second, they weren’t kids anymore. They were just two souls recognizing each other.

Conrad’s gaze drifted to the water, then back to her.
“Don’t tell Jeremiah we came out here. He’ll want to come next time.”

“You don’t want him to?”

Conrad shook his head. “No. This is… just us.”

Just us.
Two words Belly would remember forever.

She leaned back on her hands, staring at the moon. “We should probably go back soon.”

“Probably.”

Neither moved.

A shooting star streaked across the sky. Belly gasped. “Did you see that?”

Conrad nodded. “Make a wish.”

She closed her eyes.
She wished for this.
For nights like this.
For summers like this.
For him.

When she opened her eyes, Conrad was still watching her.

“What’d you wish for?” he asked quietly.

She smiled. “If I tell you, it won’t come true.”

He groaned. “You’re so annoying.”

“And you’re nosy.”

He shook his head, but he was smiling again—the rare, real kind that made her feel like she’d been let in on a secret.

They stood, brushing sand off their legs. As they walked back toward the house, Conrad reached out—hesitant, barely-there—and tugged gently on the sleeve of her pajama shirt.

“Hey,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for coming with me.”

She swallowed around the warmth rising in her chest. “Anytime.”

And she meant it.
Even then.
Even before she knew what loving someone felt like.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

After dinner, they walked down to the beach, shoes dangling from their fingers, the sand still warm from the day's sun. The water lapped at their ankles whenever they wandered too close to the tide line, cold enough to make them gasp and laugh and run back to drier sand. 

The moon was rising, full and bright, turning the ocean silver. Conrad stopped walking and just stood there, staring out at the water, and Belly watched him, trying to read his expression.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked.

"That I understand why we got married here. Why this place matters so much." He turned to her. "It's beautiful. Peaceful. Like the rest of the world doesn't exist when you're here."

They walked in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds the ocean and their breathing and the occasional call of a night bird. Belly felt something loosening in her chest, some knot of tension that had been there since the accident finally beginning to unwind.

"Tell me about your dreams," Conrad said suddenly.

"My dreams?"

"Yeah. What do you want? For your life, your career, your future. Not what we wanted together, but what you want. Just you."

The question surprised her. "I don't know if I've thought about it like that in a while. Since the accident, everything's been so focused on you, on getting through each day."

"So think about it now. If you could have anything, what would it be?"

Belly considered this, really considered it. "I want to make a difference. I know that sounds cheesy and generic, but I want to look back on my life and know that I did something that mattered. That the world of female athletes is a little bit healthier, happier, and safer, because I was here."

"That's not cheesy. That's beautiful."

"And I want—" She paused, wondering if she should say this, if it was too much for a first date. But he'd asked, and she'd promised herself she'd be honest with him. "I want kids someday. Two, maybe even four. I want to bring them here in the summer and teach them to love the ocean the way I do. I want them to have what we had, the lazy summer days and ice cream on the pier and the kind of childhood that feels like magic."

"Do we, I mean, did we talk about that? Having kids?"

"We did. We agreed we wanted them, but not yet. We wanted a few more years of just us, of traveling and focusing on our careers. We said maybe when we were closer to thirty." She smiled sadly. "Obviously those plans are on hold now."

"Because of me."

"Because of the situation. Not because of you." She stopped walking and turned to face him. "Conrad, I need you to understand something. I don't resent you for this. I'm not sitting around thinking about all the things I'm missing out on because you can't remember our life. I'm just grateful you're alive. Everything else is details."

"They're not details, though. They're your life. Your dreams. Your future."

"And you're part of that future. Memory or no memory, you're still part of it."

He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her, and they stood there swaying slightly in the moonlight.

“Can we do this forever?” he whispered. “Just… be together like this?”

She smiled against his shoulder. “We’ve always found our way back to each other,” she said. “Every single time.”

Conrad pressed his lips to her hair. “Yeah,” he murmured. “And I don’t ever want to lose you again.”

“You won’t.” Belly pressed her ear against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and thought about how many times she'd stood exactly like this, how many times she'd found comfort in the simple fact of his existence.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you," Conrad murmured into her hair.

"You don't have to do anything. You just have to be here."

"I can do that. I can definitely do that."

They stayed like that for a long time, holding each other while the ocean whispered secrets and the moon painted everything silver. When they finally pulled apart, Conrad's eyes were bright with emotion.

"I have something I want to tell you," he said. "And I don't want you to read too much into it, because I don't know what it means yet. But I think you should know."

"Okay."

"When I look at you, I feel something. It's not memory, exactly. It's more like... like recognition. Like some part of me knows you, even if my brain doesn't. Does that make sense?"

Belly's heart was pounding so hard she thought it might crack through her ribs. "Yeah. Yeah, it makes sense."

"And when you touch me, or when I touch you, it feels right. Like my body knows what to do even if my mind doesn't. Like we fit together in a way that transcends memory."

"Conrad—"

"I'm not saying I remember loving you. I don't want to give you false hope. But I am saying that I think I could fall in love with you. Easily. Maybe I'm already starting to."

The tears came then, sudden and overwhelming, and Belly couldn't stop them even if she'd wanted to. Conrad looked panicked.

"Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"No." She was laughing and crying at the same time, wiping at her face with her hands. "No, you didn't say anything wrong. Those might be the most perfect words anyone has ever said to me."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He pulled her close again, and she buried her face in his chest. All the grief and fear and exhaustion she'd been holding in came pouring out, and Conrad just held her, one hand stroking her hair, murmuring soft reassurances.

"It's okay," he said. "I've got you. I've got you."

And the thing was, he did. Even without his memories, even without the context of their history, he knew how to hold her. He knew how to be her safe place.

When the tears finally subsided, Belly pulled back, embarrassed. "Fuck, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall apart on our first date."

"Don't apologize. You're allowed to have feelings. You're allowed to be sad or scared or overwhelmed. You've been so strong for so long, Belly. You're allowed to let go sometimes."

"I just .... I've been so afraid. Afraid that you'd never remember. Afraid that even if you did, we'd be different. Afraid that I'd lost you forever even though you're standing right here."

"I know. But I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere. We're going to figure this out, okay? Together."

"Okay."

"And even if I never remember, even if my memories are gone forever—we can make new ones. Better ones, maybe. We can fall in love again, the right way this time. Taking our time, getting to know each other, building something strong."

Belly looked up at him, at this man who was and wasn't her husband, and felt something shift inside her. Maybe he was right. Maybe this wasn't an ending. Maybe it was a beginning.

"I'd like that," she said. "Falling in love with you again. Even if it's terrifying."

"Especially because it's terrifying." He smiled, and it was soft and genuine. "The best things always are."

After a while, Conrad took off his jacket so they could lay on the sand in each other's arms and stargaze.

Conrad's hand moved slowly over her stomach, just touching, learning the shape of her.

"Can I tell you something?" Belly whispered.

"Anything."

"I missed this. Just this. Lying next to you. Feeling you breathe. It's the small things I missed the most. Not the big romantic gestures, but the everyday intimacy of sharing a bed with someone you love."

"I can't imagine what it's been like for you. Having me here but not really here."

"It's been hard. But tonight ..... tonight was good. Really good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Best first date I've ever had."

Belly giggled into his chest. "Does that really matter if you don't remember any of your first dates?" 

"Hush," Conrad jokingly said, "I'm trying to have a romantic moment here with my wife."

"So....." Belly said with a dramatic long pause in her voice, "Conrad Fisher?"

"Yes, Belly Conklin-Fisher?"

"Will you go out with me on an official second date tomorrow?" 

Conrad smiled and slowly leaned to kiss her. "Does that answer your question?" 

Belly leaned in to kiss him again, slow and tentative at first, like she was checking that this moment was real and not another fragile daydream she wasn’t allowed to touch. Conrad kissed her back with equal softness, one hand cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing a feather-light path beneath her eye as if memorizing her face all over again.

And then, wow, something just shifted.

A breath caught, a pulse stuttered, and suddenly the kiss wasn’t slow anymore. It deepened, swelled, like a wave folding in on itself. Belly felt herself melting backwards onto Conrad’s jacket spread beneath them, the fabric cool against her back while Conrad hovered over her, bracing himself with trembling control.

It had been months since they’d let themselves be this close. Really close. Not just hugging-through-the-hard-days close. Not curled-up-quietly-in-bed close. But—this.

Belly hadn’t rushed him. She never would. After the accident, she’d been the one drawing invisible lines in the sand, constantly checking: Are you okay? Do you need space? Do you want to stop? She’d told him, over and over, that he was in the driver’s seat of whatever came next, and she would match his pace, no matter how slow.

But right now he was the one closing the distance.

Her body reacted before her mind could catch up, buzzy, electric shivers running down her spine as Conrad’s hands, warm and steady, began to roam. Not grabbing or rushing. Just exploring. Rediscovering. His fingertips skated along the curve of her waist, gliding beneath the hem of her shirt, and Belly felt her breath stutter as her skin came alive under his touch.

Her hands moved too, almost on instinct. They looped around his neck, drawing him closer until their chests were pressed together, rising and falling in a synchrony that felt older than both of them. She shifted her legs, and suddenly he was fully settled between them, the weight of his body gently pinning her down in the most grounding, intimate way. His forehead pressed to hers; their breaths mingled, warm, ragged, wanting.

But the fear flickered anyway.

The worry that at any second Conrad might freeze. Or flinch. Or disappear inside himself the way he sometimes still did.

So Belly pulled away—just a fraction, just enough to see his eyes. Her voice came out breathless and tender, lips brushing his as she spoke.

“Conrad…” She swallowed, heart racing. “We don’t have to—”

He cut her off immediately, almost desperately, the words tumbling out.

“Come home with me, Belly.”

Her whole body stilled.

For a heartbeat she thought she misheard him. Maybe it was the pounding in her ears that drowned him out, maybe she was imagining the way his voice had broken on the word home. Because home wasn’t simple for them. Home was layered. Loaded. A promise, a memory, a wound, a prayer.

Her voice wavered. “Wh—wh… what? Conrad, what did you just say?”

He pulled back just enough so she could see his face, so she could see he wasn’t confused or overwhelmed or lost.

He was certain.

“Come home with me, Belly,” he repeated, more sure this time, soft but unwavering. His hand brushed her cheek again, but this time it wasn’t hesitant. “Come to bed with me. With me. I’m ready. I want you. I was this. I want us.”

 

Chapter 10

Notes:

warning - smut in the first half! please read at your own discretion

“Conrad.” His name her left mouth like a song he could listen to on repeat for the rest of his life. It all felt so sinister yet so pure, all at the same time.

Conrad’s hands struggled to find the doorknob to the summer house. He refused to let go of his wife pushed up against the door, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist as their lips never so left each other even for a breath of air. They were one person.

“Conrad,” Belly gasped once more, in between their heavy kisses and breaths, “we’ve been outside for almost 20 minutes, we should,” she paused to kiss him again, “we should,” again, “we should go inside.”

“So?” he whispered against her lips, his quickly moving down to explore her cheeks and heer neck, “Who cares if we stay outside? Let them see.”

Belly moaned at his vulgar words, her legs tightening their grip around his waist. Her hands moved everywhere, exploring his shoulders, pulling him tighter and closer to her than he already was. She kissed him deeper, as if her life depended on it, afraid that if she pulled away for even a moment he would slip away. She moaned even louder as Conrad reciprocated, pushing the two of them roughly against the door.

After many moments of fidgeting, Conrad managed to finally unlock the door. The door flew open and Belly gasped at the loss of the door against her back. But she knew she wouldn’t fall back. Conrad held onto her, almost like he was protecting her.

Belly pulled away, her hands still wandering around his shoulders. “Are you okay? We can stop whenever you want to, I promise.”

Conrad didn’t answer right away. Instead, he kissed her. Deeply. But not with the same roughness and rush from a while ago. This one was gentle and patient. He wasn’t scared anymore; there was no more need to try and rush against the clock. They had all the time in the world. “Let’s go to bed?” he asked. 

Belly gave him a soft smile as her hands played with his hair. She leaned in, returning his soft kiss. “Let’s go to bed, Conrad,” she whispered against his lips.

Conrad opened the door to their bedroom. He insisted on still carrying her up the stairs, arguing that letting her walk would defeat the purpose of his romantic gesture. “There are so many thing I want to do with you, Belly. To do to you.”

He softly laid her on the bed, her back hitting the foam as he rushed to follow her. As he hovered above her, they took a moment to stare into each other’s eyes. Belly reached for his face, her hand cupping his cheek as he leaned into her warm touch.

“I dream about this,” Belly whispered. “You.”

He lowered himself until their foreheads touched, both of them breathing in the same air, existing in the same space. The world outside their bedroom ceased to exist; there was no past full of complications, no future full of uncertainties. There was only this moment, only them.

"Belly," he murmured against her lips, her name a prayer, a promise. "Tell me this is real. Tell me you're really here."

"I'm here," she assured him, pulling him closer. "I'm not going anywhere.”

Conrad smiled, as he leaned to kiss Belly. Belly let out a load groan as she felt her skin begin to bruise at how his lips roughly sucked on her. She felt a warmth of excitement brew in her body thinking about the bruises she would wake up to pattered around her chest and neck; she would gladly wear them with pride. Conrad's hand slid beneath her, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss. His lips traced a path from her mouth to her jaw, then down to that sensitive spot on her neck that made her gasp.

Her hands found his hair as his lips played with her neck, the straps of her dress, and the flow of its skirt. “Conrad —“

“Shhh,” Conrad whispered immediately as he heard the worry in her voice. “I want to. I promise.”

He took his time, eager to savor every sweet taste of her body. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered against her thighs as he left little kisses on them before moving up to kiss the hem of her underwear. “God, I want to taste you, Belly. To feel you.” he whispered against her. He smiled to himself as he heard Belly let out a moan. He had no idea where the confidence in him came as he pulled her closer to his face, looping her legs around his neck.

Belly felt her hands go straight to his hair, roughly grabbing and pulling at it with excitement. “Oh fuck, Conrad, I —“

His tongue couldn’t wait any longer. He had to feel her, taste her. “It’s okay, Belly. Tonight is all about you and me. But let me first take care of you. Please.” 

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Conrad's fingers traced lazy patterns on her back, as he laid with Belly, their sheets tangled and their bodies pressed against one another. She could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her cheek. Outside, the world of Cousins continued turning, but inside their bedroom, time seemed to slow, allowing them to savor every second of finally, finally being together.

"Hey," Conrad said softly, his voice slightly hoarse. "You okay?"

Belly tilted her head up to look at him, a small smile playing on her lips. "More than okay. I'm absolutely perfect."

He studied her face, his expression uncertain despite her reassurance. "Are you sure? I mean, was it... was I..." He trailed off, seeming unable to find the right words.

She pushed herself up on her elbow so she could see him better. "Conrad, what's wrong?"

He exhaled slowly, his hand stilling on her back. "I just want to make sure you're alright. That it was good for you. That I didn’t, well, you know —“

"That you didn't what?" she prompted gently, her hand coming up to cup his cheek.

"That I didn't mess it up somehow. I’ve been thinking about this for quite some time now, you know with us being married, about being with you like this but with the accident and everything, I just... I need to know that it was what you wanted. That I was what you wanted."

She leaned down and kissed him softly before pulling back to look into his eyes. “Hey, look at me," she said gently. When his eyes met hers, she continued, "It was perfect. You were perfect. Better than anything I could have imagined, and trust me, I've been thinking about it too. A lot actually,” she laughed at her admission.

A faint blush colored his cheeks. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she confirmed, settling back against his chest. "Though I have to admit, I was a little nervous too. I kept worrying that I wasn't doing things right, or that maybe I should have—"

"Belly, you were incredible," Conrad interrupted, "God, you have no idea. I was so nervous I'd go too fast or not be gentle enough or—" He let out laugh. "I was fucking terrified that I'd screw it up. At least we know that there are really things you don’t forget to do.”

She laughed softly against his chest, lightly slapping him. “That feels so out of pocket to say, Conrad!”

His fingers resumed their gentle path up and down her spine. "But seriously, Belly. Was there anything that... I don't know, anything you didn't like? Anything you want me to do differently next time?"

"Next time?" she teased, looking up at him with raised eyebrows.

His ears went red. "I mean, not right now obviously, but eventually, when you want to, I mean, wait no, I just mean—"

"Conrad, Conrad, relax, I’m kidding. And to answer your question, everything was amazing. You were gentle and patient and... present, you know? Like you were really here with me, paying attention to what I needed."

"I am. Always."

They lay in comfortable silence for a moment before Conrad spoke again. "Can I ask you something?"

"Were you worried about... I mean, did it feel different for you? Being with me versus..." He trailed off, suddenly feeling insecure about bringing up her past relationship, with not just the old version of himself, but everyone who came before him.

Belly was quiet for a moment. "It felt completely different," she finally said. "Because it's you, Conrad. It's always been you. Of course, we’ve been together before ….. everything happened, and it was just like coming home to you all over again. But with everyone else before... it didn't mean anything. Not like this."

"Really?" He smiled, the waves of assurance warming the worry in his chest.

"Really. Conrad, with you, it's not just physical. It's everything. It's knowing that I'm with the person I care about more than anything in this world. It's knowing that despite everything, we both chose each other and that you want to be here with me. That makes all the difference."

They lay together for a while longer, talking in soft voices about everything and nothing. Conrad asked again if she was comfortable, if she needed anything, like water, food, more pillows, another blanket. Belly found his attentiveness endearing, even as she assured him multiple times that she was fine.

"You know," she said eventually, "I should probably get some water actually. My throat's a little dry."

"I'll get it," Conrad said immediately, starting to sit up.

"Conrad, I can walk to the kitchen. I'm not made of glass."

"I know, I just—"

"Want to take care of me, I know. And I adore you for that. So how about we both go? I'm actually kind of hungry too."

He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. "It's almost 1:30 in the morning."

"Perfect time for a midnight snack," she said, sitting up and reaching for his t-shirt that had ended up on the floor. She pulled it over her head, and Conrad as it fit her like a dress.

"You look so sexy in my clothes," he said, his voice rough.

"Yeah?" She did a little spin, the hem of the shirt falling to mid-thigh. She spun with what seemed to be an ooze of confidence, trying to hide the fact that he had made her blush. "Maybe I'll just steal all your t-shirts then."

“And I am perfectly okay with that." He got up and pulled on his boxers and sweatpants, then grabbed her hand. "Come on, let's go raid the kitchen."

In the kitchen, Conrad lifted Belly onto the counter and began pulling things out of the refrigerator. "What are you in the mood for?"

"Hmm." She swung her legs, watching him move around the kitchen. "Grilled cheese with chicken?”

"Classic choice."

As he cooked, Belly watched him with a soft smile. There was something intimate about this too. There she was, watching him make her food in the middle of the night, his hair messy from her fingers, wearing only sweatpants. This felt just as important as the sex, maybe even more so.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Conrad asked, glancing over his shoulder at her.

"Just that I am enjoying this," she said. "Being here with you like this. It feels normal and special at the same time."

He flipped the sandwich in the pan. "I know what you mean. It's like... I didn’t even know that this is what I've always wanted. It feels right, like I can’t imagine doing any of this without you by my side. Making you grilled cheese at one in the morning. Watching you sit on the counter in my t-shirt. Having you here, in my house, in my life."

"Our life," Belly corrected him gently.

He turned to look at her fully, the spatula still in his hand. "Our life," he repeated, like he was testing out the words. "I really like the sound of that."

He finished cooking the sandwich and cut it diagonally, the way he had seen her cut her own sandwiches the past month, before bringing the plate over to her. Instead of handing it to her, he stayed standing between her legs, one hand on her thigh.

"Thank you," she said, picking up one half and taking a bite. She closed her eyes and made an exaggerated sound of pleasure. "Oh my god, this is so good."

Conrad laughed. "It's just a grilled cheese, Belly."

"It's not just a grilled cheese. It's a grilled cheese made by you, for me, at one in the morning after we—" She stopped, suddenly feeling shy again.

"After we made love," Conrad finished for her, his voice soft but certain. His hand squeezed her thigh gently. "You can say it, Belly. That's what it was."

She set down her sandwich and pulled him closer, wrapping her legs around his waist. "After we made love," she repeated, looking into his eyes. "That's exactly what it was."

He kissed her then, slow and sweet, tasting like the shared grilled cheese between them. When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers. “Tonight was everything I wanted and more. You were everything I wanted. The way you touched me, the way you looked at me, the way you kept checking to make sure I was okay. Conrad, that's what made it perfect.”

He was quiet for a moment, processing her words. "I just want you to be happy."

"I am happy. Deliriously, impossibly happy." She picked up her sandwich again and took another bite. "Now finish this with me, and then I have an idea."

"What kind of idea?"

Belly’s eyes lit up with mischief. "You'll see."

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Flashback, 3 Years Ago

Belly lazily trudged down the hallway of her dorm building, her backpack weighing heavy on her shoulders. It had been one of those weeks: three exams each for different Psychology major classes, a paper due, and she'd spilled coffee all over her favorite sweater that morning. But none of that compared to the ache in her chest that had been there since the last time she spoke to Conrad. They'd known the distance would be hard. Finch to Stanford wasn't exactly a quick and easy flight (not to mention how atrociously expensive plane tickets weee, even if they were red eyes).

She pulled out her phone as she walked, checking for the third time in the past hour. Still no response to her text from this morning. She knew he was busy. Medical school was brutal, and Conrad was giving it everything he had, But god, she missed him. She missed him so much it hurt. She longed for his voice, his laugh, the way he'd pull her close and kiss her forehead when she was stressed.

Their last phone call had been... difficult. They'd both been tired and snippy, and it had ended with awkward "I love yous" that felt more obligatory than heartfelt. That was last night, and they'd barely talked since. Just a few texts here and there, neither of them ready to address to elephant in the room. Belly blinked back tears as she approached her door. She was being ridiculous. Conrad loved her. She loved him. They'd get through this. They had to. They always did.

She fumbled with her key, finally getting the door open, expecting to find Anika at her desk as usual. Instead, the room was dark except for a soft glow coming from her side of the room that had been transformed. Blankets hung from the ceiling, creating an elaborate fort that stretched from her bed to her desk. Fairy lights twinkled along the edges, her favorite because she always geeked out over how ‘aesthetic’ they were, casting everything in a warm, golden glow. She could see pillows piled inside, and a laptop set up with a bowl of popcorn with a bunch of candies ad other junk food.

"Surprise," came a voice from inside the fort.

Belly's backpack slid off her shoulder and hit the floor with a thud.

"Conrad?" she whispered, her.

The fort's entrance flap opened, and there he was. "Hey, Belly,"

She stood frozen for a moment, wondering if she was hallucinating from lack of sleep and too much coffee. But then he stepped out of the fort, and he was solid and real and here, and suddenly she was moving, practically running across the small dorm room and throwing herself into his arms. Conrad caught her easily, wrapping her up tight as she buried her face in his neck. She felt his chest rise and fall as he breathed her in, his hand cradling the back of her head.

"You're here? Are you really here?" she mumbled against his shoulder. "Fuck, you're actually here."

"I'm here, I’m here. I'm sorry it took so long."

Belly pulled back just enough to look at him, her hands coming up to frame his face. She needed to make sure he was real. She leaned against his chest, snuggling deep into his fluffy ‘Stanford Medicine’ sweater, worried that if she would let go, he’d disappear from her embrace. How? Don’t you have classes and—"

"I have a four-day weekend. Some optional medical conference for us, but I was exempted from attending it because your boyfriend has stellar grades.” They both shared a short laugh ad for a minute they had forgotten that just last night, they were both completely sour to one another. He reached up to brush away a tear that had escaped down her cheek. "I got on a plane the second my last class ended."

"But the ticket must have cost—"

"I don't care, Belly, I had to see you. We've been... I needed to be here. With you."

She understood what he wasn't saying. They'd been drifting. She'd felt it, and clearly, he had too.

"I've missed you so much," she whispered, her thumb tracing his cheekbone, still trying to remind herself that this was all real and that he was here. "So, so much, Conrad."

"I know. I've missed you too." He leaned down and kissed her. When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers. "I'm sorry I've been so distant lately. Medical school is kicking my ass, and I feel like I'm drowning most days, but that's not an excuse. You deserve better than rushed phone calls and half-assed one-word texts."

Fresh tears spilled down Belly's cheeks. "I've been so scared," she admitted. "Scared that the distance was too much. That we were falling apart and I didn't know how to stop it."

"Hey, no." Conrad cupped her face in both hands, his thumbs wiping away her tears. "We're not falling apart. I won't let us fall apart. Yeah, this is hard, fuck, a lot harder than I thought it would be, but you're worth it, Belly. We're worth it."

Belly bit her lip, then nodded. "Sometimes. Not all the time, but... sometimes I wonder if we're holding on just because we've always been Conrad and Belly, you know? Like maybe we're supposed to but we're not supposed to be together anymore, and we're both too scared to admit it."

"No. God, Belly, no. I'm not with you because of history or obligation or because I'm scared to let go. I'm with you because I love you. Because even when I'm exhausted and overwhelmed and feel like I'm failing at everything, thinking about you is the one thing that keeps me going."

"Really?" she asked, her voice small.

"Really." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then her nose, then her lips. "And I'm sorry that I haven't been showing you that. I'm sorry that I let school take over everything. But I'm here now, and I want to make things right. If you'll let me."

Belly looked past him at the blanket fort, the twinkling lights, the obvious effort he'd put into this surprise despite being exhausted from his flight and his relentless schedule. "You built me a fort."

A small smile tugged at his lips. "I had some help. Your roommate Anika is pretty great, by the way. She let me in and helped me set everything up while you were in class."

"Anika helped?" Belly glanced around. "Where is she?"

"Studying in the library for the night. She said something about giving us space and also that you owe her one." His smile grew. "She's very protective of you. She gave me a whole speech about how if I was here to break up with you, she'd hunt me down and make me regret it."

"Yup, that sounds like Anika."

"I like her," Conrad said. "And I told her I had no intention of breaking up with you. Ever. If you'll still have me."

"I'll always have you," she said softly. Belly looked at him, really looked at him. She looked at the exhaustion in his eyes and the tension in his shoulders from getting on such an abrupt flight, which was blanketed by the love written all over his face. She looked at the effort he'd made to be here, to show her that she mattered, that they mattered. "Even when it's hard. Even when we're struggling. I choose you, Conrad. I just need you to choose me back."

"I do," he said urgently, pulling her close again. "I do choose you. And I promise I'm going to do better.

She took his hand and led him toward the fort. "So what's the plan with this thing?"

"Well," he said, ducking inside and pulling her with him, "I thought we could have a movie night. Like old times. I brought your favorite sweet treats, Sour Patch Kids, Reese's Pieces, and Strawberry Pop Tarts, and I queued up The Princess Bride."

"You said once that it's the perfect comfort movie And I figured we could both use some comfort right about now."

She turned to look at him, her heart swelling with love for her Conrad, who had impulsively flown across the country, built her a blanket fort, and remembered her favorite comfort movie. "Thank you," she said. "For coming. For this. For fighting for us."

"Always," he promised. "I'll always fight for us, Belly. Even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard." Conrad reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch gentle. "We're going to make it, Belly. I know it's hard right now, but we're going to make it through this."

"Promise?"

"Promise," he said firmly. "You and me, Belly. Always."

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Twenty minutes later, they were in the summer house's living room surrounded by couch cushions, blankets, and pillows. Belly had unanimously declared (Conrad’s words, not hers) that they were building a blanket fort, and despite Conrad's initial protests that they were too old for that, he'd gotten surprisingly into it. Yes, all at the ungodly hour of 2am.

"Conrad, no, no, that sheet needs to go higher," Belly directed, standing in the middle of their construction with her hands on her hips. "We need to be able to sit up inside."

"I'm trying," Conrad said, stretching to drape the sheet over the back of the couch. "How's this?"

“Much better. Now secure it with those clips. The pink ones.”

They worked together, laughing when parts of the fort collapsed and having to rebuild. Conrad lifted Belly onto his shoulders so she could reach the higher spots, and she shrieked with laughter when he pretended to drop her.

Finally, after much trial and error, they had created a impressive blanket fort that stretched from the couch to the coffee table, creating a cozy cave-like space inside.

"After you, m'lady," Conrad said with an exaggerated bow, holding open the fort's "entrance."

Belly crawled inside, and he followed, zipping up the opening behind them with a blanket clip. The fort was lit by the soft glow of fairy lights that Belly had strung up along the top, and they'd piled every pillow they could find on the floor to create a comfortable nest.

"This is perfect," Belly sighed, lying back against the pillows.

Conrad settled beside her, pulling her close so her head rested on his chest again. "I can't believe we just built a blanket fort at two in the morning."

"The best things happen at two in the morning,"

"Is that so?"

"Definitely. Blanket forts, midnight snacks, deep conversations..." She tilted her head up to look at him. "Making love for the first time."

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're right. Tonight has been pretty perfect."

She snuggled closer to him, pulling one of the blankets over them both. The fort felt like the safest place in the world, with Conrad's heartbeat steady beneath her ear and his arms wrapped around her.

She snuggled closer to him, pulling one of the blankets over them both. To Conrad, with Belly in his arms, the fort felt like the safest place in the world.

“Belly?” he murmured. “Before we go to sleep there’s something I want to tell you.” He sat up slightly, pulling her with him so they were facing each other cross-legged in the fort, their knees touching. He took both of her hands in his. "I need to say this. I've been trying to find the perfect moment, the perfect words, but I'm realizing there's never going to be a perfect moment. And maybe that's okay. Maybe this is perfect, just us, in this blanket fort at three in the morning, after tonight, after everything."

"Belly, I love you." The words came out in a rush, like he'd been holding them back for so long that they couldn't wait any longer. "I'm in love with you. I don’t remember you but the accident can’t take away the fact that I am completely, utterly tethered to you. You’ve said it constantly even after the accident and never once treated me like I was a monster for not being able to say it back. All this time after the accident, you’ve been my anchor. I’m sorry it took so long to say it, but I love you, Belly. I'm so completely, terrifyingly in love with you that sometimes I can't think straight."

Tears were streaming down Belly's face now, and she couldn't stop smiling even as she cried. "You love me?"

"I love you," he repeated, his own eyes brimming with tears. "And I'm so sorry it took me this long to say it. You've been waiting, and I knew you were waiting, and I was just so scared that if I said it out loud, if I admitted how deeply I felt, something would go wrong all over again like when this whole goddamn accident turned our lives upside down.”

"But tonight," he continued, "being with you, holding you, building this fort with you, I realized that the scariest thing isn't saying I love you. The scariest thing would be never saying it at all. Never fighting for you after the accident and let it consume us into becoming strangers to one another. Never letting you know that you're everything to me. That you're the best part of my day, every day. That when I think about my future now, something I thought I wouldn’t have after the accident and everything, you're in every single version of it."

Belly let out a sob, pulling one hand free to cover her mouth. "You really love me?"

"I really, really love you." He reached up and gently pulled her hand away from her mouth, holding it against his chest where his heart was racing. "Feel that? That's what you do to me.”

"I love you too," Belly whispered back, even though he already knew. "I've been in love with you for so long, Conrad. And I wasn't angry when I was waiting or because I doubted you. I was waiting because I knew you needed time.”

"You're just too good to me, you know that?" Conrad said, his voice breaking. "Too patient, too understanding. I don’t know what I did to deserve that, to deserve you.”

“You went through a traumatic event and the last thing I wanted was to push you into a situation, a marriage of all things, that you were’t ready for. You deserved time to work through all that you needed to work through. And Conrad, hearing you say it now? After tonight? It's perfect. It's worth every second I waited."

He let out a shaky breath, his hands coming up to frame her face. "I love you, Belly. I love you so much it scares me. I love the way you laugh at my terrible jokes. I love how you always know when I need space and when I need someone to push me. I love how brave you are, how you told me how you felt even when I couldn't say it back. I love everything about you, and I'm going to keep saying it until you're sick of hearing it."

"I could never get sick of hearing that," she said, laughing through her tears. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him as close as possible. "Say it again."

"I love you." He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Again."

"I love you." A kiss to her cheek.

"Again."

She giggled and then yawned, suddenly feeling the weight of the 2am winds and the aftermath of their fort-building workout, all catching up with her.

"Tired?" he asked, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"A little. But I don't want to go back upstairs yet. Can we just stay here for a while?"

"We can stay as long as you want."

Notes:

hope you guys liked this chapter! hoping to churn out more but it is finals week and ya girl needs to finish her thesis!

please do leave kudos and comments (i love reading through them all the time!).

Chapter 11

Notes:

hello my lovely readers!! i have finals all week and i won't be able to write so i hope that this update with 2 CHAPTERSSSSS can make up for it :>

As the morning rays hit his eyes, Conrad felt his body reach for hers. It was an almost-magnetic pull, letting him know that he just had to start his day with her.

He smiled to himself, remembering all the events of last night. Every moment of last night, from being together in bed for the first time, hearing how their voices perfectly melded together when they moaned each other’s names, to waking up to the fort that they built together, made Conrad feel like he was on cloud nine. Part of him was beginning to make peace with the possibility that his memory wouldn’t come back; because if last night proved anything, it’s that the love Belly and Conrad both shared wasn’t going anywhere at all.

Belly shifted in her sleep and Conrad smiled at her little expressions, how her nose scrunched up every now and then and how he could hear her mumble little nothings, almost gibberish-like. She turned towards him, still fast asleep, and her body searched for his in the same way. Conrad wasted no time pulling Belly into his arms as she melted into his embrace. He leaned his cheek atop his head as her arms hugged him tightly; as he played with the loose strands on her hair, and cupped her cheeks, Conrad thought about how he could stay in this position forever. ‘Beautiful’ wasn’t a word that did enough justice to describe Belly. To Conrad, Belly was the definition of perfection.

“And how long have you been staring at me, my little weirdo?” Conrad looked down to see Belly squinting at him, yawning through her words. She pressed her face deeper into his chest.

“I don’t know. Maybe an hour? I’ve been awake for quite some time now.”

“Creepy much?” Belly jokingly said against his chest.

Conrad chuckled as he pressed a short kiss on her forehead. “Can you blame me? I’m madly in love with my wife.”

Belly peaked up from his embrace. Her face was a bright pink and she had the biggest smile on her face. “Say that again.”

“I’m madly in love with my wife.”

She giggled as she leaned upwards to place a soft kiss on Conrad’s lips. “And I’m madly in love with my husband,” she whispered against his lips.

Belly shifted so that they were lying in their pillow fort together on their sides, still completely attached to the hip, only this time face-to-face.

“How’d you sleep last night?” she asked all giggly, but deep down she already knew the answer to that.

“I slept perfectly,” he paused, to peck her on the nose, “not only did I wake up to my wife, but I saw her in my dreams.”

Belly smiled even wider. “Oh did you now?”

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Flashback, 3.5 Years Ago, Paris

The gallery door clicked shut behind them, and Belly turned to Conrad with wide eyes. “Hold on now. Are we even allowed to be here? It's after hours."

Conrad's lips curved into that half-smile she knew so well. "I may have pulled some strings."

"You rented out an entire art gallery?" She spun slowly, taking in the soft lighting that made the paintings glow against white walls. "Conrad Fisher, this is—"

"Too much?" He stepped closer, hands sliding into his pockets. "I know you've been going to all these galleries recently, falling in love with the local art space in Paris and I just thought ... maybe you'd want to actually look at the art without someone else in your ear. I wanted you, well I guess, us, to have a night with just the art.”

Belly's throat tightened. "Holy fuck, it's perfect."

They wandered through the first room in comfortable silence, their footsteps echoing on polished floors. Belly stopped in front of a landscape of rolling lavender fields dissolving into impressionist strokes.

"I always forget you actually know about art," she said, glancing at him sidelong.

“Mom used to drag me to museums every summer." His voice went soft, the way it always did when he talked about Susannah. "She'd spend hours in front of one painting. I used to think it was torture, but..."

"But?"

"But I get it now." He wasn't looking at the painting anymore. He was looking at her. "How you can stare at something beautiful and still find new things to love about it."

"That was smooth, Fisher." She bumped his shoulder, trying to play it cool, but her cheeks flushed warm.

"I've been practicing." He caught her hand, threading their fingers together. "Come on, there's more.”

They moved through room after room looking at the modern abstracts that made Belly tilt her head and debate their meaning, classical portraits with knowing eyes, and sculptures that twisted in impossible ways.

Conrad listened as she talked, really listened, asking questions that proved he was paying attention to more than just the art.

In a room of contemporary pieces, Belly stopped abruptly.

"What is it?" Conrad asked.

She pointed to a small canvas, barely two feet across. It showed a house by the sea, rendered in thick, textured strokes of blue and white and sandy beige. "It reminds me of Cousins."

Conrad studied it. "Yeah. Yeah, it does."

"Do you miss it?"

"Every day." He squeezed her hand. "But being here with you? This is pretty good too."

She leaned her head against his arm. "I can't believe you're really here. I kept thinking I'd wake up and it would just be another dream."

"Well, I'm here for five more days, so you're stuck with me." He pulled her into the center of the room, beneath a skylight where moonlight filtered through. "Actually, there's one more thing."

"Conrad, this is already—"

He pulled out his phone, tapping it a few times, and suddenly soft music filled the gallery, something instrumental and dreamy, all piano and strings.

"Dance with me," he said, and it wasn't quite a question.

"There's no dance floor," she protested weakly, even as he drew her close.

"There's everywhere." His hand found the small of her back, the other still holding hers. "Besides, when else are we going to dance in a Parisian art gallery?"

"Fair point."

They swayed together, slow and easy, finding their rhythm. Belly rested her cheek against his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady beneath his sweater.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For all of this. For surprising me, for flying across an ocean, for—"

"Belly.” He tilted her chin up. "You don't have to thank me. There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

She rose on her tiptoes and kissed him, soft and sure, tasting like promises and possibility. Around them, the paintings seemed to blur into watercolors, and for a moment, they were the only real thing in the world.

When they finally pulled apart, Conrad pressed his forehead to hers.

"So," he murmured, "same time next week? I hear that the Louvre is nice after hours."

She laughed, the sound echoing off gallery walls. "Don't push your luck, Fisher."

But she was already imagining it, another night, another gallery, another dance in the city of light with the boy who'd always felt like home. They kept swaying, unhurried, as the moon climbed higher and the art looked on in silent approval.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

“Sounds like an amazing fantasy, doesn’t it? We should definitely go to Paris together.”

But Belly didn’t reply. Instead, her eyes widened and her jaw dropped slowly. “That’s ….. that’s what you …. uhm, excuse me,” she paused to cough, “that’s what you dreamed about?”

“Uhm, yeah,” Conrad looked frazzled as he laid his hand on her waist, lightly caressing it, not quite sure what was happening, “is everything okay?”

“Conrad,” Belly breathed out, a smile slowly stretching acrosss her face, “that wasn’t a dream. That actually happened.”

And just like that, Conrad launched his body onto Belly’s as they broke out into fits of laughter. He plastered kisses everrwhere on Belly’s face and shoulders as she giggled endlessly. The house wasn’t silence anymore. The music of their laughter and yelps filled the rooms and bounced off the walls. And that morning, they weren’t the couple that was trying so damn hard to rebuild a seemingly broken marriage. They were two kids healing their inner childlike senses of wonder that were once lost.

Conrad felt a weight lift off of his chest, like he was finally coming to understand who he was, even if it was in bits and pieces. “Is this really happening?”

Belly’s laughter quieted down as she relished in this moment. “It is.”

Conrad laid down next to Belly on their homey fort that was theirs and only theirs.

“Conrad,” she started, her hand inching for his, “I hope you know that regardless if you remember anything or not,” she paused, “I think we can fix this, us, or be this version of us. I think we can learn to love each other.”

For a moment, Conrad didn’t respond. Instead, he turned to hover over Belly and laid a soft and gentle kiss on her lips. “I like to think that too, Belly,” he whispered, before kissing her again. “I love you, Belly.”

Belly smiled into their kiss. “I love you, Conrad.” And she really meant it. She wasn’t sayiing it because it was out of obligation or because they were playing ‘pretend marriage’. Belly really was falling in love with this Conrad. And it didn’t matter to her at all whatever version of him she loved. She loved him unconditionally, beyond the bounds of her own understanding.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

“Make sure you don’t keep the French toast waiting! It’s best when it’s hot off the stove!”

“I won’t!” He hollered back. “I promise!”

Conrad wandered around the house and took the time in the morning to explore. He had formally asked Belly on a ‘second date’ (all part of his elaborate plan to ‘court’ his wife) and of course, she said yes. But in usual Belly fashion, she wanted to do something sweet as well, kind of like to act as the cherry on top for their fully romance-filled day so far. Belly cooked breakfast and Conrad decided that he wanted to learn more about his breakthrough a while ago and figure out who he was within the walls of the summer house.

He wandered down the hallway, past the kitchen where he could hear the shower running and her voice; Belly

was singing now, something pop and cheerful. Past the guest room upstairs. And stopped at a door he'd never opened, not quite at the end of the hall, but almost. A regular door, white paint, brass knob. He'd noticed it before but had always assumed it was a closet. Linen storage or something equally mundane.

Conrad turned the knob.

It wasn't a closet.

A desk sat under a window that looked out onto the building's courtyard. Bookshelves lined two walls, crammed with textbooks and novels and binders. A rolling chair, a desk lamp, a bulletin board covered in pinned papers and photos.

His room, Conrad realized. His space.

He stepped inside, heart suddenly pounding.

The bulletin board drew his eye. Photos pinned haphazardly, him at various medical conferences, always in business casual, always with that confident smile he didn't recognize. A postcard from Iceland showing the northern lights. A ticket stub from a concert, Olivia Rodrigo, a year ago. A dried flower, pressed and pinned, petals gone brittle with age. And there, in the corner, a photo of the two of them. It was candid, taken by someone else at what looked like a party. Belly was leaning against him, his arm around her shoulders, both of them laughing at something off-camera. The way he was looking at her, even in profile, even mid-laugh, said everything. H

He'd loved her so much. He had. That man. The one who didn't exist anymore.

Conrad shook his head. No. He was learning love her and Belly was learning to love this version of him. ‘That’s what matters right here, right now’, he thought to himself.

He turned away from the bulletin board, throat tight. Opened the desk drawer, not sure what he was looking for. Inside: more papers, old receipts, a flash drive, a small box. He pulled out the box; it was wooden, maybe five inches square, with a delicate brass clasp. He opened it. Letters. The box was full of letters, folded and refolded, edges soft with handling. His familiarly unfamiliar handwriting on every one.

And at the top of each: To my sweetheart, the love of my life, For Belly, the most beautiful woman I know. His hands were shaking as he pulled out the first one.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

To the most beautiful woman I know,

You're at a Psychology conference this week and the apartment is too quiet without you. I burned my chicken (yes, again) and watched three episodes of ‘Friends’ because I promised I wouldn’t continue ‘Superstore’ without you.

Is this what people mean when they say you don't know what you have until it's gone? I know you’re in New York saving lives and minds through Psychology, but you’ve only been gone for three days now and I already feel like I'm missing a limb.

Steven called tonight. We talked about you, and don't worry, all good things. He said he's never seen me this happy, and he's known me his whole life. He said you're the best thing that ever happened to me.

He's right.

Come home soon. Our cozy home misses you. I miss you.

All my love, Your husband (I still get excited writing that)

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Conrad set it down carefully, hands trembling as he picked up another.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

 

My sweetheart, My Belly,

It's 2 AM and I can't sleep because you're next to me and you're so beautiful it actually hurts to look at you. Is that insane? Probably. But you're lying there with your hair all messy on the pillow and your mouth a little open (you snore, by the way, but don't worry; it's adorable) and I'm hit with this wave of how lucky I am.

We've been married for 6 months today. 6 months of waking up next to you. 6 months of your cold feet on my legs and your terrible singing in the shower and the way you steal the covers and I don't even care.

I know you'll find this letter eventually because you always do, you snoop, so I want you to know: if I could go back and choose again, I'd choose you. Every time. In every universe.

Happy anniversary, beautiful.

Yours always, Your Conrad

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

The next letter he pulled out wasn't finished. It was dated just three days before the accident, the handwriting rushed, like he'd been in a rush.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

My love,

Quick note before I head to the hospital for rounds. I know you've been stressed about the promotion, and I just want to say: you're going to get it. I know you will. You're the smartest, most dedicated person I know, and they'd be idiots not to—

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

It just stopped. Mid-sentence. Like he'd been interrupted, meant to come back to it later. But he never did. Conrad stared at the unfinished letter, at the words hanging incomplete in the air. And something inside him cracked. He didn't realize he was crying until a tear splashed onto the paper, smudging the ink.

Belly said she was falling for this version of him, but how could she? How could she look at him and not see everything she'd lost?

The sobs came suddenly, wrenching up from his chest. He pressed his hands to his face, shoulders shaking, trying to be quiet, she was still in the kitchen and she didn't need to know he was falling apart, but he couldn't stop. Conrad was suffocating. He was drowning in it. The weight of this other man's love, this other man's life, this other man's certainty about everything he himself felt so lost about.

He didn't hear her footsteps in the hall, but suddenly she was there, in the doorway, pan still in hand.

"Hey," she said, and her voice cracked. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Conrad couldn't answer. He could only gesture helplessly at the letters spread across the desk, scattered evidence of everything he wasn't.

Belly crossed to him in two steps, dropping to her knees in front of the chair. "Oh," she breathed, seeing the letters. "Oh, Conrad, sweetheart."

"I can't be him," he choked out. "I can't—look at these. Look at how he loved you. I don't even know—I'm trying so hard but I don't know if I can ever—"

"Stop," she said firmly, taking his face in her hands. "Stop, look at me."

He forced himself to meet her eyes. They were wet too, shining with tears.

"Those letters," she said carefully, "are beautiful. And they're real. He did love me like that—you did love me like that. But baby, listen to me—" Her voice broke. "You don't have to be him."

"But—"

"You don't have to be him," she repeated, stronger. "That version of you? He was built over years. Over decades of knowing me, knowing us. You've had three months. Three months to process an entire lifetime of loss. And you know what? You're doing so much better than you think you are."

"I'm not. I read these and I just—I'm so far from being that person. From feeling that sure about anything."

She wiped at his tears with her thumbs, gentle. "Do you know what that version of you was like when we first met? When we first started dating?"

He shook his head.

"He was awkward. So awkward. He talked too much when he was nervous. He spilled coffee on himself at our second date. He texted me three times in a row and then apologized for being clingy." She laughed, but it was wet with tears. "He wasn't always confident. He had to grow into that. Into us."

"That's different—"

"It's not different. You're starting from scratch, yes. You don't have the luxury of years of memories to build on. But you're trying. God, you're trying so hard. The way you listen when I talk about work even though you don't have to. The way you asked me on a date because you wanted to build something new with me. The way you're sitting here crying over letters because you care, because you want to be good enough for me."

"I'm not—"

"You are." She pressed her forehead to his. "You are good enough. You're different, yes. But you're still you.

Still kind and still thoughtful and still,” Her voice caught. "Still someone I could love. Am learning to love. This new version of you."

He closed his eyes, breathing her in. "What if I can never write you letters like that?" he whispered.

"Then don't write me letters like that." Belly pulled back, just enough to look at him. "Write me different letters. Better yet, don't write me letters at all if that's not who you are now. That version of you, he liked grand gestures. Loved leaving me notes and cards and making everything into a declaration. But maybe you're different. Maybe you show love differently."

"How do I show love if I don't even know what it feels like yet?"

She smiled, sad and soft. "You're already doing it. You make me coffee in the morning even though you're half-asleep. You ask about my day and actually listen." She cupped his face. "You show up. Every day, you show up and try. That's love, sweetheart. Maybe not the same kind as before, but it counts."

Conrad let out a shaky breath. "I found the one I, uhm I mean, he didn't finish. From right before the accident."

"I know that one." Her voice went quiet. "I found it a few weeks after. It killed me."

"I'm sorry I'm not him. I'm sorry you're stuck with me instead."

"Hey." Belly said sharply. "Don't say that. Don't you dare say that. You didn't choose this. Neither of us did. But we're here, and we're both trying to make something out of this mess, and that’s,” She swiped at her eyes. "That's brave. That's so brave. Don't diminish that."

He pulled her closer, buried his face in her neck. Belly wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight.

"I'm scared," Conrad admitted into her skin.

"Me too."

"What if I'm never enough?"

"What if you already are?" she countered.

They stayed like that for a long time, tangled together on the floor of his childhood room, surrounded by letters from a man who didn't exist anymore.

Finally, she pulled back. Looked around at the scattered papers.

"Do you want to keep these?" she asked gently. "Or should we put them away?"

He thought about it. Part of him wanted to burn them, to erase the evidence of his inadequacy. But another part... "Keep them," he said. "But maybe... not out in the open. Not where I'll stumble on them and spiral."

She nodded. Started gathering the letters carefully, refolding them, placing them back in the wooden box. He helped, and their hands brushed over the papers, working together.

"For what it's worth," Belly said as she closed the box, "I'm glad you found them. Even if it hurt."

"Why?"

"Because now you know. You know what you meant to me. What we were." She set the box on the shelf, out of immediate sight. "And now we can focus on what we're becoming."

He stood, helped her to her feet. He reached out, tucked a loose strand behind her ear. "I don't know how to be a husband," he said quietly.

"Then learn. We'll figure it out together."

"I don't know if I can love you the way he did."

"Then love me the way you can." She took his hand, squeezed it. "That's all I'm asking. Just... be here. Be honest. Be willing to try. The rest will come, or maybe it won't, and we'll deal with that too."

She kissed his cheek, quick and sweet, and left to go finish cooking their breakfast. He stood in his room  for another moment, looking at the box on the shelf, at the bulletin board full of a life he didn't remember. But then he looked at the desk. At the unfinished letter sitting on top.

He picked up a pen.

And below the words the old him had written, he added:

—because you're brilliant and they'd be idiots not to see it. I know I'm not the man who started this letter. But I'm the man who's finishing it, and I need you to know: I see your brilliance too. I'm learning it, piece by piece. And I'm so damn lucky I get to.

The new me

Chapter 12

Flashback, 3.5 Years Ago, Stanford Medical School

The hallway of the men's dormitory was already buzzing with early-morning voices, someone arguing about an Anatomy and Physiology midterm, someone else microwaving ramen at 7 a.m., but Belly stood there clutching the brown paper bag like it was a secret worth guarding.

She shifted her weight on her toes, biting her lip to suppress a grin.

She’d woken up at 6:30 because Agnes had once told her Conrad always got up early for lab on Thursdays. “He’s annoying like that,” Agnes had said, shoving cereal into his mouth. “Just… don’t scare him awake. He’s jumpy.”

She’d listened. (Mostly.)

She raised her hand and knocked lightly.

No answer.

She knocked again, louder this time.

Inside, something thudded to the floor. Followed by a very sleepy, very annoyed groan.

Then footsteps. Shuffling. A muttered “shit, fuck, oh damn, where’s my shirt—” and what sounded suspiciously like him tripping over a backpack.

Finally, the door swung open.

Conrad Fisher stood there in plaid pajama pants and a slightly wrinkled Stanford hoodie, hair sticking up in every direction like he’d fought with his pillow and lost. He blinked at her once. Twice. He looked like a golden retriever who wasn’t done powering on.

“Belly?” he rasped.

She beamed. “Surprise.”

He tried to say something, but it came out as a confused exhale. His eyes dropped to the bag in her hands.

“What… is that?”

“Breakfast,” she said proudly. “Well, brunch. Kind of. Science student hours.”

“I—” He rubbed his face, still half-asleep. “You’re really here?”

“Yes, Conrad. I’m not a hallucination. Although, thank you, that’s flattering.”

That woke him up just enough to give her a soft, disbelieving smile, the kind that hit her low in her stomach, warm and slow.

He stepped back, opening the door wider. “Come in before someone steals you.”

The room was exactly as she remembered from her last visit: neat but lived-in, a physics poster on the wall, a half-finished problem set spread across his desk, three empty coffee cups, and a sweatshirt of hers draped over the back of his chair as if he kept forgetting to give it back. Or didn’t want to.

She set the bag on his desk, pulling out the fresh pastries from the campus café, the ones she knew he liked because they weren’t too sweet, and two iced coffees.

“You remembered,” he said softly, watching her with this quiet awe that made her cheeks warm.

“I remember everything about you,” Belly teased lightly, but the truth of it hung in the air between them.

He ran a hand through his messy hair, embarrassed. “I look insane right now.”

“You look like Conrad,” she said simply, and he paused, stilled, even. The way he always did when she said something that hit deeper than she intended.

He stepped closer, so close she could feel the heat of him, smell the faint scent of detergent and sleep. “I missed you.” Conrad reached out and tugged gently at the cuff of her sleeve, like anchoring himself. “Thank you for the surprise.”

“Eat before it gets cold,” she said quickly, feeling flustered in the way only he could manage.

But he didn’t reach for the food.

He reached for her.

He cupped her cheeks with hands still warm from sleep, leaned down, and kissed her—soft at first, like he wasn’t sure she was really there, then slower, fuller, like he remembered every reason he loved mornings now.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers.

“I like waking up to you,” he murmured. “More than anything.”

Her heart felt too big for her ribs.

“Good,” she whispered. “Because I’m not done surprising you.”

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Today was supposed to be their second date. A walk downtown, maybe browsing the bookstore, lunch at that cafe with the good sandwiches. Building memories, one day at a time.

Belly whisked the eggs with milk and a pinch of salt, heated butter in the pan. The sizzle was louder than she meant it to be, and she winced, glancing toward the living room. But he didn't stir. He was still cuddled and curled up in the fort they refused to pack up. She'd grabbed a blanket from the bedroom earlier, draped it over him, and let him sleep while she cooked. He looked so peaceful like that, unguarded in a way he never was when awake. 

She poured the eggs into the pan, watching them bloom and curl in the heat. Toast popped up from the toaster. She plated everything carefully - scrambled eggs, french toast, sliced strawberries she'd gotten from the farmers market last week. Two plates, two forks, orange juice in mismatched glasses.

Belly was reaching for the coffee pot when she heard it. A sound from the living room. Not quite a word, more like a choked gasp.

"No," he mumbled, voice thick with sleep. "No, I don't—"

She crossed to him quickly, knelt beside him, under their fort. "Hey. Hey, Conrad, sweetheart, you're okay. You're dreaming."

But he didn't wake. His head thrashed to the side, breathing coming faster.

"Please," he said, and it came out desperate. "Please, I'm trying—"

"Baby, wake up." She touched his shoulder, gentle but firm. "You need to wake up now."

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

He was in the hospital again. White walls, fluorescent lights, that smell of antiseptic that made his stomach turn. But something was wrong. The hallway stretched endlessly in front of him, doors on either side, all of them closed.

He was looking for something. Someone.

A doctor appeared beside him, seeming to materialize from nowhere. Dr. Chen, but her face was wrong, features blurred like a photograph out of focus.

"We need you to remember," she said. "It's important. You need to remember."

"Remember what?" His voice echoed strangely in the corridor.

"Her. You need to remember her."

"I'm trying," he said, and panic was rising in his chest. "I'm trying, I don't .... who?"

The doctor gestured down the hall. "She's waiting. She's been waiting."

Conrad started walking, then running. The doors blurred past him. He could hear someone crying behind one of them, but he couldn't stop, couldn't find the right door.

And then suddenly he was in a room. Their room, the bedroom from the cozy little townhouse, but wrong. Everything was covered in dust, like no one had lived there in years. Photos on the walls but all the faces were blank, whited out.

Someone was standing by the window, back to him. A woman in a sundress, hair catching the light.

"Hey," he said. "I'm sorry, I was looking for—I'm trying to find—"

She turned around.

Her face was blank too. Smooth and featureless, like an unfinished painting.

"You forgot me," she said, but her voice came from everywhere and nowhere. "You forgot and I'm disappearing."

"No," he said. "No, I didn't—I know you. You're—you're—"

But he couldn't remember her name. Couldn't pull it from wherever names lived in his mind. He knew he should know it, knew she was important, the most important, but there was just nothing there.

"Please," Conrad begged. "Please, tell me your name. Tell me who you are."

"You're supposed to know," she said, and she was crying now, tears running down her blank face. "You're supposed to remember me. But you don't. You never will."

She started to fade, translucent, disappearing like smoke.

"NO!" He lunged forward, tried to grab her, but his hands passed through nothing. "Don't go! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, please don't—"

The room was empty. He was alone. And he couldn't even remember who he'd lost.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

"—up! Come on, please wake up!"

Her voice broke through the nightmare like a lifeline. His eyes flew open, chest heaving, and for a terrible moment he didn't know where he was.

Then he focused. Living room. Cousins. The summer house. Her face above his, tight with worry, hair falling around her shoulders.

"Belly," he gasped out. Her name. He knew her name. "Belly."

"I'm here." She cupped his face with both hands. "I'm here, you're okay. You were having a nightmare."

"I forgot you." The words tumbled out, panicked. "In the dream I forgot you, I couldn't remember your name, you were disappearing and I couldn't—"

"Shhh, hey, it's okay." Belly climbed into their fort with him and pulled him against her. "It was just a dream. You remember me. You're saying my name right now."

Conrad was shaking. He wrapped his arms around her, buried his face in her neck, breathing her in. Real. Solid. Here.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," he choked out.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. Bad dreams happen."

"What if it's not just a dream? What if I forget again? What if this—" He gestured between them. "What if I lose this?"

She pulled back just enough to look at him. Her eyes were wet. "Dr. Reeves and Dr. Chen said that your ability to form new memories is fine. You're not going to lose me again."

"But what if—"

"No what-ifs." She said it firmly, the way she did when she was trying to convince herself as much as him. "We're not doing that. You had a nightmare because this is scary and your brain is processing trauma. That's normal. That's okay."

"It felt so real." He pulled back just enough to look at her face, her beautiful, complete, there face. He traced his fingers over her cheekbone, her nose, her lips, needing to confirm she was whole. "He pressed his forehead to hers, trying to slow his breathing. "I could smell the hospital. It felt so real. And you ..... well you were just... blank. Like someone had erased you. And I couldn't remember, couldn't remember anything about you."

Her eyes filled with tears. "But you do remember. Tell me what you remember."

"Your name is Belly. Isabel Susannah Fisher." The words came easier now, grounding him. "You're named after my mom the same exact way I'm named after yours. You're a psychologist and work with female athletes. You take your coffee with too much cream and no sugar. You can't sing to save your life but you do it anyway in the shower. You steal my t-shirts. You have a scar above by left thigh from falling off your bike when you were seven, when I was trying to teach you. You scrunch your nose when you're thinking. You," His voice caught. "You're my wife. And I'm learning to love you. I might not remember the before, but I know the now, and I know you're the most important thing in my life."

"I know. But you're not there. You're here, in our makeshift fort, and I just made breakfast, and we're going to have a nice day together. Okay?"

He nodded, not quite trusting his voice.

She kissed his forehead, soft and lingering. "Come on. Let's get some food in you. Everything's better after breakfast."

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

"These are good," he said around a bite of toast.

"Yeah?" Belly smiled, pleased with herself. "I wasn't sure if I put enough salt."

"They're perfect."

They ate in comfortable quiet for a while. She kept glancing at him, checking, making sure he was really okay. He reached across the table and took her hand.

"I'm alright," he said. "Really."

"The nightmare seemed bad."

"It was. But I'm awake now. With you. And I remember you." He squeezed her fingers. "Belly. Isabel. B. My sweetheart. My wife who steals my t-shirts, eats dessert before any other meal, and takes her coffee with too much cream."

She laughed, a little watery. "Okay, okay. Point made."

"I'm not going to forget you again."

"I know." She squeezed back. "I'm not going to let you."

After breakfast, she shooed him toward the bathroom. "Go shower. Get dressed. We have a second date to get to."

He paused in the doorway. "You still want to go?"

"Of course I still want to go. Why wouldn't I?"

"I just, uhm, after the nightmare and everything—"

"All the more reason to go do something nice." She started clearing plates. "Go. I'll clean up. Wear something cute."

"Something cute?" He raised an eyebrow.

"You know. That blue button-down you like. Makes your eyes look nice."

"You think about my eyes?"

She blushed. "Go shower before I change my mind about this date."

An hour later, they were walking through downtown, hand in hand. The weather was perfect, warm but not hot, a light breeze that smelled like spring. She'd worn a yellow sundress, and he couldn't stop looking at her.

"You're staring," she said, not looking at him.

"Am I not allowed to stare at my date?"

"I'm your wife."

"My date," Conrad insisted. "This is only our second one. I'm still in the 'stare at the pretty girl' phase."

She bumped her shoulder against his. "Smooth, Fisher."

"Only the smoothest of moves for you, Fisher."

They browsed Cousins' local bookstore first, wandering through the aisles. She pulled books off shelves, reading him passages, asking if this one sounded good or if that one was too sad. He watched her more than the books, cataloging the way she bit her lip when she was deciding, the way her fingers traced along the spines.

"Do you remember what kind of books you used to like?" she asked, holding up a thriller with a dark cover.

"Not really. I've been trying different things. Seeing what sticks."

"Well, the old you loved mystery novels. The twistier the better. And biographies. You went through this phase where you read like six biographies of scientists. It's definitely the doctor inside you."

"Was I pretentious about it?"

She laughed. "A little. But in a charming way."

They left the bookstore with two novels for her and one for him, a mystery she'd recommended. He insisted on paying, and she let him, smiling at the gesture. The cafe was two blocks down, tucked between a coffee shop and a vintage clothing store. They got a table outside, ordered sandwiches and iced tea. The sun was warm on his face, and Ellie was across from him, and for a moment everything felt easy.

"This is nice," he said.

"It is." She tore off a piece of her sandwich. "I'm glad we're doing this. The dating thing. It feels right."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Like we're not trying to force ourselves back into old patterns. We're just... being."

He was about to respond when he heard a voice behind him.

"Isabel? Isabel Fisher?"

They both turned. A woman was approaching their table, late-twenties, blonde, wearing yoga pants and an expensive-looking jacket. She had the kind of smile that was too big, too white.

"Oh my god, it is you!" The woman was practically bouncing. "I haven't seen you in forever!"

Belly had gone very still. "Jessica. Hi."

"Hi? That's all I get, Belly?" Jessica laughed, loud and performative. Then she noticed him, and her eyes widened. "And Conrad! Oh my god, you two! How are you? What have you been up to?"

There was a pause. Belly was looking at him with something like panic in her eyes.

"We're good," she said carefully. "Just having lunch."

"I can see that! God, you guys look great. Still the perfect couple, huh?" Jessica pulled out her phone. "We should get a picture! The old gang would love to see this. Are you still in touch with everyone?"

"Sometimes," Belly said. Her voice had gone tight.

"Well, we need to all get together! Do a reunion or something. Remember like seven years ago? That time we all came down to Cousins and we stayed on the beach 'till sunrise? God, we were so young." Jessica was still talking, oblivious to the tension. "So what's new with you guys? Still a sport's therapist and doing research in psychology? And Conrad, you were doing that research thing, right? Oncology at Harvard and Mass Gen?"

He felt Belly's hand find his under the table, gripping hard.

"Actually—" she started.

"We're great," he cut in. He wasn't sure why. Some instinct to protect her, maybe. "Yeah, still working. Everything's good."

"That's so great! We should really grab dinner sometime. Do you guys still live in the same place? I'll text you!"

"Sure," Belly said faintly. "That would be nice."

Jessica hugged them both, too tight, too long, and then flounced away, already on her phone, probably texting about the sighting.

The moment she was gone, the air seemed to deflate.

"I'm sorry," Belly said immediately. "I should have, I didn't know what to say."

"She didn't know." He was staring after Jessica walking away, realization settling cold in his stomach. "She has no idea about the accident. About any of it."

"Conrad—"

"Who else doesn't know?" He turned to look at Belly. "Who else are we going to run into who's going to expect me to remember them?"

"I don't know. I haven't, I mean, I didn't do a mass announcement or anything."

"You didn't tell people?"

"I told our close friends. Our family. People who needed to know."

"People who needed to know?" He pulled his hand away. "Belly, I have amnesia. I don't remember my life. That seems like something all our friends should probably know about."

"It's not that simple—"

"It seems pretty simple to me." Conrad could hear his voice rising, fought to keep it down. "Why wouldn't you tell people? Unless—" The thought hit him like a punch. "Are you ashamed of me?"

"What? No! Conrad, that's not—"

"Then why? Why keep it a secret?"

“Conrad, that’s not fair,” she whispered.

He let out a harsh breath. “Is it? Because I feel like I’m walking around in a life wearing someone else’s skin. And every time someone shows up—someone who looks at me like I should know the exact summer they lost their virginity or which party they puked at—every time I have no idea who they are, and I look like an asshole. Or… broken.”

She winced, the word landing like a hit.

“Conrad,” Belly said again, this time softer, threaded with that aching worry she wore like a second heartbeat around him. “I didn’t tell everyone because I was trying to protect you.”

“Protect me?” he repeated, incredulous. “From what, pity? Questions? People knowing that I’m not—” His voice cracked, just barely, but enough that he looked away. “That I’m not whole?”

Belly shook her head quickly, breath hitching. “That’s not what I meant to do. I, Conrad, I was drowning. When the accident happened… everything collapsed. And every day I was talking to doctors, and your mom, and trying to find the right specialists, and trying to figure out if you were ever going to—”

Her voice broke as she pressed her lips together, inhaled sharply, tried again. “I didn’t know how to handle people. I didn’t know how to explain anything without falling apart. So I just… focused. On you. On what was right in front of me. I didn’t think about Jessica or anyone else because they weren’t what mattered.” Belly looked around at the other tables, at the people who were starting to notice their conversation. "Can we not do this here?"

"Do what? Ask why my wife is hiding my condition from everyone we know?"

"I'm not hiding it!" Her voice cracked. "I'm protecting you!"

"From what?"

"From this!" She gestured wildly between them. "From having to explain over and over that you don't remember. From people asking invasive questions or looking at you with pity or treating you like you're broken. From—" She broke off, tears streaming down her face now. "From having to watch you pretend to remember people you have no memory of because you're too polite to tell them the truth."

The words hung between them.

"That's not your choice to make," he said quietly.

"I know." She wiped at her eyes. "I know it's not. But I was trying to give us space. Time to figure things out without everyone else's opinions and pity and questions. I was trying to let you decide when you were ready to deal with that."

"And what was I supposed to do when we ran into Jessica? Smile and nod and pretend I have any idea who she is?"

"I don't know! I panicked, okay? I didn't think we'd run into anyone today. I was terrified of you becoming overwhelmed. I tried to protect you from feeling like a spectacle. You hate being watched on a good day. You think I wanted to put you through that now?”

She reached for his hand again, tentative, as if unsure whether she still had the right. He didn’t move. Not away, not toward her, just frozen.

“And I’m not ashamed of you,” she continued, voice trembling but steady. “I was never ashamed of you. I was terrified for you.”

He swallowed, the anger in him cooling into something worse—an ache, a tiredness deep in the bones he didn’t fully recognize as his.

“Then why does it feel like I’m the last one to know how my own life works?” he whispered, staring at the half-eaten sandwich he couldn’t even remember ordering. “Like everyone else got a script except me? You were the one that told me that we're inseperable from Cousins, Belly. We're going to keep coming back and we're going to run into people. All the time. And I can't—" His voice broke. "I can't keep pretending. I can't keep trying to be someone I don't remember being."

"No one's asking you to pretend—"

"Yes, you are! By not telling people, by letting me walk into situations blind, you're asking me to pretend everything's fine when it's not." He stood up, suddenly needing space, needing air. "I need, uhm, I need a minute."

"Conrad, please—"

"I just need a minute." He started walking, not exactly sure where he was going, just away.

"Conrad, wait!" She was following him, grabbing her purse, leaving money on the table.

He walked faster, shouldering through the sidewalk crowd. His head was pounding, heart racing. He could hear her behind him, calling his name, but he couldn't stop, couldn't—

The world tilted.

That was his first warning, the ground seeming to shift beneath his feet. Then came the sound, a high-pitched ringing that drowned out everything else.

"Conrad?" Her voice, distant, worried. "Oh my god, Conrad, what's wrong?"

"Oh god." Her hand on his arm. "Oh god, no. Conrad, can you hear me?"

He couldn't answer. Couldn't move. His whole body was going rigid, every muscle contracting at once.

And then the seizure hit him.

Chapter 13

Notes:

hello lovely readers! finals are over so here's a chapter <333
be warned in advanced that there will be medical terminology ahead! perhaps it's the health major in me hahahaha

If God was truly real, Belly wouldn't be reliving her worst nightmare all over again. 

Belly tried to catch him. But he was falling too fast and she was running in slow motion. 

Conrad was on the ground, his body convulsing violently. His eyes had rolled back, showing only whites. His limbs jerked in terrible, uncontrollable spasms, his head knocking against the pavement. There was already blood; his lip was split, or his tongue, she couldn't tell. Foam gathered at the corner of his mouth.

"Conrad!"

Belly’s knees hit the floor hard enough to bruise as she dropped beside him, her hands hovering uselessly. She'd prepared for this. Dr. Reeves and Dr. Chen had both given them a whole protocol. But her mind had gone blank with panic, and all she could think was that this was her fault, she'd caused this, she'd hurt him and now—

Time it. Protect his head. Don't restrain him. Turn him on his side.

"Somebody call 911!" she yelled out in desperation. 

Three minutes. The seizure showed no signs of stopping. Conrad's face was flushed red, sweat soaking through his shirt. His movements were starting to slow, becoming less violent, but he still wasn't conscious.

Belly stroked his hair back from his forehead, murmuring things she wasn't even aware of. "I'm here, baby. I'm right here. I'm so sorry. Please be okay. Please." Over and over, a litany of apologies and pleas.

Four minutes. The convulsions finally stopped, and Conrad went limp. Belly's relief lasted exactly two seconds before she realized he wasn't breathing properly—his breaths were coming in terrible, gasping rattles, his chest heaving irregularly.

"Where's the ambulance?" she demanded, her voice cracking. "Why aren't they here yet?"

"They're coming," the woman with the phone assured her. "They said five minutes—"

"Well fuck, It's been four minutes since you called!" Belly knew she was being irrational, knew the paramedics were coming as fast as they could, but Conrad was lying on the ground unconscious and not breathing right and she couldn't fix it, couldn't help him, couldn't do anything but watch.

Belly leaned over him, brushing the hair off his damp forehead, trying not to crumble in front of all these strangers.

“Conrad? Baby?” Her voice was soft, but she felt every eye in the station turn toward her. She didn’t care. “Con? Come back to me.”

Belly’s breath hitched as tears blurred her sight.

Please wake up.
Please don’t leave me.
Not like this, not again.

This was her fault. They'd been fighting because she'd said something cruel, and Conrad had walked away upset, and the stress had triggered a seizure, and now he was hurt. He could have hit his head on the pavement. He could have damaged his brain further. He could—

No. She couldn't think like that. Conrad was strong. He'd survived a traumatic accident, months of recovery, relearning how to live his life. He'd survive this too.

But God, he looked so vulnerable lying there. So pale except for the blood on his mouth, so still except for the occasional twitch of his limbs, aftershocks, she remembered Dr. Chen calling them. Post-ictal confusion could last for minutes or hours. He might not know who she was when he woke up. He might not know where he was.

And all of a sudden he wasn’t moving. He wasn’t responding. His eyes were closed, lashes unmoving, breath shallow and uneven.

“Conrad?” she pleaded. “Baby, open your eyes. Please, please, oh my god, please, just look at me.”

Except he didn’t.

A paramedic team rushed in—uniformed, efficient, calm in the way that meant everything was terribly, horribly serious.

“Ma’am, step back.”
“We need room.”
“What’s his name?”
“Is he diabetic? Cardiac history?”
“How long did the convulsions last?”

Belly gave answers she didn’t remember forming.

The paramedics lifted him onto the stretcher, securing straps, checking vitals.

“His breathing’s irregular—”
“Oxygen, now.”
“Let’s get him moving.”

Belly followed them, stumbling, sobbing, her mind a roar of static.

“Please, oh God, please don’t take him without me—”

One of the paramedics held her steady. “You can come. We’ll take you with us.”

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

The sirens were too loud. They shredded Belly’s nerves into ribbons. She sat at Conrad’s side while the paramedics worked around her, checking pupils, blood pressure, monitoring the shallow, inconsistent breath that filled the oxygen mask.

“He’s unresponsive to stimuli,” one of them said. “Possible postictal state. But his vitals are unstable.”

“What does that mean?” Belly asked, voice sharp with panic.

“It means we’re doing everything we can, ma’am.”

His words didn’t answer anything.

A pulse line beeped rapidly on the small monitor beside Conrad. Too fast. Too irregular.

Belly took his hand, cold, too cold, and lifted it to her cheek. “Come back,” she whispered fiercely. “Conrad, you come back to me. You don’t get to do this, fuck, you don’t get to disappear again.” Her tears dripped onto his knuckles.

The medic nearest them glanced at her with sympathy. “Talk to him,” he encouraged softly. “It can help.”

“Conrad,” she said, voice quavering, “do you remember last night? You were making fun of how I fold laundry. You said I’m chaotic. You kissed my forehead before you fell asleep. You crushed me with your stupid heavy arms—”

She choked on a sob.

“Please wake up. You promised me, that, after the accident, fuck, you promised you’d always try to come back.”

The medic checked Conrad’s pupils again, brow furrowing.

“They’re not responding.”

The words sliced through her.

Not responding.
Not responding.
Not responding.

The emergency room was a blur of fluorescent lights and antiseptic smells and concerned faces. Belly stood against the wall as doctors and nurses swarmed around Conrad's bed, hooking him up to monitors, drawing blood, firing questions at her that she answered on autopilot.

Dr. Chen arrived within thirty minutes, her dark hair pulled back in a neat bun, her expression grave but calm. Belly had never been so grateful to see someone.

"Belly." Dr. Chen touched her arm gently. "I've reviewed the paramedics' report. His seizure was concerning, but he's stable now. We're going to run a CT scan and an EEG to see what's happening in his brain."

"Is this—" Belly's voice caught. "Is this because of the accident? Did we miss something? I thought he was getting better."

"He is getting better. But the brain heals slowly, and sometimes unpredictably.Post-traumatic epilepsy can develop even months after an injury. The important thing is that we caught it, and now we can treat it more aggressively."

"He's been doing so well." Belly's eyes burned. "thought—"

"This doesn't erase that progress," Dr. Chen said firmly. "This is a complication, not a regression. We'll adjust his medication, run our tests, and manage this. Okay?"

Belly nodded, not trusting herself to speak as her mind swirled with flashbacks. Conrad sleeping in a hospital bed after the accident, stitches along his forehead, the fragile rise and fall of his chest, the blankness in his eyes the first time he woke up.

"This is not the accident all over again. His vitals are more stable than they were then. His brain scans don’t show the same level of trauma.”

“Then why isn’t he waking up?” she whispered.

“Sometimes the brain needs rest,” the doctor said quietly. “A deep one.”

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

“Mrs. Fisher?”

Belly shot up from her seat immediately, her knees weak and almost giving out. "Dr. Chen, Is he, oh God, is he awake?"

“No, Belly. He is stable, but he is still unresponsive. We’ve run preliminary scans and blood work. The seizure lasted approximately three minutes before the paramedics arrived, which is dangerously long. We suspect he may have progressed into what’s called Status Epilepticus, which is a state of continuous seizure activity or repeated seizures without regaining consciousness.”

Belly felt the clinical words like blows to the stomach. "But the seizure stopped... I saw it stop."

“The physical convulsions may have stopped, yes, but the electrical storm in his brain has not,” the doctor explained gently, resting a hand on Belly’s arm. “His brain is still in an altered, highly active state, and the lack of oxygen during the event, coupled with the persistent electrical overload, is causing significant concern. Right now, his brain is essentially working itself to death.”

Belly swallowed, the metallic taste of fear sharp on her tongue. "Okay, what's our plan of action? What are you going to do?"

“Dr. Reeves and I have already administered strong anti-epileptics, but they aren't fully breaking the cycle. The necessary next step is to put him into a medically induced coma.”

Belly’s vision swam. “A coma? Like… like, he's going to be asleep?”

“More than asleep, dear. We will be using powerful medication to completely suppress his central nervous system activity. This will stop the seizure activity immediately, reduce the metabolic demand on his brain, and allow the inflammation and electrical instability to settle. He will be fully ventilated and monitored in the Neuro-ICU. We essentially need to put his brain in timeout, into a controlled, restorative environment, to prevent further physical damage.”

Dr. Chen sighed as she took a breath. “It’s not a choice Dr. Reeves and I made lightly, but allowing the seizure state to continue would be a catastrophe. We will keep him under for a minimum of 48 hours, or until we are confident we can safely taper the sedation without the electrical activity flaring up again.”

Belly felt the ground crumble beneath her. All the months of painstaking recovery, of watching him fight for every memory, had led to this, a necessary shutdown. He had just woken up to her again, and now she had to watch them put him back under.

"Okay," Belly whispered, the word tasting like ash. "Do it. Just… make him safe."

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Flashback, 3.5 Years Ago, Stanford Medical School

“Focus, Fisher,” Belly said, batting his hand away with a giggle. “Failure to identify the loop of Henle means you have to listen to Jeremiah’s entire five-hour, unedited playlist of yacht rock. You do not want that.”

Conrad winced dramatically. “The yacht rock is a powerful motivator. Okay. Hit me with the nephron knowledge.”

Belly adjusted her glasses, borrowed reading specs she only used for these late-night sessions, and held up a card. “Define: Glomerular Filtration Rate.”

Conrad sighed, running a tired hand over his jaw. “The volume of fluid filtered from the glomerular capillaries into Bowman’s capsule per unit time. It’s dependent on hydraulic pressure, oncotic pressure, and the permeability of the filtration membrane.”

“Perfect!” Belly threw the card triumphantly onto the 'Got It' pile. "One more. What is the role of Angiotensin II?"

“Ah, the villain!” Conrad leaned closer, his eyes sparkling despite the exhaustion. “It’s a potent vasoconstrictor, raises mean arterial pressure, and stimulates aldosterone release. It’s part of the RAAS system, which is basically the body’s drama club for regulating blood volume.”

Belly laughed, a genuine, joyful sound that always made his late nights feel less brutal. "Drama club. That's going on the notecard." She tossed that card too, leaning forward and resting her chin on her hands, her expression softening.

"You know," he murmured, his thumb gently stroking the skin behind her earlobe, "I would not survive this without you."

"Oh, stop," she countered, but she was smiling widely. "You'd be fine. You're brilliant, Conrad. You just need someone to yell at you about yacht rock."

"No, I mean it," he insisted, pulling the remaining stack of flashcards away and setting them on the coffee table. He shifted, now fully facing her, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders. The warmth of his calloused palms radiated through her t-shirt. "Look at this life. It’s chaotic. I spend twelve hours a day looking at slides and dissecting cadavers, and then I come home, and you’re here. You organize my chaos. You make me food I forget to eat. You turn a review session into... well, into a date, somehow."

Belly leaned into his touch, her eyes glistening. "It’s not hard. It's you, Con. Everything is better when it's you."

“You're my anchor, Belly. Truly. When the material gets overwhelming, and I start to think, I can’t do this, I’m going to fail, I just look up and see you, right here, and I realize I have everything I need.” He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to the center of her palm, lingering for a moment. "You're my favorite thing."

Belly squeezed his hand tightly. "And you’re mine. I remember when we first started dating, I thought you were this impenetrable, cool, untouchable guy."

"I was putting on an act," he confessed, smiling that rare, crinkly-eyed smile that made her heart melt. "I was terrified of messing up what we had. You were too good to be true, Isabel."

"Well, now I see you covered in pen ink and half-dead from lack of sleep, stressing over the sympathetic nervous system," she teased, then turned serious. "But I love this version. The one who lets me see all the messy parts. The parts that need me."

He reached out and gently pushed a stray curl of her hair away from her face. “You don’t just handle the messy parts; you make them beautiful. You make the grind feel like a purpose. I’m going to be a doctor, Belly, and that’s a huge, overwhelming thing. But the whole reason I’m fighting for it, for the long hours and the sleepless nights, is to build a life where I get to come home to you every single night.”

He interlaced their fingers, the movement slow and meaningful.

“There’s this constant, low-grade fear in medical school, you know?” he admitted, his voice dropping slightly. “That I’ll have to make impossible choices, that I’ll get pulled away, that the career will take everything.” He looked directly into her eyes, his own shining with absolute certainty. “But I promise you this, Belly. I’ve found my way back to you once, from the distance, from the stupid mistakes we made, from the years we wasted apart. I know what I have now. I’m not going anywhere. This, right here, this is the center of the universe for me.”

He leaned in, his lips finding hers in a deep, quiet kiss that promised years of shared flashcards, whispered secrets, and relentless, beautiful existence together.

When they finally pulled apart, Belly rested her forehead against his. “Good. Because I have the cardiology section ready for tomorrow, and that’s a real killer. You’re definitely going to need me.”

Conrad chuckled, the sound rich and warm in his chest. “I need you for everything, forever.”

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

As Dr. Chen brought her to Conrad's room, she couldn't contain the gasp that left her mouth when she saw him. The man, completely still, laying in bed was unrecognizable. Conrad was pale, still, and impossibly quiet. The deep, heavy stillness was terrifying in its perfection. There were tubes and lines everywhere,

She approached slowly, each step heavier than the last.She sat in the chair beside him, reaching for his hand, cool, limp, almost weightless.

She reached out and carefully touched his hand. It was warm, but it felt distant, unresponsive to her touch. She traced the line of his wedding ring, now cold metal on cold skin.

"Hi," she whispered, leaning down close to his ear, hoping that somewhere, deep beneath the cloud of anesthetics, a tiny part of him could hear the familiar sound of her voice. "It’s Belly. You scared me, Con. You really scared me."

“Conrad,” she whispered, taking in the sight of him with a shudder, “you look like you’re sleeping. Like you’re about to wake up and say I look tired.” Her voice broke.

She laid her head down gently on his chest, listening to the regulated beat of his heart, a perfect, artificial rhythm managed by a machine.

“You promised me you’d try,” she whispered. “And I know you are. I know you’re fighting. But I’m so scared.”

Her tears ran down his wrist.

“You came back to me once.” Her voice trembled, fragile and fierce. “Come back again, you hear me, Conrad?”

She had fought so hard to bring him back from the fog of amnesia. Now, she faced an empty bed again, but this time, the emptiness was absolute, enforced, and the stakes were higher than they had ever been before. She was not waiting for him to remember her; she was waiting for him to survive the silence.

And as the rain outside the city hospital continued its lazy, relentless beat, Belly promised the unconscious man she loved: "I'll be here when you wake up this time, too. However long it takes. You just rest."

Notes:

hope you guys liked the chapter! please do leave kudos and comments (i love reading through them all the time!).

Chapter 14

Flashback - 9 Years Ago, Cousins

"You look fine," she muttered to her reflection, but her hands were shaking as she attempted to apply mascara without stabbing herself in the eye.

Downstairs, she could hear laughter, and her stomach twisted into knots. What if Conrad changed his mind? What if this was all some elaborate joke? What if—

A gentle knock on the door frame made her jump.

"Ready?" Conrad's voice was soft, almost uncertain.

She turned to find him standing in her doorway, hands shoved deep in his pockets, looking anywhere but directly at her. He'd changed into a button-down shirt, light blue, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and she realized with a flutter in her chest that he'd put in effort too.

"Yeah," she managed, her voice coming out smaller than intended. "Yeah, I'm ready."

They walked down the stairs in silence, the wood creaking under their feet in a way it never seemed to before. In the living room, Jeremiah sat on the couch with Steven, both of them doing a terrible job of pretending not to watch.

"Have fun, you two," Steven called out, his grin wide and knowing.

Conrad shot him a look that could freeze fire, and Belly felt her cheeks burn as they escaped through the front door.

The walk into town felt like miles even though it was only fifteen minutes. Conrad walked with his hands still in his pockets, maintaining a careful distance between them—close enough to be together, far enough to be safe. Belly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear for the hundredth time, searching desperately for something to say.

"So," they both started at the same time, then laughed—awkward, nervous sounds that broke some of the tension.

"You first," Conrad said, and she thought she saw the hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

"I was just going to say it's a nice night." The words sounded stupid the moment they left her mouth, but Conrad nodded seriously, as if she'd said something profound.

"It is. Not too hot."

"Right. Perfect weather."

"Yeah."

Silence stretched between them again, filled only by the sound of their footsteps on the sidewalk and the distant cry of seagulls. Belly wanted to reach for his hand but didn't know if she was allowed to, if that was something people did on first dates, if he even wanted her to. Her hand swung at her side, occasionally brushing against his, each touch sending electricity up her arm.

When they reached the ice cream shop, neutral territory, Conrad had suggested, he held the door open for her, and their eyes met for just a second before she ducked past him. The blast of air conditioning raised goosebumps on her skin.

"What do you want?" Conrad asked, already pulling out his wallet.

"Oh, I can pay—"

"Belly." The way he said her name, firm but gentle, made her stomach flip. "What do you want?"

She ordered mint chocolate chip in a waffle cone, and he got his usual, coffee with hot fudge. They took their ice cream to a small table by the window, sitting across from each other like negotiators at a peace treaty.

Conrad focused intently on his ice cream, and Belly watched him, memorizing the way the fading sunlight caught in his dark hair, the careful way he ate to avoid drips, the nervous bounce of his leg under the table.

"This is weird, isn't it?" she blurted out, unable to take the silence anymore.

His eyes snapped to hers, surprised, then softened. "Yeah," he admitted, and something in his shoulders relaxed. "It's weird."

"We've known each other our whole lives and now I don't know what to say to you."

"Me neither." He set down his spoon, leaning forward slightly. "I kept thinking about what I should talk about. Current events? Music? I made a mental list."

"You made a list?" She couldn't help but smile.

"I know, it's stupid—"

"No, it's not. It's actually kind of sweet." The word hung in the air between them, and she saw his cheeks color slightly. "What was on the list?"

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture she'd seen a thousand times but that now felt intimate, like she was being let in on a secret. "Movies you might want to see. That book you were reading last week. Whether you'd had a good day."

Something warm bloomed in her chest. "I had a good day," she said softly. "Better now."

His smile was slow, genuine, reaching his eyes in a way that made her breath catch. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

They talked easier after that, the conversation finding its rhythm. He told her about the college courses he was thinking about taking in the fall, and she told him about the story she'd been writing. When she laughed at something he said, his whole face lit up, like making her happy was the best thing he'd done all summer.

As the sky turned purple outside the window, Conrad checked his watch and stood. "Walk on the beach?"

The beach at sunset was their place, always had been, with all four of them, with their mothers watching from the house. But now it was just the two of them, and everything felt different and the same all at once.

They took off their shoes at the edge of the sand, and Belly felt the familiar give of it beneath her feet, still warm from the day's sun. The ocean whispered against the shore, and overhead, the first stars were beginning to appear. This time, when their hands brushed, Conrad caught her fingers with his, tentative at first, then more firmly. His hand was warm and solid, and Belly felt like she might float away if he let go.

They walked along the water's edge, neither of them speaking, neither of them needing to. The awkwardness hadn't disappeared entirely, she was still hyperaware of every movement, every breath, but it had transformed into something sweeter, something charged with possibility.

"Belly," Conrad said finally, stopping to face her. The sunset painted him in shades of gold and orange, and she'd never seen anything more beautiful. "I've wanted to do this for a long time. Ask you out, I mean. I just, fuck, I didn't know if you'd want to. If you saw me that way."

Her heart hammered against her ribs. "How could I not see you that way?" she whispered. "Conrad, I've always—"

She didn't get to finish the sentence because he was leaning down, giving her time to pull away if she wanted to, but she didn't want to. She rose on her tiptoes to meet him halfway, and when their lips touched, soft and sweet and tasting of mint and coffee, the whole world seemed to align.

When they broke apart, both breathless, Conrad rested his forehead against hers. "Not weird?" he asked, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

"Maybe a little weird," she admitted, her own smile so wide it hurt. "But good weird."

"The best weird," he agreed.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Every time Belly finished telling stories and recalling memories, she'd pause, half-expecting Conrad to react or respond. Instead, since the day they've been back in the hospital, she would just be met with deafening silence.

48 hours, they'd said. Give it 48 hours.

That had been almost 6 days ago.

She reached for his hand, the one without the IV, and traced the familiar lines of his palm. She'd put him here. In this bed. In this coma. The machines beeped their steady rhythm, indifferent to her guilt.

She'd learned to hate that sound, the proof that his heart still beat without him, that his lungs still filled and emptied while he remained somewhere she couldn't follow. The ventilator tube had been removed on day three, a small victory that felt hollow. He could breathe on his own. He just wouldn't wake up.

Dr. Reeves and Dr. Chen hovered to the point where it was like Conrad had become their only patient. They'd handed off majority of their service to their colleagues; they were extremely close to Belly and Conrad. They kept talking about brain activity, about waiting for the swelling to go down completely, about how induced comas were sometimes necessary to give the brain time to heal. They spoke in measured tones about outcomes and possibilities, carefully avoiding promises they couldn't keep. She'd learned to read the spaces between their words, the things they didn't say.

Might wake up. Could have memory issues. Possible cognitive changes.

Belly stopped asking about the worst-case scenarios after day four. She already lived inside one.

She'd brought things from home on day three, when it became clear this wasn't going to be a quick recovery. His favorite playlist queued up on her phone, though she couldn't bring herself to press play. That book he'd been reading, left open on the nightstand with a receipt as a bookmark. The photo from their honeymoon, both of them sun-drunk and laughing, his arm around her waist like he'd never let go.

That version of them felt like a different lifetime. 

"Please," she said, squeezing his hand a little tighter. "Please wake up. I need you to wake up so I can tell you I'm sorry. So I can tell you that I love you, that I never stopped loving you, even when I was too angry to remember it. Please."

His chest rose and fell, steady and mechanical. His face remained peaceful, unmarked by the turmoil of the last seven days. He looked like he was sleeping, like at any moment his eyes might flutter open and he'd smile at her, confused about why she looked so wrecked.

But he didn't. And the machines kept beeping. And the fluorescent lights kept humming their endless song.

She laid her head down on the edge of his bed, careful not to disturb any of the wires and tubes that tethered him to consciousness. Her hand stayed wrapped around his, holding on like a drowning woman, like if she let go he might slip away entirely.

"Seven days," she whispered against the rough hospital blanket on Conrad's bed. "They said 48 hours. It's been seven days. What does that mean? What are you trying to tell me?"

The silence that answered was the same silence that had answered every question she'd asked in this room. Heavy. Complete. Damning.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

"Any change?" Madelyn's voice was kind. They were all kind here, in that practiced way that people learned when they dealt with grief professionally.

"No," Belly managed. "Nothing."

"You should eat something. When's the last time you had a real meal?"

Belly couldn't remember. Time had lost its normal markers. There was only before and after, Cousins and now this room, the last moment she'd seen him conscious and every moment since.

"I'm fine."

Madelyn's expression softened. She pulled up the other chair and sat down, her knees almost touching hers.

"Dr. Chen and Dr. Reeves have explained the medical situation to you, right? About the underlying condition from his accident?"

"Stress-triggered," Belly said dully. "It's not what they said to me but I've been reading up on how stress can trigger seizures in people with undiagnosed conditions. And we were fighting. Fucking hell, I was screaming at him in a crowded restaurant. I stressed him into a seizure. Wife of the year."

"Belly, no." Madelyn voice was firm. "His brain was already predisposed to this. The seizure was going to happen eventually; it could have been the fight, or it could have been work stress, or traffic, or a hundred other things. You didn't cause this. His neurology did."

"But it was the fight." She looked at Madelyn, willing her to understand. "It was me. My words. My anger."

Madelyn was quiet for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was careful. "Can I tell you something? And I need you to really hear me."

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

"I've been a neuro-ICU nurse for six years. I've seen a lot of people in comas, and I've seen a lot of guilty loved ones sitting in that exact chair, torturing themselves with 'what ifs.' And you know what I've learned? The human brain is really good at making everything our fault, even when it isn't. Especially when we're scared."

"But—"

"Let me finish." Madelyn's tone was gentle but unyielding. "Yes, you were fighting. Yes, he was stressed. But honey, he had an undiagnosed brain condition. A ticking time bomb that nobody knew about. The fight didn't put it there. You didn't put it there. And punishing yourself by sitting in this chair for seven days straight, not eating, not sleeping, not taking care of yourself, that's not going to change anything except maybe land you in a hospital bed of your own."

She wanted to argue, wanted to explain that Madelyn didn't understand, that she'd said unforgivable things, that the look on his face right before he collapsed would haunt her for the rest of her life. But her throat was too tight, and suddenly she was crying, great heaving sobs that came from somewhere deep and primal.

Madelyn moved quickly, wrapping her arms around her shoulders, letting her cry into her scrubs. "I know," she murmured. "I know it hurts. I know you're scared. But you surviving this means taking care of yourself too. Okay?"

Belly couldn't speak, could only nod against Madelyn's shoulder.

When she finally pulled back, Madelynn handed her a tissue from the box on the windowsill. "Twenty minutes," she said again. "Shower, food, rest. Doctor's orders. Well, nurse's orders, which are basically the same thing."

"What if—"

"Belly, this is me you're taking to. I will come get you. I promise." Madelyn squeezed her hand. "And for what it's worth? The fact that you're this worried, this guilty, this devastated? That tells me you love him a whole lot. Whatever you two were fighting about, it wasn't the whole story. Love this deep doesn't grow in empty soil."

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Walking back into his room always felt like willingly walking into a nightmare. 

"I miss you, Conrad." She looked at his face, peaceful and unchanged. Seven days, and she'd had so many one-sided conversations with him that she'd almost forgotten what it felt like to have him talk back.

She slowly leaned over to press a kiss to his forehead. His skin was warm, alive, so close to the surface of consciousness she could almost convince herself she saw his eyelids flutter.

"I love you," she whispered against Conrad's cheeks. "I know I haven't said it enough lately. I know I've been saying everything but that. But I love you. I've always loved you. Even when I was too angry to remember it, even when I was too hurt to show it, I loved you. And I'm going to keep loving you, whether you wake up in an hour or a week or a month. I'm not going anywhere. It's your turn to not go anywhere either."

The door opened again, and she tensed, expecting Madelyn. But it was Dr. Reeves, his tablet tucked under his arm.

"Good afternoon," he said, moving to check the monitors. "How are you holding up?"

"Fine," she lied automatically, then caught herself. "Actually, no. Not fine. It's been seven days. You said 48 hours."

Dr. Reeves nodded slowly, pulling up the other chair. This felt ominous. 

"I know this is much longer than we initially anticipated," he said carefully. "The induced coma was medically necessary to reduce the brain swelling from the seizure. We've gradually reduced the sedation over the past three days, and physically, his brain activity looks good. Strong, even."

"But he's not waking up."

"No. Unfortunately, he's not. And that's... concerning, but not necessarily dire. Every brain heals at its own pace. Some patients wake up quickly once sedation is reduced. Others take longer. We're monitoring him closely, and all his vital signs are stable."

Dr. Reeves stood, making a few notes on his tablet. "Madelyn tell me you haven't left his side in seven days."

Belly half-laughed. She found it sweet. "She's been reporting on me?"

"She's worried about you. So am I, frankly." He looked at her over his glasses. "You can't pour from an empty cup. He's going to need you at full strength when he wakes up, not collapsed from exhaustion."

"Everyone keeps saying 'when.' Not 'if.' Is that, uhm, are ..... are you all just being nice, or do you really believe he's going to wake up?"

Dr. Reeves met her eyes. "I really believe he's going to wake up. I can't promise you when, and I can't promise you what that will look like. But yes, I believe you'll get him back. The question is whether you'll be in any shape to help him when that happens."

And just like that, the first hints of dawn were starting to creep through the hospital room's window, painting Conrad's room in shades of gray.

Day eight, coming in whether she was ready for it or not.

 

Notes:

hope you guys liked the chapter! please do leave kudos and comments (i love reading through them all the time!).

Chapter 15

"Day fourteen."

"Two weeks. I keep thinking about what you said before, about how every day felt like starting over. Not knowing what you'd remember when you woke up, or if you'd remember anything at all. I think I get it now. That fear. That feeling of not knowing if the person you love will still be there when you open your eyes." Belly felt her voice crack. "I'm so scared, Conrad. I'm terrified that you're going to wake up and I'll be a stranger again. That we'll have lost all the progress we made. Or worse, that you won't wake up at all, that something will go wrong and ....... "

She couldn't finish that sentence. Couldn't even think it.

"Belly?"

She looked up to find Madelyn standing at the foot of the bed with a sympathetic smile. 

"Hey," Belly managed, her voice hoarse.

"I'm just going to check his vitals and adjust his IV, okay? How are you holding up?"

Belly gave a hollow laugh. "I'm fine. I think."

"Uh-huh." Madelyn made a note on her tablet. "You know, there's a family waiting room down the hall. Couches. Coffee that's only slightly terrible. You could take a break, stretch your legs."

"I'm good here."

Madelyn's expression softened. "Belly, you need to take care of yourself too. Conrad's stable. The sedation is doing exactly what it's supposed to do, giving his brain time to heal. Dr. Chen said that -"

"I know what Dr. Chen said." Belly didn't mean to snap, but the words came out sharp anyway. She immediately felt guilty. "Sorry. I just... I need to be here when he wakes up."

"I understand." Madelyn finished adjusting the IV and squeezed Belly's shoulder gently. 

Belly nodded mutely, staring at Conrad's face. He looked peaceful, which somehow made everything worse. His hair had gotten longer over the past two weeks, curling slightly at the ends. She wanted to reach out and brush it back from his forehead, but she was afraid to touch him, afraid she'd somehow hurt him more than she already had.

After Madelyn left, the room fell back into its usual mix of beeps and whirs. Belly pulled her knees up to her chest in the chair, wrapping her arms around them.

"So," she said quietly, speaking to Conrad's sleeping face, "I was thinking about the time you taught me to drive stick shift. Remember? I was fifteen and absolutely terrible at it."

The ventilator hissed. Conrad's chest rose and fell.

"You were so patient," Belly continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "Even when I kept stalling out the Jeep. Even when I nearly backed into that mailbox. You just kept saying, 'It's okay, Belly. Try again.' Like you had all the time in the world."

Her throat tightened. "I wish I'd been that patient with you. When you couldn't remember things. When you got frustrated. I just wanted everything to go back to normal so badly that I forgot..." She swallowed hard. "I forgot that you were doing the best you could. And I yelled at you. I said terrible things because I was scared and tired and I just wanted to - "

The door opened, cutting her off. Dr. Chen walked in, followed by Dr. Reeves, both of them wearing matching expressions of professional concern.

"Belly," Dr. Chen said warmly. "How are you doing?"

"How's Conrad?" Belly countered, uncurling from her defensive position in the chair.

Dr. Reeves consulted his tablet. "His intracranial pressure has stabilized, which is good news. The MRI showed some inflammation, but no bleeding, no structural damage that we can see. The EEG patterns are improving."

"So he's going to be okay?" Belly's hands gripped the arms of her chair. "When he wakes up, he'll be okay?"

Dr. Chen and Dr. Reeves exchanged a look that made Belly's stomach drop.

"We're optimistic," Dr. Chen said carefully. "But Belly, you need to understand, Conrad's brain has been through significant trauma. First the initial injury that caused his retrograde amnesia, and now this seizure. When we bring him out of sedation, there's no way to predict exactly what his cognitive status will be."

"What does that mean?" Belly demanded, even though she was pretty sure she didn't want to know the answer.

"It means," Dr. Reeves said gently, "that he might have lost more memories. Or the memories he'd started to recover might be gone again. He might have some temporary confusion, difficulty with language or motor skills. We just don't know yet."

"But he could be fine," Belly insisted. "He could wake up and everything could be fine."

"Yes," Dr. Chen agreed. "That's absolutely possible. We've seen remarkable recoveries in cases like this. But I want you to be prepared for the possibility that Conrad might need to start over in some ways. The work you've been doing, talking to him, the memory recovery, and storytelling, we think it helps. A lot." 

Belly felt the tears coming and couldn't stop them. "Oh my God, this is all my fault."

"No." Dr. Reeves's voice was firm. "Belly, look at me."

She did, reluctantly.

"Seizures after traumatic brain injury are not uncommon. They're a risk factor we've been monitoring from day one. This was not caused by stress or by an argument. This is Conrad's brain trying to heal itself, and sometimes the healing process includes setbacks like this. You did not cause this."

"But we were fighting," Belly whispered. "Right before it happened. He was upset and I was upset and I-"

"And that's what couples do," Dr. Chen interrupted. "They fight. They disagree. You're both under tremendous stress, and you're both handling an incredibly difficult situation. But this seizure was a neurological event, not an emotional one. Do you understand?"

Belly nodded, but she didn't believe it. Not really. The image of Conrad collapsing was burned into her brain, and right before it, right before, he'd been looking at her with such hurt in his eyes.

c

Flashback, 10 Years Ago, Cousins

Cousins was loud that afternoon, the waves shushing the shore, kids screaming over sandcastle battles, gulls swooping down in hopeless negotiations for someone’s forgotten fries. But somehow, in the middle of all that chaos, Conrad and Belly walked side by side like the whole world had softened around them, like the beach itself wanted to carve out a private corner only for them.

Belly carried her dripping chocolate cone in one hand, the heat turning it fragile. Conrad walked with his mint chip scoop piled high, the color almost luminous in the sun. Their arms brushed as they drifted down toward the water, neither of them acknowledging how deliberately slow they were going.

“Yours is melting,” Conrad said, nodding to her cone.

“I know,” Belly groaned. “It’s the stupid sun.”

“Pretty sure that’s the point of summer,” he teased.

“I don’t see you melting.”

He shrugged. “Mint chip is stronger than you.”

She jabbed her elbow into his ribs, a little harder than she meant to. “Wow. Attack me and my ice cream.”

Conrad just smiled, barely, subtly. The kind of smile you’d miss unless you were Belly, who watched for every flicker of expression like it was a secret code he only shared with her.

They reached a spot where the sand felt cool under their feet. Conrad dropped down first, legs stretched out toward the ocean, and Belly folded herself beside him. Their knees touched accidentally-on-purpose, leaving neither of them brave enough to shift away.

Belly licked the side of her cone, but it kept dripping faster than she could keep up.

“You’re gonna lose that battle,” Conrad said.

“No, I’ve got it under control.”

A glob of chocolate hit her thumb.

“…I don’t have it under control.”

Conrad laughed and Belly felt something fizzy burst up her chest, like a shaken soda. She pressed her thumb to her tongue, trying to salvage what she could.

Conrad glanced at her, eyes tracing the smear of chocolate she’d missed near the corner of her mouth. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, then shut it quickly, jaw tightening.

“What?” Belly asked, self-conscious.

“You, uh…” Conrad gestured vaguely toward her face.

She swiped the wrong side. “Here?”

“No. Other side.”

She wiped again. Still wrong.

Conrad made a sound like a strangled sigh. “Just ...... just, come here.”

Before she could process what was happening, he reached out and brushed his thumb gently along her cheek, wiping the chocolate away in a warm, soft stroke.

The moment stretched, too delicate, too impossible, and Conrad froze with his thumb still close enough to graze her skin.

Belly’s breath caught.
Conrad’s eyes flicked to hers, wide and startled, like he’d just realized what he’d done.

He pulled his hand back immediately, clearing his throat. “Uh… you had something there.”

“Oh.” Her voice came out embarrassingly small. “Thanks.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

But both of them felt it, that spark, that shift, like something had tilted slightly out of place.

Conrad looked away first, scooping another perfect bite of mint chip like his heart wasn’t pounding. Belly turned back to her cone, but her hands were shaking just enough to betray her.

They sat there in silence for a moment, letting the waves fill the space.

Then Belly said, “Hey, Conrad?”

“Yeah?”

She picked up a handful of sand and let it trickle slowly through her fingers. “Do you ever think about stuff?”

He snorted. “Define ‘stuff.’”

She nudged him lightly. “Like… growing up. Or summers ending. Or… people changing.”

He hesitated, the humor fading from his face. “Sometimes.”

“What do you think about?”

Conrad swallowed, eyes fixed on the water. His voice, when it came, was low, almost too quiet for the wind.

“Mostly that I don’t want some things to change.”

Belly stared at him, her ice cream forgotten. “Like what?”

His grip tightened around his cone, knuckles turning pale.
He didn’t answer.

Instead, Conrad finally said, “Your ice cream’s dripping again,” as if it was the safest topic in the world.

Belly rolled her eyes but smiled. “Maybe you should help me eat it.”

Conrad blinked once. Twice. A full blush crawled up his neck.

“I ..... uhm, what?”

“Just a bite,” she said, boldly playful. “Before it melts. It’s teamwork.”

“You don’t need my help eating ice cream.”

“Please. I’m clearly incompetent.”

He tried to resist, but Belly watched him give in, the tiny surrender in the way his shoulders dropped, the way he leaned a little closer.

“Fine,” he said, voice barely steady. “Just one.”

Belly held out the cone, and Conrad took a small bite, careful, delicate, like the ice cream might shatter. Belly stared at him, watching the way his lips curved around the cold chocolate.

“Good?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“You can have another if you want.”

Conrad huffed. “Trying to bribe me with dessert?”

“Maybe,” she grinned.

He looked directly at her then, really looked, blue eyes soft, sun reflecting in them, something unspoken thrumming between them like a secret melody neither of them knew all the words to.

“Belly,” he murmured, “I think you’re gonna make me fat.”

“You’re a surfer. You’ll be fine.”

Conrad laughed again, that rare, sunlit sound.

They kept sharing her cone like it was no big deal. Like their hands didn’t brush. Like each bite wasn’t another tiny step toward something they were both pretending not to see.

The waves kept rolling in. The sun kept dipping lower. And in that small pocket of summer, with sand sticking to their calves and ice cream melting between them, everything felt simple, sweet, and inevitable.

But right then, they were just two teenagers on a beach, crushing hopelessly, quietly, beautifully.

Oblivious.
And not at all oblivious.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

She stayed in her chair, holding Conrad's hand, and she told him stories.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry, Conrad. I know you can't hear me, but I need to say it anyway. I shouldn't have walked away. I shouldn't have said those things. You were trying so hard, and I just kept pushing and pushing because I was selfish. Because I wanted my Conrad back, and I wasn't thinking about what you needed."

The ventilator kept breathing for him. The monitors kept beeping their steady rhythm.

"When you wake up, not if, when, I'm going to do better. I promise. I'm going to be patient, and I'm going to listen, and I'm not going to push you to remember things before you're ready. Even if you don't remember me at all. Even if we have to start completely over. I just need you to wake up. Please."

Madelyn came back around seven that evening to do another round of checks. She found Belly exactly where she'd left her, still holding Conrad's hand, still keeping vigil.

"Belly, honey, you need to eat something," Madelyn said, not unkindly. "When's the last time you had actual food?"

"I'm not hungry."

"That wasn't really a question." Madelyn pulled out her phone. "I'm ordering you a sandwich from the cafeteria. You're going to eat it, even if I have to sit here and watch you do it."

"I'm fine, really, Madelyn I-"

"You're not fine," Madelyn said gently. "You're running on adrenaline and anxiety, and that's not sustainable. Look, I know you feel like you need to be here every second, like if you look away something bad will happen. But Belly, you being here won't change Conrad's prognosis. What will help is you taking care of yourself so that when he does wake up, you're not a complete wreck."

"Too late for that, Madelyn," Belly half-heartedly chuckled. 

Madelyn smiled. "Fair enough. But eat a sandwich anyway. For me. I've got, like, a 100% patient compliance rate and I don't want you ruining my streak."

Despite everything, Belly felt the corner of her mouth twitch. "Fine. But I'm not leaving this room."

"Deal."

After Madelyn left, Belly reluctantly let go of Conrad's hand to accept the sandwich when it arrived. She ate it, tasting nothing, her eyes never leaving Conrad's face.

"I brought my laptop," she told him when she'd finished. "I thought maybe I could read to you. Dr. Chen said hearing familiar voices might help, even if you're sedated."

She pulled out her laptop and opened a document, the beginning of the book Conrad had been reading before his accident, the one he'd left bookmarked on his nightstand at the summer house.

"Okay, so you were on chapter seven," Belly said, settling back in her chair. "Let me catch you up on what you missed."

She read for an hour, her voice steady and quiet in the mechanical hum of the ICU. She had no idea if Conrad could hear her, if any of this mattered, but it felt better than sitting in silence. It felt like doing something, even if that something was small and ultimately meaningless.

As the chapter came to a close, she looked over at him, still as ever.

"Remember the butterfly garden?" she whispered, closing her laptop. "At Hopper's? Your mom took us there when we were seven. You were obsessed with the monarchs. You wanted to know everything about them, where they went, how they knew the way, why they came back to the same place every year."

Belly smiled through her tears. "Susannah told you they had a kind of genetic memory. That even though the butterflies making the journey had never been to Mexico before, something in them remembered the way. You thought that was the coolest thing ever. You talked about it for weeks."

She squeezed his hand gently. "Maybe that's what we have. Genetic memory. Something deeper than conscious thought that helps us find our way back to each other. Even when we're lost. Even when we can't remember the path."

The ventilator hissed its agreement. Or maybe it was just air and machinery and Belly was reading meaning into chaos because she needed there to be meaning, needed there to be some kind of reason for all of this.

"I love you," she whispered. "I need you to know, even if you're unconscious and can't hear me, that I love you. I love who you are right now, today, even if you don't remember loving me back. And I'll still love you tomorrow, no matter what happens when you wake up."

She leaned forward and carefully, so carefully, pressed a kiss to his forehead, avoiding the bandages and the leads and all the fragile places. "Please wake up," she breathed against his skin. "Please, Conrad. I'm not ready to lose you. I'm never going to be ready to lose you."

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Around midnight, Dr. Chen came in to check Conrad's latest scans. Belly jerked awake. She hadn't even realized she'd dozed off and immediately looked at the monitors in panic.

"It's okay," Dr. Chen said quickly. "Everything's stable. I'm just doing rounds. Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

Belly rubbed her eyes. "What do the scans show?"

"Improvement. Slow, but steady." Dr. Chen pulled up images on her tablet. "The inflammation is responding to the medication. His brain activity is good. Honestly, Belly, all of this is very encouraging."

"So he's going to wake up soon?"

"We'll start reducing the sedation in about 40 hours, assuming things continue to progress well. Then it's just a matter of waiting for him to come back to us on his own."

"And when he does?" Belly asked, her voice small. "What then?"

Dr. Chen sat down in the chair beside her. "Then we assess. We see what he remembers, what he's lost, what he needs. And we move forward from there. But Belly, I want you to hear me when I say this, no matter what happens, you haven't failed him. You're dealing with a situation that would overwhelm most adults. The fact that you're here, that you've stayed by his side through all of this, that you've fought for him even when he couldn't remember why you were fighting, that matters. That's love."

Belly felt fresh tears spill over. "I just want him to be okay."

"I know. And we're doing everything we can to make that happen." Dr. Chen squeezed her shoulder. "Try to get some rest, okay? Real rest. Conrad's going to need you to be strong when he wakes up."

"Day fourteen," she whispered again. "40 more hours until they start waking you up. I can do 40 hours. We can do this."

She settled back in her chair, still holding his hand, and closed her eyes.

Outside, the hospital continued its endless work. Inside this room, Belly kept her vigil, and waited for Conrad to come back to her.

Whatever it took.

However long it took.

She would wait.

Notes:

hope you guys liked the chapter! please do leave kudos and comments (i love reading through them all the time!).

Chapter 16

Flashback, 7 Years Ago, Cousins

“Do you ever think about it? You know ….. sex?”

Had he heard her right? Conrad’s head suddenly snapped towards Belly, trying to register what she had just asked him. “Uhm, what?”

“Do you ever think about having sex with me?”

Well then. If there was one thing about Belly, it was that she was always direct. “Why, uhm ….. why the sudden question?”

Belly let out a soft and shy giggle as she shrugged her shoulders, letting him know that the thought was also a first for her. “I don’t know. It’s normal, though, isn’t it? We’ve been together for almost 6 months now, are you seriously telling me it hasn’t crossed your mind at least once?”

Well shit. “Oh, uhm -“

“Relax, I’m just teasing,” Belly laughed, leaning against her boyfriend.

Conrad let out the sigh he didn’t even realize he was holding in as he laid his head atop Belly’s. For a moment, they sat in the silence, watching the sun dance and the waves crash over the orange Cousins’ horizon. Because no matter how weird or odd the conversation, Belly and Conrad were not the type of couple to feel awkward afterwards. They knew and loved each other far too much to do so.

Belly broke the silence first, letting the sound of the ocean carry her voice with it. She tilted her body slightly to look up at him. LI guess Iwanted to ask ‘cause we’ve been together for quite some time now and we love each other. Also,” she paused to chuckle, “I’m still a virgin so I guess that’s a big factor.”

Conrad smiled as he leaned to kiss her forehead. It never mattered to him if she wasn’t experienced or if he was. What mattered to him was that whatever would happen between them, whenever that would be, would happen when they were both ready.

She bit her lip, a habit she had when she was thinking hard about something. "What was it like? With her?"

Conrad hesitated. This felt like dangerous territory, but Belly deserved honesty. "It was... fine. But Belly, it wasn't—" He struggled to find the right words. "We weren't in love. Not really. I thought I loved her, but I didn't know what that actually felt like until you."

"When did you know? That you didn't love her like that?"

"When she left," Conrad admitted. "When everything with my mom was falling apart and she couldn't handle it and just... left. I was upset, but I wasn't devastated. And then I realized, if it had been you, if you had been the one to leave..." He shook his head. "That would have destroyed me, Bells."

"I wouldn't leave. I didn't leave."

"I know." He leaned into her palm, closing his eyes briefly. "That's how I knew. That's when I knew what the difference was."

"So when you think about it, about us, is it the same? As it was with her?"

"No." The answer came immediately, with certainty. Conrad took both of her hands in his. "Belly, when I think about being with you like that, it's not just physical. It's not just wanting to... I mean, obviously I do, you're—" He felt his face heat up. "But it's more than that. When I imagine it, I imagine actually being with you. All of you. Does that make sense?"

Belly nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the seriousness of the conversation. "Yeah. It does."

"And I want to wait," Conrad continued, needing her to understand. "Not because I don't want you, but because I want it to be perfect for you. For us. I don't want you to feel like you have to rush or compete with some past that doesn't even matter anymore."

"I don't feel that way," Belly said, though her voice held a slight uncertainty that made Conrad's chest tighten. "Or... maybe I do a little. But not because I'm trying to compete. I just, uhm, I want to know what you want, Conrad. Sometimes I feel like you're so busy trying to be careful with me that I don't know what you're actually thinking."

Conrad swallowed hard. She wasn't wrong. "I think about it all the time," he confessed, his voice rough. "Sometimes when we're kissing and you're pressed against me, I think about it so much I have to pull away because I don't trust myself. When you wear those sundresses, or when you bite your lip like you're doing right now, or when you laugh that way that makes your whole face light up. I think about it, Bells. I think about you."

Belly's breath hitched, her cheeks flushing deep pink. "Really?"

"Really." He brushed his thumb across her knuckles. "But I also think about how much you mean to me. How much I love you. And how I only get one chance to make your first time something beautiful, something you'll remember for the right reasons. Not just because we felt like we should, or because we've been together six months, or because I have experience and you don't."

"But what if I want to?" Belly asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Not right now, but... soon. What if I'm ready before you think I should be?"

Conrad felt his heart rate pick up. "Then we'll talk about it. Like we're doing now. Belly, I'm not trying to make this decision for you. I just want you to be sure. Really sure. Because once we cross that line ......"

"We can't go back," Belly finished. She looked down at their intertwined hands, then back up at him. "I know it sounds naive, but I don't think I'll regret it. Not if it's with you. Even if we don't end up together forever, which I think we will, but even if we don’t, I know I'd want you to be my first."

The casual certainty in her voice, ‘I think we will’, made Conrad's throat tight. "You really think that? That we'll be together forever?"

"Don't you?" Belly tilted her head, studying him with those eyes that always seemed to see right through him. "I mean, I know we're young. I know people probably think we're crazy. But Conrad, I can't imagine my life without you in it. Not now. Not ever."

Conrad pulled her close, pressing his lips to her forehead, then her temple, then finally capturing her mouth in a kiss that he hoped conveyed everything he couldn't put into words. When they broke apart, both breathing a little harder, he rested his forehead against hers.

"I think about forever with you all the time," he murmured. "I think about college together, coming back here every summer, maybe getting our own place someday. I think about you in a white dress and my mom crying because she's so happy. I think about kids with your eyes and your laugh." He pulled back to look at her. "So yeah, Belly. I think about forever."

Tears were streaming down Belly's face now, but she was smiling. "Good. Then we have plenty of time."

"All the time in the world," Conrad agreed, wiping her tears with his thumbs.

They settled back into their previous position, Belly's head on Conrad's chest, his arms wrapped around her. The sun was lower now, painting the sky in deeper shades of orange and pink.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Belly spoke again. "Can I ask you something else?"

"Anything."

"Will you tell me? When you think I'm ready? Or when you're ready for us to be ready?" She laughed softly at her own confusing wording. "You know what I mean."

"I think we'll both know, Belly. But yeah. I'll tell you. I promise we'll figure it out together."

"Okay." She snuggled closer, her fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. "I love you, Conrad Fisher."

"I love you too, Isabel Conklin." He tightened his arms around her, breathing in this moment, the salt air, the fading light, the girl in his arms who somehow made everything make sense. "More than you know."

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

"Belly?"

As Belly yawned, half-awake, she turned to see her brother in the doorway, Taylor hovering just behind him with two coffee cups and a paper bag that probably contained breakfast Belly wouldn't be able to eat.

"Hey," she said, her voice scratchy from disuse. "You guys didn't have to fly in.”

“Of course we did, Jelly Belly,” Taylor said gently, stepping into the room. She set the coffee and bag on the small table by the window, then moved to Belly's side, resting a hand on her shoulder. "When's the last time you left this chair?"

Belly couldn't remember. Yesterday? The day before? The vinyl chair had molded itself to her body, and her back ached in a way that felt almost grounding. Real pain. Something she could understand.

"Has there been any change?" Steven asked, moving to stand at the foot of Conrad's bed. His eyes swept over his best friend, the tubes, the bandages, the terrible stillness of him.

"No." The word came out flat. "Dr. Chen came by at six. Said his vitals are good. Brain activity is normal. Everything is exactly where it should be." She turned back to Conrad, her fingers finding his hand, lacing through his limp ones. "Except he's still not waking up."

"Belly, they said it could take—"

“40 hours," Belly interrupted, her jaw tight. "They said within 40 hours, we'd likely see signs of him waking up. That was—" She glanced at the clock on the wall, doing math she'd already done a hundred times. "Sixty-eight hours ago."

The silence that followed was heavy with all the things none of them wanted to say.

"Maybe we should get Dr. Chen back in here," Steven suggested carefully. "Ask her to —“

"I've asked." Belly's voice cracked. "I've asked everyone. Dr. Chen, Dr. Reeves, random fucking doctors. They all say the same thing. 'He's healing.' 'These things take time.' 'Every patient is different.' But they don’t, fuck, they don't look at me when they say it anymore."

"Belly—"

"It's been over the 40 hours, Steven." She turned to face him fully now, and she knew her eyes were wild, desperate. "What if they're wrong? What if there's something they're missing? What if—" Her voice broke completely. "What if he never wakes up?"

"Don't," Taylor said firmly, crouching beside Belly's chair. "Don't go there."

"Why not?" Belly's laugh was bitter. "Everyone else is thinking it. I can see it on their faces. The nurses look at me like I’m ….. like I'm this fucking pathetic girl sitting vigil for someone who's already gone."

"He's not gone," Steven said. "Look at him, Belly. He's breathing. His heart is beating. He's right here."

"But where is he? Oh, God, where is Conrad, my Conrad? Because this ….. this body in this bed, it's like he's just gone. Like he left and forgot to come back."

The door opened, saving them from having to respond. It was Madelyn.

"Good morning, Belly," she said softly. "I'm just going to check his vitals, okay?"

Belly nodded numbly, reluctantly releasing Conrad's hand so Madelyn could work. She watched as the nurse checked the monitors, made notes on her tablet, adjusted the IV drip.

"How is he?" Belly asked, even though she knew the answer would be the same as always.

"Stable. His numbers are actually really good today. Heart rate is strong, oxygen levels are perfect. I know it's hard, but these signs, I promis, Belly, they're all positive."

"Then why won't he wake up?"

Madelyn was quiet for a moment, her hand resting gently on Conrad's arm. "The brain is complicated," she said finally. "Trauma like this, Belly, it's not like the movies. People don't just open their eyes and start talking. Sometimes the brain needs time to heal, even when everything looks good on the outside."

"How much time?"

"I don't know, honey. I wish I did."

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Dr. Chen appeared in the doorway, Dr. Reeves behind her.

"Belly," Dr. Chen said, stepping into the room. "Do you have a few minutes to talk?"

"Is something wrong?" The words came out in a rush. "Did something change? Is he—"

"His condition is unchanged," Dr. Reeves said quickly, raising a hand. "But we wanted to discuss the timeline with you. Set realistic expectations going forward."

Going forward. The words felt like a sucker punch.

"I don't understand," Belly said, standing now, her body tense. "God, you guys said 40 hours. You said he'd wake up."

"We said it was likely," Dr. Chen corrected gently. "And that's still true. But I think it's important that we prepare for the possibility that his recovery may take longer than we initially hoped."

"How much longer?"

The doctors exchanged a glance. "It's hard to say," Dr. Reeves said. "Days, possibly. Maybe a week or two."

"A week?" Belly felt Taylor's hand on her arm, steadying her. "You said, oh my God, you promised me he was going to be okay."

"And he will be," Dr. Chen said firmly. "Belly, I need you to hear me. Conrad's brain is healing. All of his responses to stimuli are appropriate. His reflexes are intact. There is no indication of permanent damage. But the brain heals at its own pace. We can't rush it."

"So what do we do?" Steven asked. "We just sit here and wait?"

"You talk to him," Dr. Chen said, looking at Belly. "You be here when he wakes up. You give him reasons to come back." She moved closer, her expression softening. "I know this isn't what you wanted to hear. But Conrad is fighting. His body is doing everything right. We just need to give him time."

"Belly," Taylor started, but Belly shook her head.

"Fuck, I need a minute. Please."

She heard them leave, heard the door click shut softly behind them. Then it was just her and Conrad again. Just the beeping of the monitors and the mechanical hiss of the ventilator.

Belly leaned forward, resting her forehead against their joined hands. "I don't know how much longer I can do this," she whispered to him. "I don't know how to sit here and watch you like this and pretend like I'm okay. Like we're okay." Her voice broke. "You promised me, Conrad. You promised you'd never leave me. So where are you?"

She didn't know how long she sat like that, forehead pressed to their hands, tears soaking into the thin hospital blanket, before she felt Steven's hand on her shoulder.

"Belly,” he said softly. "Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."

"I can't leave him."

"Just to the bathroom. Five minutes. Taylor brought you some of your stuff from the house earlier.”

Belly wanted to argue, wanted to say that five minutes could be the five minutes Conrad woke up, but she was too tired. Too worn down to fight. She let Steven help her stand, her legs shaky from sitting so long, and accepted the small duffel bag Taylor held out.

She splashed water on her face, changed into the clean clothes Taylor had packed, one of Conrad's old hoodies and a pair of leggings. The hoodie still smelled like him. Like the detergent Susannah used to use, and salt air, and something that was just Conrad. She pressed her face into the fabric and let herself break for just a moment, muffling her sobs in the worn cotton.

When she emerged, she found Steven sitting in her chair, holding Conrad's hand.

"Hey, man," Steven was saying, his voice rough. "You're really starting to worry us here. Well, mostly Belly. I'm just annoyed that you're getting out of helping me move next month." He laughed, but it was hollow. "Remember when we planned that? You said you'd help me move into the new apartment. Said it was the least you could do after I helped you move all those boxes of books. You have too many books, by the way. I told you that then, and I'm telling you now."

Belly stood in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt.

"I need you to wake up," Steven continued, and his voice cracked. "I need you to wake up because she's falling apart, Con. And I don’t, fuck, man, I don't know how to help her. You're the only one who knows how to pull her back when she gets like this." He paused. "And I need you to wake up because you're my best friend, you asshole. You're my brother. And I can’t …..” He stopped, clearing his throat hard. "Just come back, okay? We're all waiting for you."

Taylor gently moved past Belly, gently taking Steven's place when he stood. She settled into the chair, her hand finding Conrad's with easy familiarity.

"Hi, Conrad," she said, her voice steady in a way that Belly knew was forced. Taylor was always the strong one, the one who held it together. "I brought you a very unflattering update on Stanford’s football season. They lost to State. Forty-two to seventeen. It was brutal." She smiled sadly. "You would have had a lot to say about their defense. Or lack thereof."

She was quiet for a moment, her thumb tracing circles on the back of his hand.

"Belly's not doing great," Taylor said, dropping the pretense. "I know you know that, wherever you are. She's trying to be strong, but she's terrified. And I get it, you know? If it was Steven lying here, I'd be the same way." She leaned closer, her voice dropping. "So here's the thing, buddy: you need to wake up. Not for the doctors, not even for yourself. For her. Because she needs you, Conrad. She's always needed you, even when she pretended she didn't. Even when you both were too stubborn to admit it."

Taylor stood, pressing a kiss to Conrad's forehead. "Don't make her wait much longer, okay? She's already waited long enough."

When Taylor moved away, Belly finally stepped fully into the room. Steven wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and Taylor took her other side.

"He's going to wake up," Steven said firmly. "You know that, right?"

Belly wanted to believe him. She wanted it so badly it physically hurt.

"What if he wakes up and he's different? What if he doesn't remember us? What if he doesn't remember? Doesn't remember loving me. Doesn't remember choosing me. Doesn't remember all the promises we made.”

"Then we'll deal with it," Taylor said, squeezing her hand. "Whatever happens, we'll deal with it together. But Belly, you can't spiral into 'what ifs.' You have to stay in the now."

"The now is terrible," Belly said, her voice small.

"I know," Taylor said. "But you're not alone in it."

They stayed for another hour, the three of them talking about nothing important, memories of summers at Cousins, stupid things Conrad had done, stories that made them laugh despite everything. They ordered dinner that Belly picked at, and when visiting hours were technically over, the nurses didn't say anything about Steven and Taylor still being there.

"You guys should go," Belly said. "I'll be okay."

"Belly—"

"I mean it. You both need sleep. I'll call if anything changes." She managed a small smile. "Promise."

Steven looked like he wanted to argue, but Taylor squeezed his hand. They both knew that Belly wasn't leaving this room no matter what they said.

"Call us," Taylor said, hugging her tight. "Any time. Even if it's three in the morning and you just need to talk."

"I will."

Steven hugged her next, holding onto her longer than usual. "Love you, Belly. So much. Your big brother will always be here, 24/7.”

"Love you too."

Belly pulled her chair as close to Conrad's bed as it would go. She kicked off her shoes and curled up in the uncomfortable vinyl, tucking her feet beneath her. Her hand found his automatically, their fingers intertwining in a gesture that had become as natural as breathing.

"It's just us now," she whispered. "Like it should be."

"The doctors say you can hear me I don't know if that's true. But if you can, if you're in there somewhere, I need you to know something. I love you. I love you so much it scares me sometimes. And I know we're supposed to have forever, but I just ….. fuck, I need you to come back to me. Please, Conrad. Please wake up."

Belly's eyes drifted closed, too heavy to keep open any longer. She knew she should try to sleep in a real position, that her neck would hurt in the morning, but she couldn't let go of his hand. Couldn't put any distance between them.

"I'll be right here when you wake up," she murmured, already half-asleep. "Waiting for you. Always waiting for you." The last thing she registered before sleep claimed her was the familiar rhythm of Conrad's heartbeat on the monitor, steady, strong, alive.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

But then it all happened so fast.

One minute, Belly was dozing off after telling him about their favorite memories in Cousins, the next minute she woke up to doctors and nurses rushing in with a crash cart because her husband was flatlining.

Notes:

oops! cliffhanger :"))

hope you guys liked the chapter! please do leave kudos and comments (i love reading through them all the time!).

Chapter 17

“Code Blue, Code Blue!”

“Someone page Dr. Chen and Dr. Reeves 9-1-1!”

“Get Mrs. Fisher out of here, now!”

“He’s crashing!”

“We’re losing him! I need more hands in here!”

Belly was in a paralytic trance. She was barely awake before she was practically lifted up from her chair and carried out of Conrad’s room. And whenever family was escorted out, it never meant anything good. She had practically seen it all at this hospital; the fact that Conrad’s doctors and nurses couldn’t even take the time to ask her to leave and had to do it themselves was terrifying.

The way the door slammed in her face felt like a knife stab right through her chest. She could still hear them, yelling at one another. The not knowing of it all, being trapped behind the door, had never made her feel more useless than before.

This was it, wasn’t it?

She was going to become a widow before she turned 25.

Belly felt her knees tremble and give out as she fell onto the hospital floor; she clutched her chest, unable to find any air to let her breathe, as she let out a blood-curling scream that echoed throughout the entire floor. Her tears and sobs flowed out as she laid there on the floor.

“Mrs. Fisher!” It was Madelyn. She quickly ran to Belly’s side as she crouched by her. “Belly,” she whispered. “Belly, it’s Madelyn.”

But Belly couldn’t stop sobbing and screaming. She felt like her heart had been ripped out of her chest. “Madelyn,” she barely choked out, as she threw herself into Madelyn’s arms and sobbed into her scrubs. “Madelyn,” she cried out again, “what’s going to happen to my husband?” Her words came out jagged as her whole body violently shook in Madelyn’s arms.

Madelyn wrapped her arms around Belly, hugging her tightly against her chest. She tried every book in the nurse’s go-to cheat sheet for calming patients down but nothing was working. Belly was practically trembling in Madelyn’s arms and her scrubs were soaked from her tears. Madelyn felt the stares of some patients on her but she held her head up high nonetheless. The family member of a patient who’d she had formed a bond with needed her right now and that’s all that mattered.

“My husband, Madelyn,” Belly choked out, muffled against Madelyn’s shoulders. “What’s going to happen to him?”

Madelyn debated lying momentarily. Belly needed the tiniest ounce of good news right now even if it wasn’t real. But, Madelyn also knew that she respected Belly enough to be honest. “I don’t know, sweetie,” Madelyn managed to choke out as she felt her own tears begin to brim in her eyes, “I really don’t know.”

“What do we do? What do I do? I’m not ready to lose Conrad. He’s the love of my life; we’re supposed to grow old together.”

Madelyn felt her heart crunch up. Belly and Conrad were too young to be experiencing this type of pain. Instead of enjoying the early days of their marriage and honeymoon phase, they’re riddled with endless hospital visits and forever-altered lives all thanks to a man who thought it would be fun to drive under the influence without any care or consideration for the people around him and ruin their lives.

“All we can do now,” Madelyn breathed out; she needed to be strong for her patient. She did her best to keep her voice stable and the tears from gushing out, “Is wait. And hope. And pray. Conrad is a strong man. He’s not going down without a fight.”

Please, she thought, or maybe prayed; she wasn't sure there was a difference anymore. Please don't take him from me. Not like this. Not when the last thing I said to him was—

Belly couldn't even finish the thought.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

A sob caught in her throat, and she pressed her fist against her mouth to keep it from escaping. The hallway was too quiet, too sterile, too full of the smell of disinfectant and despair.

"Belly?"

She jerked her head up. Steven was running down the hallway, Taylor close behind him, both of them out of breath. Steven's eyes were red-rimmed, his hair disheveled like he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly. His carry-on bag was still slung over his shoulder, and Taylor's jacket was inside-out, like they'd thrown it on in a rush.

"Steven." Her voice came out as barely a whisper. She tried to stand but her legs wouldn't cooperate, and then Steven was there, pulling her into his arms.

"We came as soon as we heard," he said, his voice thick. "We were at the airport, about to board, when mom called. We just, fuck, we couldn't leave. Not with you here alone."

Taylor wrapped her arms around both of them, and Belly felt herself breaking all over again. She'd been trying so hard to hold it together, to be strong enough for both herself and Conrad, but having them here was like permission to fall apart.

"I don't know what's happening," she sobbed into Steven's shoulder. "They won't tell me anything. They just—they pushed me out and I don't know if he's—if he's—"

"Shh, it's okay," Steven murmured, even though they both knew it wasn't. Nothing about this was okay. "He's Conrad. He's the most stubborn person we know. He's not giving up that easily."

"You don't understand," Belly choked out, pulling back just enough to look at her brother. His face was blurry through her tears. "Steven, he flatlined. His heart stopped. The machines; they were screaming and there were so many people rushing in and they made me leave and I couldn't, oh fuck, I couldn't do anything. I just had to stand out here and listen to them trying to save his life."

Steven's jaw clenched, and she saw his own eyes fill with tears. "How long has it been?"

Taylor rubbed small circles on Belly's back. "What did the doctors say before?"

"Nothing. There's been nothing." Belly pulled back, wiping at her face with the sleeve of Conrad's sweatshirt, the one she'd been wearing. "He flatlined, and they rushed in, and that was it. It's been ....." She glanced at the clock on the wall, "forty-seven minutes." Forty-seven minutes of not knowing. Forty-seven minutes of imagining the worst. Forty-seven minutes of her husband fighting for his life while she sat useless on the other side of a door.

"Jesus," Steven breathed out, running a hand through his hair. "Belly, I'm so sorry. We should have been here. We should have -"

"You're here now," Belly whispered. "That's what matters."

Steven guided her back to the chair, sitting beside her while Taylor took the seat on her other side. They didn't try to fill the silence with empty platitudes or false hope. They just sat with her, Taylor's hand clasped in hers, Steven's arm around her shoulders.

The waiting was torture.

"Did you call your dad?" Taylor asked softly after a while.

Belly nodded. "He's with Jeremiah. They're... they're both still in Florida. The hurricane delayed their flight."

"And Laurel?"

"She's on her way. She was at some conference in Chicago." Belly's voice was mechanical, reciting facts because it was easier than feeling. "She said she'd be here by tonight."

Steven squeezed her shoulder. "And Adam?"

Belly let out a bitter laugh. "I called him. He said he'd try to make it but he has some important meeting in Los Angeles tomorrow morning." Her voice hardened. "Even now, when his son might be -" She couldn't finish. Wouldn't finish.

"That bastard," Steven muttered.

"Steven," Taylor warned quietly, but there was no real reproach in her voice.

"No, he's right," Belly said. "Adam has always been more interested in his work than his sons. Even when Conrad was," Her breath hitched. "Even when he was healthy and whole and didn't have half the hospital trying to figure out what's wrong with his brain."

At minute sixty-three, the door finally opened.

Belly shot to her feet so fast she nearly stumbled. Steven caught her elbow, steadying her. Dr. Reeves emerged first, his surgical mask pulled down around his neck, followed by Dr. Chen. Behind them, Belly could see two other nurses still moving around Conrad's room, checking monitors, adjusting IV lines. The machines were still beeping. That had to mean something good, didn't it? If the machines were beeping, his heart was beating.

"Mrs. Fisher," Dr. Reeves said, and Belly's heart stuttered at his tone.

"Is he ....." She couldn't say the word. Couldn't voice the fear that had been clawing at her chest for nearly an hour. Her fingernails dug into her palms so hard she felt the skin break. "Oh God, is he-"

"He's alive," Dr. Chen said quickly, and Belly's knees nearly gave out again. Steven's arm tightened around her, keeping her upright. "We were able to stabilize him."

"Can I see him? Is he awake? Did he, has he said he say anything?"

"That's what we need to talk to you about," Dr. Reeves interrupted gently. He gestured to a small consultation room across the hall. "Please, let's sit down."

But nothing good ever came from a 'let's sit down' conversation.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

"Conrad's preexisting condition," she began slowly, choosing each word with care, "combined with the trauma from the accident and now this episode... his brain has been through a significant amount of stress."

"What does that mean?" Taylor asked, her arm moving to Belly's waist as if to hold her together.

"We managed to restart his heart," Dr. Reeves continued, his eyes never leaving Belly's face. "The code lasted approximately four minutes before we achieved return of spontaneous circulation. His heart is beating strongly now, and his rhythm has stabilized."

"That's good," Steven said. "That's good, right?"

"It is," Dr. Chen acknowledged. "But there are complications."

Belly felt the words hit her like physical blows. "What kind of complications?"

"His vitals are stable," Dr. Chen clarified, her voice gentle but firm. "His heart is beating on its own, he's breathing with minimal assistance from the ventilator. His blood pressure is within normal range. But neurologically..." She trailed off, searching for the right words. "Belly, his brain has essentially shut down to protect itself. It's a defense mechanism."

"A defense mechanism," Belly repeated, the words tasting foreign on her tongue. "You're telling me his brain just... turned off?"

"Not entirely," Dr. Reeves said. "We're seeing some activity on the EEG. There's delta wave activity, which indicates his brain is still functioning at a basic level. But the higher cognitive functions, the ones that control consciousness, memory, voluntary movement, those have gone dormant."

"Why?" Steven demanded. "What caused this?"

"The cardiac arrest," Dr. Chen explained, "means his brain was briefly deprived of oxygen. Even four minutes can cause damage. Combined with the existing trauma, the swelling we've been monitoring, and the memory loss he was already experiencing—his brain reached a threshold. It's essentially in protective mode now, shutting down non-essential functions to focus on healing."

"So when will he wake up?" Taylor asked, speaking the question that Belly couldn't bring herself to voice.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Dr. Reeves and Dr. Chen looked at each other again, and this time, Belly saw something that terrified her more than anything else: uncertainty.

"That's the thing," Dr. Reeves said finally, his voice heavy with something that sounded like defeat. "We don't know. With the memory loss he was already experiencing, the swelling we've been monitoring, and now this cardiac event... we're in uncharted territory here."

"What does that mean?" Steven demanded, his voice rising. "You're doctors. You have to know something. You can't just, fuck, you have to give us something!"

"Steven," Taylor murmured, placing a calming hand on his arm, but he shook it off.

"No, Taylor. My sister's husband, our family, he can't just be in some medical mystery. There has to be something they can do."

"We're doing everything we can," Dr. Chen said, and there was a note of frustration in her voice now. Not at Steven, but at the situation itself. "We've increased his anti-seizure medications to prevent any further episodes. We're monitoring his intracranial pressure every hour. We're maintaining his body temperature, his fluid balance, his nutrition. But the brain," She paused, her expression softening as she looked at Belly. "The brain heals in its own time, on its own schedule."

"It means," Dr. Chen continued softly, her eyes full of compassion as she looked at Belly, "that we're not sure what happens now. Conrad might wake up tomorrow. He might wake up next week. He might wake up in a month. The brain is incredibly resilient, especially in someone Conrad's age. But we've also seen cases where -"

"Don't," Belly interrupted, her voice sharp. "Don't say it."

"Mrs. Fisher, we just meant-"

"I said don't." Belly's hands were shaking so badly she had to clench them into fists. "Don't tell me about the cases where people don't wake up. Don't tell me about statistics or odds or any of that. Conrad is not a statistic. He's not a case study. He's my husband."

"I understand," Dr. Chen said gently. "And I'm not trying to take away your hope. Hope is important. But I also need you to understand the reality of what we're facing here."

"Which is what, exactly? Spell it out for me, Dr. Chen. Stop dancing around it and just tell me. I would like to think you respect me enough to do that."

Dr. Chen took a deep breath. "The reality is that Conrad's brain has sustained multiple traumas. The initial injury from the accident caused damage to his temporal lobe, which is why he lost his memories. We've been managing the swelling, but it's been persistent. And now, with the cardiac arrest and the oxygen deprivation, we may be looking at additional damage. We won't know the full extent until he wakes up, if he wakes up, and we can do a thorough neurological assessment."

"If," Belly whispered. "You said if."

"I'm sorry," Dr. Chen said, and she genuinely looked it. "I wish we had more concrete answers for you. But the brain is complex, and with everything Conrad's been through-"

"How long?" Steven asked. "How long do we wait before we know?"

"That's impossible to say," Dr. Reeves answered. "We've seen patients wake up after a few days. We've seen patients wake up after weeks or months. In Conrad's case, given his age and general health before the accident, I'd say we should see some signs of improvement within the next seventy-two hours if he's going to wake up on his own."

"And if we don't see improvement?" Taylor asked quietly.

"Then we reassess," Dr. Reeves said. "We run more tests, adjust medications, possibly consider other interventions. But we're not there yet. Right now, we wait and monitor."

"I want to see him," Belly said suddenly, her voice cutting through the medical jargon and careful explanations. "I want to see my husband. Now."

"Mrs. Fisher, maybe you should take a moment to-" Dr. Reeves began.

"I want to see my husband." Belly's voice didn't crack this time. "Please. I need to see him."

Dr. Chen nodded slowly. "Of course. Just... prepare yourself. He looks peaceful, but seeing him like this might be difficult. The ventilator is still assisting his breathing, so there's a tube. He has several IV lines, the heart monitor leads, the EEG leads, it all looks more overwhelming than it is."

"I don't care," Belly said. "I need to be with him."

"We'll give you some time," Dr. Reeves said. "If there are any changes, any at all, Madelyn will come find you immediately. She's taken over as his primary nurse for this shift."

Difficult. As if anything about the past few weeks had been anything but.

Steven and Taylor moved to follow her, but Belly held up a hand. "I need, uhm, can I have a minute? Alone with him?"

"Of course," Taylor said, squeezing her hand. "We'll be right out here. Take all the time you need."

Steven pulled her into a tight hug. "He's going to be okay," he whispered into her hair. "He has to be. Because Conrad Fisher has never backed down from a fight in his life, and he's not starting now."

Belly wanted to believe him. God, she wanted to believe him so badly it hurt.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Flashback, 3.5 Years Ago, Stanford Medical School

"Conrad." She waited until he met her eyes. "We've been through worse than distance."

"Have we?" His voice was rough. "Sometimes I think the distance is the only thing keeping us from falling apart completely."

The words stung, but Belly understood what he meant. The phone calls that felt like treading water. The visits that never felt long enough. The way they both held back, afraid of asking too much.

"Remember what your mom used to say?" Belly stood, moving closer to him. "About the ocean always bringing you back to shore?"

"Belly—"

"I'm not going anywhere," she said firmly. "I know med school is hard. I know you're struggling. I know you think you have to do this alone because that's what you've always done. But you don't."

He was quiet for a long moment, and she could see him fighting with himself, that instinct to pull away warring with the part of him that had always reached for her, even when he didn't know how.

"I don't know how to do this," he finally admitted. "Be here, be present in this, and not mess it up."

"You think I do?" Belly let out a shaky laugh. "Conrad, I'm terrified. But I'd rather be terrified with you than safe without you."

He pulled her close then, his forehead resting against hers. "I'm sorry I've been distant."

"I'm sorry I haven't pushed harder."

"Don't apologize for giving me space when I needed it." His hands cupped her face. "That's not what I want anymore."

"What do you want?"

"This," he said simply. "You. Us. Even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard."

Belly smiled, even as tears pricked her eyes. "We've survived everything else. Your mom always said we were inevitable."

"She was right about a lot of things." Conrad's thumb brushed away a tear that had escaped down her cheek. "I don't want to keep running from this. From us."

"Then don't," Belly whispered. "Stay. Fight. We'll figure it out."

He kissed her then, soft and sure, and for the first time in months, Belly felt like they were finally standing on solid ground. The road ahead wouldn't be easy, hell, it never was with them, but they'd face it together.

When they finally pulled apart, Conrad kept her close, his arms wrapped securely around her waist.

"You need to call me more," Belly said. "Real calls, not just texts."

"Deal. But you have to actually tell me when you're struggling too. Not just be supportive all the time."

"I can do that."

They stayed like that, holding each other in the fading afternoon light of his tiny dorm room, and Belly thought about all the versions of them that had existed before this moment. The kids at Cousins. 

"Your mom would be proud of you," Belly said softly. "Of the doctor you're going to be."

Conrad's arms tightened around her. "She'd be proud of us. For not giving up."

As she pushed open the door to Conrad's room, all the air left her lungs.

The room felt different now. Quieter, if that was possible. The machines still beeped and hummed, but there was a finality to it now that hadn't been there before. Conrad lay motionless in the bed, his chest rising and falling with mechanical precision. The ventilator hissed with each breath, in and out, in and out. He looked exactly as she'd left him, and yet everything had changed.

There were more wires now. More machines. The EEG leads ran from his head like some sort of terrible crown, measuring the activity of a brain that had decided to shut itself off from the world. The heart monitor traced its steady rhythm across the screen, and Belly found herself fixated on it, watching each beat like it might be the last.

His face was peaceful. That's what everyone kept saying, that he looked peaceful. But Belly didn't see peace. She saw absence. She saw the hollow shell of the man she loved, the man who'd kissed her goodbye that morning three weeks ago before heading to work, not knowing it would be the last time he'd kiss her as the Conrad who knew her, who loved her, who remembered every moment they'd shared since that first summer at Cousins Beach.

"Hey," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I'm here. I'm right here, Conrad."

He didn't respond. Didn't move. Didn't even flutter his eyelashes the way he sometimes did when he was sleeping and she'd wake him up with soft touches, trailing her fingers along his jaw until he'd smile without opening his eyes and pull her closer.

She pulled the chair as close to the bed as it would go and took his hand in both of hers, holding it against her cheek. His wedding ring was still there, the simple gold band they'd chosen together. She'd taken hers off to clean it two days ago and hadn't put it back on. Now she felt naked without it, like she'd somehow betrayed the vows they'd made.

"You have to come back to me," she said, tears streaming down her face. "I know you don't remember me right now, and I know we fought, and I'm so sorry for what I said. I was just ..... I was scared and tired and I wanted my husband back so badly that I forgot you're going through this too."

She pressed her lips to his knuckles, tasting the salt of her own tears. "But you have to wake up, Conrad. Because I'm not done fighting for us. I'm not done fighting for you. Even if you wake up and still don't remember me, even if I have to make you fall in love with me all over again, I'll do it. I swear to God, I'll do it. Just please, please wake up."

The only answer was the steady beep of the heart monitor.

"Do you remember," she closed her eyes and continued, her voice barely above a whisper, "the first time you told me you loved me?" Her breath hitched. "That night you told me you'd been in love with me since we were kids, and that you'd wait forever if that's what it took."

Belly laughed, a broken sound catching in her throat. "And I told you that you didn't have to wait anymore. That I'd loved you for just as long, maybe longer. I'd look at you and thinking 'that's him. That's the person I'm supposed to love.'"

She opened her eyes, half-expecting to see him looking back at her, that crooked smile on his face as he told her he remembered everything. But he lay motionless.

"I need you to fight," she whispered fiercely. "I need you to find your way back to me. And I know that's selfish, I know that maybe your brain needs this rest, maybe it needs to shut down to heal. But Conrad, I can't do this without you. I can't wake up every morning in our bed without you next to me. I can't watch the sunrise over the ocean and not hear you telling me it's not as beautiful as me. I can't-" She sobbed. "I can't live in a world where you don't exist."

A soft knock at the door made her jump. Madelyn poked her head in, her expression sympathetic.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Madelyn said quietly. "I just wanted to check on you. See if you needed anything."

Belly wiped at her face. "I don't know what I need. I don't know how to do this."

"Belly?" She waited until Belly looked at her. "Don't lose hope. I've seen a lot of miracles in this job. I've seen people wake up when everyone thought they wouldn't. Conrad's young, he's strong, and he has you. That matters more than you know."

Outside the room, Steven leaned against the wall, his head tipped back, eyes closed. Taylor stood beside him, her arms wrapped around herself.

"He has to wake up. He has to. I can't, oh fuck, Belly can't-"

"I know," Taylor whispered. She reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together. "I know. Conrad's strong. He'll fight his way back."

"What if he doesn't?" Steven's voice cracked. "What if this is it? What if the last conversation we ever have with him was," He stopped, swallowing hard. "I called him last week. Just to check in. And he didn't know who I was. He was polite about it, but I could hear it in his voice. He had no idea that we've known each other since we were kids. That he taught me how to surf. That he was the one who talked me down when I was too scared to ask you out the first time."

Taylor squeezed his hand. "He'll remember. When he wakes up, it'll all come back."

"But what if it doesn't? What if he wakes up and he still doesn't remember any of us? What if," Steven's voice dropped to barely a whisper. "What if he doesn't wake up at all?"

Through the window, they could see Belly's shoulders shaking as she cried, her head resting on Conrad's chest, her hand still clutching his. And even from outside, they could see her lips moving, telling him stories, begging him to come back.

"All we can do is be here for her," Taylor said finally. "Whatever happens, we make sure Belly knows she's not alone."

Steven nodded, even as tears slipped down his cheeks. "She loves him so much. I've never seen her love anything the way she loves him. Not even close."

"I know," Taylor said softly. "It's the kind of love people write stories about. The kind that's supposed to last forever."

"It will," Steven said, but it sounded more like a prayer than a conviction. "It has to."

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

"Where is he?" Laurel gasped between sobs. She still had her suitcase with her, lugging behind. Her eyes were bloodshot red and her whole body was trembling. "Where's Conrad? Oh my God, where is my son?"

"Mom, you need to breathe," Steven said, guiding her to sit down. "He's stable. His heart is beating. But he flatlined and now he's in a coma."

"Flatlined? A coma?" Laurel repeated, her face going pale. "Oh God. Oh God, Steven, what if -"

"Don't," Steven said firmly, echoing his sister. "We're not thinking like that. We can't."

Taylor brought Laurel a cup of water, crouching beside her. "Belly's with him now. She hasn't left his side since they let her back in."

Laurel nodded, wiping at her eyes. "I need to see him. I need to see Belly. I need to see both of them."

They went to the door, but Laurel stopped when she saw through the window. Belly was curled up in the chair, her body curved toward Conrad's, her eyes closed in fitful sleep. Even in sleep, she didn't let go of his hand.

"Maybe we should let Belly rest," Laurel whispered, her voice breaking. "God knows she needs it."

"She won't rest," Steven said. "Not really. Not until he wakes up."

Later that evening, after Madelyn's shift ended, she stopped by Conrad's room one more time. Dr. Reeves and Dr. Chen were there, reviewing his charts, their expressions grave. They stood huddled in the corner, speaking in low voices that Madelyn could barely make out.

"Any changes?" Madelyn asked, even though she already knew the answer from the unchanged numbers on the monitors.

Dr. Chen shook her head, her exhaustion evident in the lines around her eyes. "Nothing yet. His vitals are holding steady, heart rate in the seventies, blood pressure one-twenty over seventy-five, oxygen saturation at ninety-eight percent. But neurologically..." She didn't finish the sentence.

"What about the EEG?" Madelyn pressed, glancing at the machine that monitored Conrad's brain activity.

"Still showing delta waves. No changes in the past six hours. No response to stimuli. I tried a sternal rub when I checked on him an hour ago, but ..... nothing. Not even a flinch."

"What are his chances?" Madelyn asked quietly, glancing through the window where Belly had finally fallen asleep in the chair beside Conrad's bed, her hand still holding his. Her face was tear-stained, her body curled protectively around his arm. "I mean really. What are we looking at here?"

Dr. Reeves and Dr. Chen exchanged another one of those looks that made Madelyn's stomach turn.

"Honestly?" Dr. Reeves said finally, his voice heavy with the weight of too many years of delivering bad news. "We're not sure what happens now. If he'll still wake up. His brain has been through so much trauma, the accident, the memory loss, the swelling, and now this. We're in uncharted territory."

"There has to be something," Madelyn said, hearing the desperation in her own voice. "Some protocol, some treatment -"

"We're doing everything we can," Dr. Chen said, but she sounded as frustrated as Madelyn felt. "The problem is that every case like this is different. Some patients bounce back quickly. Others take weeks or months. And some," She stopped, glancing through the window at Belly. "Some never wake up at all."

"What's your gut telling you?" Madelyn asked. "After all these years, after all the patients you've seen, what does your gut say about Conrad?"

Dr. Reeves was quiet for a long moment, his eyes on the young man in the bed. "My gut says he's a fighter. His heart restarted on its own before we even administered the second round of epinephrine. That tells me his body wants to live. But the brain," He shook his head. "The brain is its own entity. It follows its own rules. And right now, Conrad's brain has decided it needs to shut down to survive. Whether it'll come back again," He spread his hands helplessly. "That's the question none of us can answer."

"So we wait," Madelyn said, the words tasting bitter.

"So we wait," Dr. Chen confirmed, her eyes sad. "We monitor him around the clock. We watch for any signs of improvement, eye movement, response to stimuli, changes in brain activity. We maintain his body so that if his brain does decide to wake up, everything else will be ready. But beyond that," she sighed, "Beyond that, it's out of our hands."

Madelyn pressed her hand against the glass, wishing she could reach through it and shake him awake, demand that he come back to his wife, to his family, to the life he'd built. But medicine didn't work that way. Healing didn't work that way. All they could do was wait and hope and pray that somewhere in the darkness of his coma, Conrad was fighting his way back to the light.

"I'll be back in the morning," Madelyn said finally, turning away from the window. "If anything changes, please -"

"You'll be the first to know," Dr. Chen promised.

As Madelyn walked down the hallway toward the elevator, she passed Steven and Taylor, now joined by Laurel, all of them slumped in the waiting room chairs. They looked like ghosts.

"Any news?" Steven asked, sitting up straighter.

Madelyn shook her head. "Not yet. But he's stable. That's something."

"Is it enough?" Laurel asked, her voice small and broken.

Madelyn wished she could say yes. She wished she could promise them that everything would be okay, that Conrad would wake up tomorrow morning with all his memories intact, that this nightmare would end. But she'd been a nurse too long to make promises she couldn't keep.

"It's all we have right now," Madelyn said gently. "So yes. For now, it has to be enough."

 

Notes:

yall im really sorry about another cliffhanger hshshshs
but i do think this fic is coming to an end soon; it's just a matter of how :""))

please do leave kudos and comments (i love reading through them all the time!).

Chapter 18

Notes:

from the bottom of my heart, thank you all for the consistent kudos and kind words <3333 i love writing; i always have. your presence as readers makes me fall in love with the art of it all much, much more.

Conrad's POV

Post-Flatline, Hour 27

Her voice pulls me back. It's always her voice. Every single time, without fail, it's her voice that drags me up from the depths.

"—vitals are stable, Mrs. Fisher, but you need to take care of yourself too—"

Mrs. Fisher. The name echoes through my consciousness, strange and familiar all at once. My mom. No, wait. That's not right. Mom is gone. Has been gone for years now, and the grief of it never really leaves; it just becomes something you carry, a weight that changes shape but never disappears. The memory of losing her crashes over me fresh even here in the dark, and I want to sink further into the nothing where it can't reach me, where memory can't cut me open and leave me bleeding.

But then I hear it again. "Belly, you really should try to eat something. You haven't had a proper meal; Laurel is very worried about you."

A different voice, kind but firm. Female. Unfamiliar. Professional. A nurse, my scattered consciousness supplies, though I don't know how I know that.

"I'm not hungry, Madelyn."

And oh. Oh god. That voice I know. Would know in any darkness, in any lifetime, in any world. Would know if I were deaf, would feel it vibrate through my bones. Belly. My Belly. My wife.

The word detonates in my chest like a flash-bang: wife, wife, wife.

I feel everything hit me all at once. But it's not really everything. It's more of bits and pieces of who I am, that I thought were long gone. I feel waves crash around in my mind and suddenly there are parts of me that I remember. 

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Images cascade through my consciousness, fractured and shimmering like light through water, each one more precious than the last. Her in a white dress on the beach at Cousins, the ocean behind her catching the sunset, the wind playing with her hair. My hands shaking so badly as I slid a ring onto her finger that Jeremiah had to steady my elbow. Her saying "I do" with tears streaming down her face and the biggest smile I'd ever seen, like I'd just given her the world when really she was giving me everything. Our first dance to some song she picked that made her cry and made me hold her tighter. The weight of her in my arms as I carried her over the threshold of our apartment, both of us laughing because I almost hit her head on the doorframe and she laughed as she threatened to divorce me before we even made it to the bedroom.

My wife. My Isabel. My Belly.

How long have we been married? I can't grasp it, can't hold onto the memories long enough to count the years. But I feel the truth of it in my bones, in whatever part of me still exists in this darkness. She's mine. I'm hers. We promised. Forever, we promised. In front of everyone we loved, on the beach where we had our first kiss, we promised forever.

"Belly," Madelyn tries again, patience wearing thin but still present.

She sniffles and what she says next comes out in a choke with her tears. "Please, I already told you, I'm not leaving. So unless you're going to physically remove me, Madelyn, I'm staying right here with my husband." There's steel underneath the exhaustion in her tone, the kind of stubbornness that used to drive me crazy when we were teenagers. That same fierce determination that made her follow me and Steven everywhere when they tried to ditch her, that made her demand I teach her to drive stick shift, that made her fight for us even when I was too broken to fight for myself. 

My husband. The words settle over me like a blanket, warm and real and solid in a way nothing else is right now. I'm someone's husband. I'm her husband. I'm Isabel Fisher's husband.

"At least let me bring you some soup from the cafeteria," Madelyn says, softer now. Compromising. I can hear the concern in her voice, the same concern I'd feel if Belly were running herself into the ground. "You've been here now for 43 hours straight. You haven't slept in a real bed. You've barely eaten. Your family is worried about you too."

Have I been under for almost 2 days? That can't be right. It feels like minutes and eternities all at once, time stretching and compressing in ways that don't make sense.

"Fine," Belly says gently, and I can hear the tears she's swallowing, the way her voice catches on the single syllable. "But I'm not leaving this room. You can bring it here. I'll eat it here."

"I'll be right back," Madelyn promises. The door whispers shut and then it's just us. Just me and the darkness and her.

The chair scrapes closer, the sound loud in the quiet. I feel the displacement of air as she moves, the ghost of her presence beside the bed. My bed. Where I'm lying broken and useless while she keeps vigil like I'm worth saving, like I'm worth this kind of devotion.

I am, I want to tell her. I'm worth it because you love me. That makes me worth it. You made me worth it when no one else could.

"Hey," she says softly, and I hear the tears she's still trying to swallow, the exhaustion that weighs down every syllable. "It's me again. Your wife. In case you forgot."

After everything, I could never forget again. Not her. Not us. Not what we are to each other. She's written into every cell of my body, every thought I've ever had. She's the reason I learned how to be human again after Mom died, the reason I let myself hope for things, want things, love things.

"I don't know if you can hear me," she continues, and there's something fragile in her voice now, something breaking. "The doctors say you might be able to. Dr. Reeve said that hearing familiar voices can help. That it might help you find your way back."

I can hear you. God, if only she knew how clearly I can hear her. Every word is a lifeline, pulling me closer to the surface, keeping me tethered to the world of the living.

"So I'm going to keep talking," she says, and I hear her try to steady herself, try to pull it together. "Even if it's stupid. Even if you're annoyed. You always said I could talk the paint off walls."

I never minded. Not really. I used to pretend to be annoyed when we were teenagers, would roll my eyes and walk away when she'd chatter on about whatever book she was reading or some drama with Taylor or some gossip from school. But the truth was I could listen to her voice forever. Have been listening to it forever, years of summers bleeding into regular life, her laugh echoing off beach walls and city streets, her arguing with Steven about everything and nothing, her calling me at midnight because she couldn't sleep and needed to hear my voice, her saying my name like it meant something.

Like I meant something.

"The doctors came by again this morning, Dr. Reeves and Dr. Chen. They're been really great, you know? Dr. Chen showed me your scans, pointed out where the swelling was, how it's going down now."

Swelling. Brain. The words float through my consciousness, and I try to piece together what happened, but there's a gap in my memory. A black hole where something important should be.

"They said the seizure caused some swelling in your brain," Belly continues, her voice steadier now, clinical, like she's been practicing this explanation. Like she's memorized every word the doctors said so she could repeat them back to herself, make them make sense. "That's why you're in the coma. Your brain needs time to heal, time to recover. But the swelling is going down. The pressure is decreasing. They said that's really good, Conrad. That's really, really good."

Seizure. The word triggers something, a flash of memory - pain, blinding, excruciating pain behind my eyes. The floor rushing up. Belly's voice, distant and scared, calling my name.

But before that. Before the pain. There was something else.

The memory slams into me like a tidal wave, and suddenly I'm drowning in it, pulled under by the weight of what I'd done, what I'd said.

What we both said.

And then I'd had a seizure. That's what it was, wasn't it? That's what Dr. Chen had said ...... and now I'm here, trapped in the dark, and the last real memory I have of us is a fight.

Our last conversation was a fight.

"I know you're in there," Belly says, pulling me back from the edge of panic, her voice cutting through the spiral of guilt and fear. "I know you can hear me, Conrad. I know you're fighting to come back. I can feel it. I've always been able to feel you, even when we were apart."

I'm here, I scream into the void. I'm right here, Belly. I'm fighting. I'm trying so hard.

"Your dad finally flew in yesterday," she says, and I hear her shift in the chair. I also hear the greenness in her tone; I can't blame her. Belly was never a big fan of my dad. She's probably still wearing the same clothes from three days, or even a week ago. She does that when she's stressed, forgets to take care of herself, forgets to eat, forgets that her body needs things. It used to drive me crazy when we were dating, the way she'd hole up studying for exams and survive on coffee and granola bars and sheer willpower. I'd have to literally drag her out for real food, threaten to carry her to the nearest restaurant if she didn't come willingly.

Now I can't do anything. Can't take care of her. Can't hold her. Can't tell her to go home and sleep, to let someone else sit vigil for a few hours while she takes a break.

Can't tell her I'm sorry for what I said. Can't tell her I love her. Can't tell her any of the things that matter.

"He sat with you for hours," Belly continues, and there's such tenderness in her voice now. "He held your hand and talked about your mom, about how proud she'd be of the man you've become. How proud she'd be that you let yourself love someone, that you let yourself be loved. That you didn't shut down completely after she died."

"Jeremiah also calls every few hours," Belly says, and her voice wavers. "He wants to be here but he was stuck in Chicago with that conference he couldn't get out of. He's catching a flight tonight though. He should be here by morning. He sounds so scared, Conrad. Your little brother is terrified. I've never heard him like this, not even when your mom died. He keeps saying he can't lose you, that you're all he has left."

He doesn't deserve this. Doesn't deserve to lose another person he loves. Doesn't deserve to bury his big brother.

"He wanted me to tell you something," Belly continues. "He said, god, this is so Jeremiah, he said that you better wake up because he's got a new girlfriend and he needs your approval. He said he's not making any major life decisions without his big brother around to tell him if he's being an idiot."

"He also said," she adds, her voice dropping to a whisper like she's sharing a secret, "that if you don't wake up, he's going to tell everyone about that time in high school when you got drunk and cried while watching The Notebook. He said he's got receipts and everything."

Even here, trapped in the dark, I feel something like affection bloom in my chest. That asshole. Of course he'd threaten to share my most embarrassing moments. Of course he'd try to annoy me back to consciousness. It's so perfectly Jeremiah that I almost want to laugh. Would laugh, if I could remember how.

"Steven also came by last night," Belly says, and her voice softens, grows tender in a way that tells me this memory is precious to her. "You know how he is, tried to act all tough, like he wasn't falling apart. Walked in here with that stupid stoic face he always makes when he's trying not to cry. But then he saw you lying here, all the tubes and wires and machines, and he just..." She takes a shaky breath. "He just lost it. Started crying and apologizing for every time he ever gave you shit, every time he said you weren't good enough for me, every time he threatened to kick your ass."

Steven. My brother-in-law. The guy who punched me in the face when I broke Belly's heart the first time, who threatened to kill me if I ever hurt her again, who took me out for drinks before I proposed and told me in no uncertain terms that if I screwed this up, there wouldn't be anywhere I could hide. The same guy who gave the most embarrassing, heartfelt best man speech at our wedding and made everyone cry-laugh, who got drunk at the reception and told me I better take care of his little sister or he'd haunt me from beyond the grave.

"I had to practically drag him out of here," Belly continues. "He didn't want to leave. He kept saying he needed to stay, needed to make sure you were okay."

"He told me to tell you," Belly says, and I can hear the smile in her voice now, watery but real, "that you better wake up because he's not giving the 'protective big brother' speech to anyone else ever again. He said it took him years to accept that you're good enough for me, and he's not starting over with someone new. He said, and I quote, 'that Fisher bastard better not die on my little sister or I swear to god I'll bring him back just to kill him myself.'"

The laugh that bubbles out of her is more genuine this time, less broken, and it's the most beautiful sound I've heard in this darkness.

"Taylor's been texting me constantly. She's a complete mess, Conrad. She said to tell you that if you die, she's going to kill you herself. And then she sent me about fifty messages about how I need to eat and sleep and take care of myself, like she's not falling apart too."

Taylor. Belly's best friend since forever, the person who knows her better than anyone except maybe me. The person who threatened me at our engagement party, pulled me aside with a smile that didn't reach her eyes and told me in no uncertain terms that if I ever pulled the disappearing act again, if I ever hurt Belly the way I had before, she'd make sure I disappeared permanently. And I'd believed her. Still believe her.

But Taylor had also cried at our wedding, had hugged me tight and told me she was happy Belly had found her way back to me, that we'd always been meant for each other.

"She's worried about me," Belly whispers. "Everyone's worried about me. But I can't, I can't leave, Conrad. I can't go home and pretend to sleep when you're here. I can't eat when you're being fed through a tube. I can't function when you're ....... when you're like this."

Please eat, I beg her silently. Please take care of yourself. Please don't destroy yourself over this.

"And my mom," Belly says, her voice dropping even lower, more intimate. "She saw you, and she just ....... she kept saying 'not another one, not another son.' Because that's what you are to her. You know that, right?"

Laurel. The image of her floods my consciousness, her warm smile, her fierce protectiveness, the way she'd held me at mom's funeral when I couldn't hold myself together anymore.

"You're her son too. You have been since we were kids. Since you were sixteen and awkward and trying so hard to pretend you didn't care about anything. She saw right through you, you know. She told me once that she knew you were special the first summer you came to Cousins looking lost and angry and so scared of letting anyone in. She said she watched you with your mom and saw how much you loved her, how much you tried to be strong for her even when you were terrified."

I start to remember that summer. The summer after Mom's diagnosis, when everything changed. When I realized my childhood was over and I needed to grow up fast, needed to be strong, needed to be the man of the family because Dad was falling apart and Jeremiah was too young to understand how bad it really was.

Laurel had been there through all of it. Had been Mom's best friend, had held Mom's hand through chemo, had helped plan Mom's funeral when Dad couldn't do it alone. Had become a second mother to me in the aftermath, had refused to let me disappear into my grief.

"She told me she'd been waiting for this since you were sixteen years old and looked at me like I hung the moon," Belly whispers, and I can hear her crying again now, tears thick in her voice. "She said she knew you loved me even when you were too scared to admit it. Even when you pushed me away. She said mothers always know."

The memory hits me, sixteen years old, watching Belly laugh with Taylor on the beach, the sun in her hair, and feeling something shift in my chest. Something that terrified me because I knew, even then, that she could destroy me if I let her in.

And I'd been right. She could destroy me. Could break me into pieces with a single word, a single look. But I'd let her in anyway, eventually. Had stopped fighting it and just surrendered to loving her.

Best decision I ever made.

"The thought of her losing someone else," Belly continues, "after everything she's been through, after losing Susannah, her best friend ..... Conrad, I can't let that happen. I can't let her lose you. I can't let any of them lose you."

I'm so sorry, I think desperately into the void. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't listen. I'm sorry I was stubborn. I'm sorry I did this to all of you.

"Everyone loves you so much," Belly says, and her hand finds mine on the bed. Fingers lacing through mine, her thumb brushing over my wedding ring, tracing the band I haven't taken off since she put it there. "So many people would be devastated if you didn't wake up. Your dad, Jeremiah, Steven, Taylor, my mom, all of them. But me?"

Her voice drops to a whisper, breaks completely.

"I wouldn't survive it, Conrad. I wouldn't. You're everything. You're my whole world. You're the reason I wake up in the morning and the last thing I think about before I fall asleep. You're every plan I make for the future. You're woven into every part of my life, every part of who I am. Without you, I'm just ...... I'm just existing. And I don't want to just exist. I want to live. And I can only do that with you."

The words tear through me, beautiful and agonizing all at once.

I'm here, I scream into the darkness with everything I have. I'm right here, Belly. I'm not leaving you. I won't leave you.

"Do you remember our wedding?" she asks suddenly, and I hear her try to pull herself together, try to swallow the tears even as they keep falling. "It was perfect. Everything about it was perfect. You insisted on getting married at Cousins, on the beach where we had our first kiss. Where everything started for us."

"You cried during our vows," she continues, and now she's really crying too, her voice thick with emotion. "Everyone was shocked because Conrad Fisher doesn't cry. Conrad Fisher is stoic and controlled and never lets anyone see him break. But you did. You stood there in front of everyone, your dad, Jeremiah, Steven, Taylor, my mom, all our friends from college, everyone we loved, and you cried."

I remember the way my voice broke. Remember struggling to get the words out past the lump in my throat. Remember Jeremiah gripping my shoulder from where he stood beside me as best man, silently telling me it was okay, that I was allowed to feel this, allowed to be vulnerable.

"You told me I was your home," Belly whispers, and her voice is reverent now, like she's reciting something sacred. "That you'd been lost for so long after your mom died, just going through the motions, not really living. You said you'd built walls so high that you'd forgotten what it felt like to let someone in. That you'd convinced yourself you were better off alone, that loving people just meant losing them eventually so why bother."

The words echo in my head, my own voice from that day. I remember every syllable.

"And then I came back into your life," Belly continues, "and suddenly you remembered what it felt like to be alive. To want things. To hope. To love without being terrified it would destroy you. You said I made you want to tear down all those walls, even though it scared you. Even though you knew I could break your heart. You said I was worth the risk. Worth everything."

You are, I want to tell her. You're worth everything. Worth every moment of fear, every vulnerability, every risk. You're worth it all.

"You told me you'd spend the rest of your life trying to deserve me," Belly whispers, and now she's sobbing openly, not even trying to hold it back anymore. "But Conrad, you have it backwards. You've always had it backwards. I'm the one who doesn't deserve you. I'm the one who gets to wake up every day next to someone who loves me so completely, so fiercely, even when he's terrified of losing me. Even when he tries to push me away to protect me from his pain. Even when he's drowning and thinks he has to do it alone."

No. If I could speak, I'd argue.

I would tell her she deserves everything, every good thing in the world, every moment of happiness, every dream come true. And I'm just lucky enough to be one of them. Just lucky enough that she chose me despite everything.

"You're my home too," she says, and her voice is wrecked now, scraped raw. "You always have been. Even when we were kids and I was too young to understand what that meant. Even when you pushed me away in high school and I thought I hated you. Even when we were apart and I tried to convince myself I'd moved on, that I could love someone else the way I loved you. You were always there, Conrad. Always the one. The only one."

Her thumb traces over my ring finger.

"My north star," she whispers. "That's what you are. The person I'd choose in every lifetime, every version of reality, every possible universe. If I had to do it all over again, all the hurt, all the mistakes, all the years we wasted being apart, I'd do it all exactly the same because it led me back to you."

"I know our last conversation was a fight," Belly says, and her voice breaks completely. "I know the last thing I said to you was cruel."

She's sobbing now, great heaving sobs that tear through me like bullets, like shrapnel, like everything sharp and painful in the world concentrated into sound.

"I thought I'd killed you," she chokes out. "I thought my last words to you were in anger and I'd never get to take them back. I'd never get to tell you I'm sorry, that I didn't mean it, that I was just scared because I love you so much and I can't lose you. I can't lose you, Conrad. I can't."

You didn't kill me. You were trying to save me. You were right. You were right about everything. I should have listened.

But I can't tell her that. Can't tell her anything. Can only listen and fight and pray that somehow, somewhere, she can feel how sorry I am.

"I need you to come back to me," she begs, and her tears are falling on our joined hands now. I feel them, wet and warm and real. "I need you to wake up so I can tell you I'm sorry. So I can tell you I love you. So we can fight about stupid things and make up and fight again and grow old together. So we can have the life we planned."

The life we planned. Images flood through me: mornings with coffee and the newspaper, Belly curled up beside me on the couch. Weekends at Cousins, teaching our kids to surf the way Dad and Mom taught me. Quiet evenings cooking dinner together, her dancing around the kitchen while I pretend to be annoyed but can't stop smiling. Growing old, watching our hair turn gray, our faces line with years of laughter and tears and everything in between.

All of it. I want all of it with her.

"We're supposed to spend every summer in Cousins with our kids. We're supposed to watch them run wild on the beach the way we did. We're supposed to teach them to make sandcastles and catch fireflies and count stars. We're supposed to give them the childhood we had, full of light and love and family and the ocean."

I can see it so clearly it hurts. A little girl with Belly's eyes, squealing as waves chase her up the sand. A boy with her smile, building elaborate sandcastles with Jeremiah's help. Both of them bronzed from the sun, hair tangled and salty, laughing the way kids laugh when they're truly, completely happy.

"We're supposed to have babies," she whispers, "Remember? We talked about it. Two, maybe three. You wanted to teach them to surf. I wanted to read them all my favorite books. We were going to ...... we had names picked out, Conrad. We had a whole future mapped out."

We still do, I want to scream. We still have time. We still have our whole lives. I'm not done yet. I'm not giving up.

"But now I don't know if we have time," she sobs. "I don't know if we're going to get any of it, the house, the kids, the growing old together. I don't know if you're going to wake up. And God, I'm so scared, Conrad. I'm so fucking scared."

I'm coming. I pour everything into it, every ounce of will, every desperate prayer I don't know how to say. I'm coming, Belly. I promise. Just wait for me.

"Our family needs you," she continues, her voice breaking on every word. "Steven needs you. He's never going to admit it, but he needs you. You're his brother now, and he loves you even if he still threatens to punch you sometimes. Taylor needs you, she texted me earlier and said you better wake up because someone has to keep me sane and it's exhausting being my best friend. My mom needs you. You're one of her boys, and she's already lost too much. She can't lose you too."

The weight of it settles over me, all these people who love me, who need me, who are waiting for me to come back. I'd spent so long after Mom died convincing myself I was alone, that I couldn't rely on anyone, that needing people just meant more pain when they inevitably left. But I'm not alone. I haven't been alone in years.

"Jeremiah needs his big brother," Belly says. "Your dad needs his son. And I .... oh God, Conrad, I need my husband back. I need my best friend. I need the love of my life."

My finger twitches.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

I feel it this time, really feel it. The connection between my brain and my body sparking back to life, synapses firing, neurons reconnecting. Then again, stronger. My hand tries to squeeze hers, muscles remembering what they're supposed to do.

Belly gasps, sharp and sudden. "Conrad? Oh my god. Conrad, did you—Conrad!"

Yes, I scream silently. Yes, it's me. I'm here. I'm fighting.

I'm fighting harder now, clawing toward the surface with renewed desperation. Toward her voice. Toward the light. The darkness fights back, heavy and thick like tar, like quicksand, trying to pull me back down. But I don't care anymore. I'll burn through it. I'll tear it apart. I'll claw my way up from hell itself if that's what it takes.

Because she's waiting.

My wife is waiting.

And I'll be damned if our last conversation is a fight. I'll be damned if I don't get to tell her I'm sorry, that I love her, that she was right about everything.

"Madelyn!" Belly screams, her voice pitched high with hope and fear. "Madelyn, get the doctors! He moved! He squeezed my hand! He's—Conrad, baby, I'm right here. I'm right here. Stay with me. Come back to me. Please come back."

The door bursts open. Multiple voices, urgent and overlapping, professional and excited all at once.

"Mrs. Fisher, what happened—"

"He squeezed my hand! He moved his fingers! I felt it!"

"Let me check his vitals—"

"Mr. Fisher, can you hear me? This is Dr. Reeves. Squeeze my hand if you can hear me."

I try. God, I try. Pour everything I have into moving, responding, breaking through this last barrier between me and consciousness. My fingers curl, just slightly. Enough that they notice.

"There!" Dr. Chen's voice, sharp with professional excitement. "Did you see that? Clear motor response. His brain activity is spiking. Look at the monitor."

More beeping, faster now. Machines registering what I'm doing, translating my desperate fight into numbers and graphs they can understand.

"Conrad, if you can hear us, try to squeeze again," Dr. Reeves says, his voice calm and steady, the kind of voice that makes you believe everything will be okay.

But I'm not listening to him. I'm listening to her. To Belly's voice cutting through everything else like a lighthouse beam through fog, like a rope thrown to a drowning man, guiding me home.

"I love you," she's saying, over and over like a prayer, like a promise, like the only truth that matters in this entire universe. "I love you so much. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. I'll never leave you. I love you. Come back to me. Come home. Please come home."

I love you too.

Wait for me, I think desperately. Just wait for me, Belly. I'm coming. I'm fighting. I'm coming home to you.

Because Belly is my home. She's always been my home. Not the summer house at Cousins, not the small townhouse that we share, not any physical place. Her. Just her. Wherever she is, that's home.

And I'll find my way back to her even if I have to claw through hell itself to do it.

"Conrad? Conrad, please. Please open your eyes. Let me see those blue eyes. Please, baby. Please."

For you, I think, and I mean it with everything I am. Anything for you. Everything for you.

And with every ounce of strength I have left, with every atom of love in my chest, with every promise I ever made to her, at our wedding, in our bed at three in the morning, in quiet moments when it was just us against the world, I will fight.

I will fight to open my eyes.

I will fight to come home.

I will fight for her.

Always.

Notes:

yessss, yet another cliffhanger but i think this one's a lot nicer :"))

please do leave kudos and comments (i love reading through them all the time!).

Chapter 19

Notes:

ive decided to do a double update today and finish the book :”)) thank you all for the support. this is all for you.

"He's awake."

Conrad forced his eyes open, squinting against the fluorescent lights. The ceiling tiles swam into focus, then the IV pole beside the bed, and finally ......... Belly.

She was standing next to Dr. Chen, in his Stanford sweatshirt that she'd stolen and jeans, her mascara smudged under her red-rimmed eyes. She looked exhausted and terrified and so achingly beautiful that Conrad's heart clenched.

"Belly," Conrad rasped out, his voice hoarse. “Belly,” he croaks once more before he even understands why the name feels right.

She breaks immediately, one soft, sharp inhale that sounds like a sob punched out of her chest. “Conrad. Oh my god. You ...... you said my name.” She was at his bedside in an instant, her free hand coming up to cup his face. "Oh my God, you're awake. You're—" A sob caught in her throat.

"Hey," Conrad managed, trying to smile despite how heavy his face felt. "I'm okay."

"You had a seizure," Belly said, tears streaming down her cheeks. "You just, oh God, you collapsed and you were shaking and I couldn't do anything, I couldn't stop it—"

"Mrs. Fisher," Dr. Chen interrupted gently, moving to Conrad's other side. "Please let me examine him first, then you can talk. Conrad, do you know where you are?"

"Hospital," Conrad said. His tongue felt thick "I'm guessing."

"Good. Do you know what year it is?"

Conrad had to think about that. "2024? Uhm, wait. 2025. Yes, 2025." The days had started blurring together lately.

Dr. Chen nodded, making notes on her tablet. "And do you remember what happened before the seizure?"

Images flickered through Conrad's mind. Belly's face, angry and hurt. Raised voices.

The argument.

"Yeah," Conrad said quietly, his eyes finding Belly's. She looked away, guilt written across every feature. "I remember."

Dr. Chen continued her examination, checking his pupils, his reflexes, asking him to follow her finger with his eyes. Through it all, Belly held his hand in a death grip, as if letting go might make him disappear.

"I need to ask you some questions about your memory," Dr. Chen said finally, her expression carefully neutral. "Given your history, we need to assess if there's been any additional loss. Is that alright?"

Conrad's stomach dropped. Right. The car accident. The traumatic brain injury that had stolen chunks of his past. The grueling months of trying to piece his life back together.

"Yeah," he agreed, even though the thought terrified him. "Let's do it."

"What's your full name?"

"Conrad Beck Fisher."

"Your date of birth?"

"July 19th, 2000."

"What do you do for work?"

"I'm an oncologist." 

"And do you know why you decided to pursue oncology?" 

Conrad had to take a pause. "For my mom." 

Dr. Chen offered him a smile before scribbling more. "Do you remember the accident?" she asked.

Conrad shook his head. "No. I've never been able to remember that day. But I know what happened, uh, drunk driver, T-bone collision. I was unconscious when the paramedics arrived."

"And what do you remember after waking up from that accident?"

This was where it got complicated. Conrad closed his eyes, trying to organize the scattered memories. "I remember waking up and not knowing where I was. Not recognizing people. I'd lost......" he swallowed hard. "I lost everything. My relationship with Belly, our marriage, living in Boston." He opened his eyes and looked at his wife. "But it came back. Some of it came back."

"How much?" Dr. Chen pressed.

"Pieces," Conrad admitted. "More like feelings than actual memories sometimes. I know we got married at Cousins Beach almost a year ago. I can see flashes of the ceremony, Belly in her dress, the sunset, Laurel's speech. But I can't remember proposing." His voice roughened with emotion. "I know that in my bones. But some of the specific moments, the day-to-day stuff, it's still fuzzy."

Belly made a small sound, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. "That's more than last week. You're remembering more."

Dr. Chen nodded, making notes. "That's actually a positive sign. The brain continues to heal and form new neural pathways. Some patients continue to recover lost memories for years after the initial trauma." She paused. "But Conrad, the seizure complicates things. Do you remember having seizures before?"

Conrad shook his head. "Nope. But I'm on medication —"

"The medication reduces frequency and severity, but it can't eliminate the risk entirely, especially with the extent of scarring in your temporal lobe," Dr. Chen said. "Each seizure carries the risk of additional damage, additional memory loss."

"So what are you saying?" Belly's voice was sharp with fear. "That every time this happens, he could lose more? That he could lose everything again?"

"I'm saying it's a possibility we have to monitor carefully." Dr. Chen's expression was sympathetic. "But right now, it seems like Conrad's memory is relatively intact. Actually, he seems to be doing better than after the initial accident."

“What else do you remember?” she asks, voice soft.

He closes his eyes.

Flashes. A porch with creaking boards. A beach. Her spinning in the sand with her dress catching the wind. Steven throwing a football badly. Laurel handing him sunscreen like she does every summer. Taylor yelling at someone over a card game.

Then ...... Belly in a white dress. Belly laughing in a kitchen. Belly asleep on his shoulder. Belly kissing him like the tides were pulling her in.

“I remember loving you,” he says simply.

She breaks again, slower, gentler this time, like something inside her finally unclenches.

Conrad looked at Belly, really looked at her. The fear in her eyes, the way she was holding herself together by sheer force of will; it was familiar in a way that went beyond explicit memory. He'd seen her like this before. Maybe not in a memory he could consciously access, but his body remembered. His heart remembered.

"I'm still me," Conrad said to her. "Whatever I remember or don't remember, I'm still here."

A sob broke free from Belly's chest, and she pressed her forehead against their joined hands. "I'm so sorry. Conrad, I'm so sorry."

Dr. Chen glanced between them. "I'll give you two some time. But Conrad, we're keeping you overnight for observation. If everything looks good, you can go home tomorrow." She headed for the door, then paused. "Your family is in the waiting room, Mrs. Fisher. They've been here since you called. Maybe let them know he's awake?"

Belly nodded without looking up.

When the door clicked shut, Conrad reached out with his free hand and stroked her hair. "Belly, what are you apologizing for?"

She lifted her head, and the guilt on her face nearly broke him. "The argument. We were fighting, and you were getting upset, and I should have just stopped, I should have let it go, but I kept pushing and then you ......" Her breath hitched. "You collapsed. You fell and you were seizing and it's my fault."

"Stop," Conrad said firmly. "Belly, look at me."

She met his eyes, tears streaming down her face.

"It's not your fault," Conrad said. "Seizures happen. Dr. Chen said so; it's part of the brain injury. You didn't cause this."

"But the stress-"

"Belly." Conrad squeezed her hand. "What were we even fighting about?"

She looked away. "It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me." Conrad tried to push himself up to sitting, wincing as his head protested. "I remember bits and pieces. You were upset about something. I was being—" He frowned, reaching for the memory. "Stubborn. Pushing you away."

Belly let out a watery laugh. "That's pretty much your default setting."

"Then help me understand. What was the fight about?"

"You think it's too soon," Conrad said slowly.

"I think you're not ready," Belly corrected. "Conrad, you're still having seizures. You're still recovering memories. What if you're in the middle of surgery and you have another episode? What if you hurt someone because you can't remember your training?"

The fear in her voice was undercut with something else, anger, maybe. Or frustration.

"I remember my training," Conrad said. "That's not ..... the medical knowledge is still there, Belly. It's the personal stuff that's fuzzy."

"But you don't know that for sure!" Belly's voice rose. "You said it yourself, some things are just feelings. What if you're in the OR and suddenly you can't remember a procedure? What if—" She stopped herself, visibly trying to calm down. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to start the fight again. I just,"

"You're scared," Conrad finished. "You're scared I'm going to hurt myself or someone else."

"Of course I'm scared!" Belly pulled her hand away, standing up and pacing to the window. "Conrad, do you have any idea what the last few months have been like? Watching you struggle to remember things, watching you get frustrated when you can't recall something important? The night terrors where you wake up not knowing where you are? The seizures?"

Conrad felt guilt settle in his stomach like a stone. "I know it's been hard on you, but-"

"It's not about it being hard on me," Belly said, turning to face him. "It's about the fact that I almost lost you. That I got a call saying you'd been in an accident, and when I got to the hospital, they told me you might not wake up. And then you did wake up, but you didn't know who I was. You looked at me like I was a stranger."

Her voice cracked on the last word, and Conrad's heart shattered.

"And we worked through it," Belly continued, tears flowing freely now. "You worked so hard to remember, to rebuild what we had. And just when things were starting to feel normal again, just when I thought maybe we were going to be okay, you had a seizure! And all I could think was 'here we go again. He's going to wake up and forget me all over again.'"

Conrad pushed the blankets aside, ignoring the way his head spun as he stood. He crossed to her in three unsteady steps, and pulled her into his arms.

She resisted for half a second, then collapsed against him, sobbing into his chest.

"I didn't forget you," Conrad murmured into her hair. "I'm here. I remember you."

"But what if next time you don't?" Belly's words were muffled against his hospital gown. "What if next time I lose you for good?"

Conrad held her tighter, wishing he could promise her that wouldn't happen. But he couldn't. Dr. Chen had been clear, every seizure was a risk. Every episode could potentially steal more memories, more of himself.

"I can't promise I'll never have another seizure," Conrad said quietly. "I can't promise I'll remember everything, every day. But Belly," he pulled back just enough to tilt her chin up, making her look at him. "I can promise that even if I forget, I'll find my way back to you. Just like I did before."

"You can't know that," Belly whispered.

"Yes, I can." Conrad wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. "Because even when I didn't remember falling in love with you, even when I couldn't recall our wedding or our life together; I still knew you were important. I still felt it. That doesn't go away, Belly. You're woven into me somehow. Memory or no memory."

She let out a shaky breath. "You can't go back to work yet. Please. Just give it a few more months. Let your brain heal more."

Conrad wanted to argue. He missed surgery, missed the OR, missed feeling useful. Months on medical leave had been torture. But looking at Belly's face, seeing the fear and exhaustion and desperate love written there; he couldn't do it.

"Okay," he said. "Three more months. Then we revisit it."

"Three months," Belly agreed. "And if you're still having seizures -"

"Then we talk about it. Together." Conrad pressed his forehead against hers. "I'm sorry I tried to make that decision without you. You're right; this affects both of us."

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," Belly said. "And I'm sorry I blamed myself for the seizure. That was, uh, I know logically that's not how it works. I just -"

"You were scared. I get it." Conrad kissed her forehead, then her nose, then finally her lips, soft and gentle and full of promise. "We're okay. We're going to be okay."

A knock at the door made them both turn. Madelyn, the nurse Conrad vaguely recognized from previous visits, poked her head in.

"Sorry to interrupt," she said with a kind smile. "But there's a small army in the waiting room asking about you. I've been holding them off, but one of them, tall guy, looks just like you, threatened to stage a mutiny if I didn't let them see you soon."

Conrad laughed. "That would be Jeremiah. Yeah, let them in."

Madelyn nodded and disappeared. Belly wiped at her face, trying to clean up the tear tracks.

"How do I look?" she asked.

"Beautiful," Conrad said honestly. "Like you always do."

She gave him a look. "I look like I've been crying for six hours."

"Well, yeah. But still beautiful."

Before Belly could respond, the door burst open and suddenly the room was full of people and noise and love.

Jeremiah was first, teary-eyed, pulling Conrad into a careful hug. "Jesus Christ, man. You scared the hell out of us."

"Sorry," Conrad said, hugging his brother back. "Didn't mean to."

"You never mean to," Jeremiah said, pulling back. Behind him, Denise, his girlfriend (or was she his wife? Some things were still fuzzy), gave Conrad a small wave and a worried smile.

Then Laurel was there, Belly's mom, pulling him into the kind of hug only mothers could give, tight and warm and full of relief. "Oh, sweetheart. We've been so worried."

"I'm okay, Laurel," Conrad assured her. Over her shoulder, he could see Steven standing with his arm around a petite brunette. Taylor, Conrad's brain supplied. Steven's girlfriend. Maybe fiancée? That detail was hazy.

When Laurel released him, Steven clasped his shoulder. "Good to see you awake, man. You've got to stop making a habit of this."

"Trust me, I'd love to," Conrad said dryly.

Taylor moved forward, giving him a quick hug. "Belly's been texting us updates every five minutes. We've been in the waiting room since yesterday afternoon."

Conrad looked around at all of them, his family, Belly's family, their family, and felt overwhelmed by the love in the room. These people had stood by him through the accident, through the memory loss, through the long process of rebuilding his life. And they were here now, still standing, still supporting.

"Thank you," Conrad said, his voice rough with emotion. "All of you. For being here."

"Where else would we be?" Laurel said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Dr. Reeves chose that moment to enter, navigating through the crowd with practiced ease. "Quite the welcoming committee," he observed with a slight smile. "I'm Dr. Reeves, neurology. I need to run some additional assessments on Conrad, so I'm afraid I'll have to ask you all to step out for a bit."

There was a collective groan, but everyone started moving toward the door.

"Belly can stay," Dr. Reeves added, and Conrad felt grateful. He wasn't sure he could handle more tests without her hand in his.

"We'll be right outside," Jeremiah said. "And Conrad? When you get out of here, I'm taking you to lunch. No hospital food."

"Deal," Conrad agreed.

As the room cleared, Dr. Reeves pulled up a chair and opened his tablet. "Alright, Conrad. Let's see how that brain of yours is doing."

The next hour was exhausting. Dr. Reeves asked hundreds of questions, testing not just Conrad's basic memory but his medical knowledge, his recall of procedures, his spatial reasoning. He had Conrad draw pictures, solve puzzles, recount specific memories in detail.

Belly stayed quiet through most of it, but Conrad could feel her anxiety radiating from where she sat. Every time he hesitated on an answer, every time he had to admit he couldn't remember something, he felt her tense.

Finally, Dr. Reeves set down his tablet and leaned back. "Well, Conrad, I have to say, you're doing remarkably well."

"Really?" Belly leaned forward. "But he said some things are still fuzzy-"

"Which is completely normal given the extent of his initial injury," Dr. Reeves said. "But compared to months ago? He's made significant progress. His medical knowledge appears to be fully intact. His procedural memory, how to do things, is solid. And while there are still gaps in his episodic memory, such as specific events and experiences, he's recovering more than I'd typically expect at this stage."

"So the seizure didn't make it worse?" Belly asked.

"Not as far as I can tell. In fact, some of what Conrad is describing, the flashes of memory, the way things feel familiar even when he can't explicitly recall them, suggests his brain is actively working to reconnect damaged pathways." Dr. Reeves looked at Conrad. "Your brain is healing. It's slower than you'd like, I'm sure, but it's happening."

Conrad felt something loosen in his chest. "So what does this mean? For my future? For work?"

Dr. Reeves expression grew more serious. "It means you're making progress. But Conrad, you need to be realistic. The seizures are a complication. Until we can get them fully under control, and that may take time, or it may never happen completely, there are going to be limitations on what you can do."

"He wants to go back to his residency," Belly said quietly.

"I gathered that from your intake notes." Dr. Reeves folded his hands. "Conrad, I understand the desire to return to work. But right now, with your seizure frequency, I can't in good conscience clear you for surgical duty. The risk to patients is too high."

Conrad felt his jaw tighten. "What about clinic work? Research?"

"Those might be options in the future. But for now, I want you focused on recovery. Physical therapy, occupational therapy, continuing to work with Dr. Chen on managing your seizures." Dr. Reeves paused. "I know that's not what you want to hear."

"No," Conrad admitted. "It's not."

"But it's reality," Dr. Reeves said, not unkindly. "You've been through significant trauma. You're still healing. Pushing too hard, too fast, could set you back. Or worse."

Belly reached for Conrad's hand again, squeezing. He looked at her and saw the relief on her face, even as she tried to hide it. She'd been right to push back on his return to work. He just hadn't wanted to admit it.

"Three months," Conrad said. "Then we reassess?"

"Three months," Dr. Reeves agreed. "If you're seizure-free for three months and your memory continues to improve, we can discuss next steps. But Conrad, you need to accept that your career trajectory may have changed. You may never be able to return to being a doctor the way you fully planned and hoped."

The words hit like a physical blow. Medicine was everything to Conrad, his purpose, his passion, the way he honored his mother's memory. The thought of losing that permanently was almost unbearable. But then he felt Belly's hand in his, warm and steady, and he thought about waking up six months ago not knowing who she was. Thought about the slow, painful process of falling in love with his own wife all over again. Thought about this morning, the fear on her face when he collapsed.

Yes, medicine was important. But it wasn't everything.

"Okay," Conrad said quietly. "I hear you."

Dr. Reeves nodded approvingly. "Good. Now, I'm going to recommend we adjust your seizure medication. The current dosage clearly isn't sufficient. We'll try a new combination, monitor you closely. I'll also want you to keep a detailed log of any symptoms, headaches, dizziness, mood changes, anything unusual."

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Alone again, Belly turned to Conrad. "How are you feeling? Really?"

Conrad thought about lying, about saying he was fine. But they'd promised each other honesty, especially after the memory loss had made everything so complicated.

"Scared," he admitted. "Frustrated. Angry that my body won't cooperate. Sad about the pause with my medical career and all." He met her eyes. "But also grateful. Because I'm here, and I know who you are, and we get to figure out the rest together."

Belly's eyes filled with tears again. "I hate that you're going through this. I hate that I can't fix it."

"You being here fixes more than you know," Conrad said. He pulled her closer, until she was sitting on the edge of his bed. "Belly, I need you to understand something. When I woke up months ago and didn't remember you, it was killing me everyday and I didn't even know why. Because I could feel this hole in my life, this absence of something crucial, and I didn't know what it was."

"And then you told me you were my wife, and something just clicked into place. Even without the memories, I knew. I knew you were what was missing. And every day since then, every memory that comes back, every moment we have together, it just confirms what I felt from the start. You're it for me, Belly. Memory or no memory, seizures or no seizures. You're my person."

Belly let out a sob and kissed him, hard and desperate and full of all the fear and love and relief of the last six hours. Conrad kissed her back, pouring everything he felt into it, all the words he couldn't quite find, all the promises he wanted to make but knew he couldn't keep, all the love that transcended memory and reason.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Belly rested her forehead against his.

"I love you," she whispered. "I love you so much it terrifies me."

"I know the feeling," Conrad said. "I love you too."

A soft knock interrupted them. Madelyn peeked in again. "Sorry, but your family is getting restless. Can they come back in? I promise I'll kick them out if they tire you out."

Conrad looked at Belly, who nodded. "Yeah, let them in."

Belly pulled back slightly, brushing her thumb across Conrad’s cheek again as if confirming he was still warm, still breathing, still here. “Ready?” she whispered.

He nodded. “Yeah. As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Madelyn smiled and slipped out, and within two seconds the door swung open like a tidal wave had been waiting against it.

Steven came in first, hands shoved in his pockets but eyes shining a little too brightly. “Okay, dude, please don’t ever do that again. I aged like fifteen years.”

Taylor nudged him. “Steven, shut up. Hi, Conrad,” she said, her voice gentler than usual. “You scared the crap out of us.”

Laurel followed, her breath catching as soon as her eyes landed on him. “Sweetheart,” she whispered, stepping closer. “How are you feeling?”

“Like my brain ran a marathon without telling me,” Conrad said, and somehow it made everyone laugh, soft and relieved, the way people do when humor is the only thing stopping them from crying again.

Laurel pressed a hand to her chest. “What do you remember?”

“Bits and pieces,” he admitted. “But I remember enough.”

Steven huffed. “Define enough. Like enough to know that Belly’s your wife? Or enough to know that I’m the superior sibling?”

Taylor rolled her eyes. “Oh my god.”

Conrad smirked faintly. “I remember that you’re annoying.”

“Ah,” Steven said proudly, “full cognitive function restored.”

Belly gave Steven a light swat. “Stop.”

Laurel stepped closer to the bed, touching Conrad’s arm lightly, like she didn’t want to startle him. “We were all so worried,” she murmured. “You gave us quite a scare.”

“I’m sorry,” Conrad said, earnest and quiet. “I didn’t mean to… any of it.”

Laurel inhaled shakily and brushed his hair back in the way only a mother can. “I know. I’m just glad you’re talking. And joking.” Her voice wavered. “And awake.”

Taylor sniffed loudly. “Sorry. Allergies.”

Steven shot her a look. “You don’t have allergies.”

“Okay, fine, trauma then,” she snapped, wiping her nose. “Whatever.”

Conrad watched them with a kind of awe that made Belly’s chest ache. A flicker of a smile pulled at his lips, soft and real.

“I, uh…” He exhaled. “I remember some stuff. Mom’s strawberry shortcake. Steven falling off the Cousins dock that one summer. Taylor screaming at everyone during Monopoly.”

“I WAS RIGHT,” Taylor said immediately. “And I stand by it.”

Laurel shook her head, whispering, “Lord, help me.”

Steven dragged a chair closer, dropping into it with his usual dramatic flare. “So what about Belly?” he asked, glancing between them. “You remember her?”

Belly stiffened instinctively, her hand tightening around Conrad’s.

Conrad didn’t hesitate.

“I remember she’s my wife,” he said softly. “I remember that I love her.”

The room froze.

Then Laurel’s hand flew to her mouth again. Taylor started crying, like actually crying this time. Steven blinked so hard it looked like his brain had lagged.

“Oh,” Laurel whispered. “Oh, sweetheart.”

Belly’s eyes filled again, but she didn’t speak, she just leaned into Conrad, forehead brushing his temple.

Steven coughed, suddenly awkward. “Well. That’s.......cool. Great. Awesome. Love that journey for you two.”

Taylor smacked the back of his head.

“OW! Okay! Jesus, woman-”

“Shut up,” Taylor sniffled.

Laurel exhaled, her voice breaking. “We’re just… we’re so relieved. All of us.”

Conrad swallowed hard, overwhelmed in a way he couldn’t explain. “I, um… I know I scared you.”

“You think?” Steven said.

Taylor glared.

“…But,” Steven added quickly, “we’re good now. You’re good now. Mostly. I mean, you’re still you, so, uh, jury’s out.”

Laurel swatted his shoulder.

Belly leaned closer to Conrad, whispering, “This is your chaos. You married into it.”

“I think I always knew,” he murmured back, lips brushing her temple. “Feels like something I would’ve done.”

Conrad breathed it in, letting himself anchor to the sound of Belly’s heartbeat, the warmth of her hand, the ridiculous bickering of the people who loved him.

The next few hours passed in a blur of conversation and laughter. Jeremiah told terrible jokes. Steven recounted a story about his and Taylor's recent trip to California. Laurel fussed over Conrad, making sure he was comfortable, that he was eating the dinner Madelyn brought.

Taylor sat next to Belly, the two of them talking quietly. At one point, Conrad caught Taylor saying something that made Belly laugh, like really laugh, the kind of genuine joy that had been missing from her face earlier. It made his heart lighter.

They talked about Cousins Beach, about the upcoming summer, about whether they'd all be able to make it there together. The conversation was easy, familiar, grounding. Conrad let it wash over him, feeling more like himself than he had in months.

Some details were still fuzzy. He couldn't quite remember Taylor's last name, couldn't recall exactly when Steven had gotten his current job, but the important things were there. The love, the connection, the sense of belonging.

Around 9 PM, Madelyn came in and announced visiting hours were over. There were protests, but she was firm. "He needs rest. You can all come back tomorrow morning for his official discharge."

As everyone said their goodbyes, Laurel pulled Belly aside. Conrad couldn't hear what she said, but he saw Belly shake her head stubbornly. Laurel tried again, and this time Belly's voice carried: "Mom, I'm not leaving my husband. I'll sleep in the chair if I have to, but I'm staying."

Conrad felt his heart swell. Since day one, Belly had apparently done exactly that, stayed by his bedside every night until he woke up. She'd told him about it once, how she'd been convinced he could hear her, how she'd talked to him about everything and nothing, just to fill the silence.

When everyone had finally left and Madelyn had dimmed the lights, Belly pulled the chair up to Conrad's bedside and settled in.

"You don't have to stay," Conrad said, even though he desperately wanted her to. "You should go home, sleep in our bed."

"Not a chance," Belly said firmly. She kicked off her shoes and curled up in the chair, pulling a blanket from somewhere. "I'm right where I need to be."

Conrad reached out and laced his fingers through hers. "Thank you. For everything. For fighting with me this morning even though it was hard. For calling 911 when I had the seizure. For being here when I woke up. For not giving up on me when I couldn't remember you."

"Conrad." Belly squeezed his hand. "I'll never give up on you. No matter what. That's what 'for better or worse' means, remember?"

"I remember," Conrad said softly. And he did, not the specific moment of saying those vows, but the weight of them, the promise. The choice they'd both made to face whatever came together.

He remembered other things too, now that he was quiet and calm. Flashes of their wedding, Belly walking down the beach toward him in a white dress. Her smile when he'd said "I do." The way they'd danced at sunset while Jeremiah played guitar and Steven complained about getting sand in the food.

He remembered their tiny townhouse, that he barely clinched on his resident salary, small and cluttered and perfect. The way Belly left coffee cups everywhere. How she'd sing in the shower, off-key but enthusiastic. The weight of her curled against him at night, her cold feet finding his legs.

He remembered a thousand small moments that added up to a life. Their life.

Not all of it. Maybe he'd never remember all of it. But enough. More than enough.

"Belly," Conrad said sleepily, the exhaustion finally catching up with him. "I remember the wedding better now. Just—flashes. You looked beautiful."

He felt more than saw her smile. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. And I remember you stealing my sweatshirt—the one you're wearing now. You claimed it was yours after I left it at the beach house one weekend, and I never got it back."

Belly laughed quietly. "That's because it's mine now. Possession is nine-tenths of the law."

"Pretty sure that's not how marriage works."

"It's exactly how marriage works."

Conrad smiled, his eyes drifting closed. He felt safe, grounded, tethered to this world by the woman holding his hand.

"Conrad?" Belly's voice was soft in the darkness.

"Mmm?"

"Tomorrow, when you get discharged, let's go home. Just us. Order takeout, watch bad TV, be normal for a while. No doctors, no therapy, no pressure to remember things. Just... us."

"Sounds perfect," Conrad murmured.

And it did. After everything, the accident, the memory loss, the seizures, the fear and frustration and slow rebuilding of a life, the idea of just being with Belly, of existing in their little bubble of normal, was exactly what he needed.

Maybe he'd never remember everything. Maybe the seizures would continue, maybe his career would have to change, maybe there would always be gaps in his memory that no amount of time could fill.

But he had this. He had her. He had family and love and a home to return to.

And somehow, impossibly, that was enough.

"I love you," Conrad whispered, hovering on the edge of sleep. "I'll always find my way back to you."

"I know," Belly whispered back. "I know you will."

He kisses her, fingers curling into her shirt, pulling her closer, not out of fear, but out of certainty.

When they finally break apart, she rests her forehead against his.

“We’ll get through it,” Belly whispers.

“We always do,” Conrad answers, and he knows it’s true, even if he can’t remember the evidence.

And in the quiet of the hospital room, with Belly's hand warm in his and the steady beep of the monitors tracking his heartbeat, Conrad finally let himself rest.

He was home. Right here. Right now.

Whatever memories he'd lost, whatever challenges tomorrow would bring, they'd face it together.

That was the one thing he'd never forget.

 

Chapter 20

Notes:

last chapter! this one is for all of you.

Epilogue : 4 Years Later

Conrad had learned not to take anything for granted.

Not after spending months in a hospital bed, another year in physical therapy, and every day since trying to piece together a life from fragments and borrowed stories and the unreliable narrator of his own damaged brain.

He’d learned that memory was not a filing cabinet you could open at will. It was more like an ocean, vast and unpredictable, sometimes generous with what it brought to shore, sometimes cruelly withholding. You couldn’t force the tide. You could only wait and see what it decided to return.

This morning, it had given him something.

Conrad lay very still, afraid to move, afraid that any shift might dislodge what had surfaced in his sleep. It was there, crystalline and complete: Belly at sixteen, standing in the kitchen of this very house, wearing a yellow sundress that had tiny white flowers embroidered along the hem. She’d been laughing at something Jeremiah said, her head thrown back, and Conrad had been struck dumb by the wanting. By how badly he’d needed to reach out and touch her, claim her, make her understand that she was *his* in some fundamental way that had nothing to do with logic or fairness or the fact that she was technically Steven’s little sister and therefore cosmically off-limits.

He’d been an asshole about it, of course. Had spent that whole summer pushing her away with both hands while simultaneously pulling her closer with every loaded look, every deliberately casual touch. He’d been seventeen and terrified and completely incapable of articulating any of the vast, complicated feelings that lived in his chest like a second heartbeat.

The memory was so vivid he could almost smell the sunscreen Belly had used back then, could almost hear the particular quality of her teenage laugh, brighter and more unguarded than her adult one, not yet weighted down by grief or loss or the exhausting business of loving Conrad Fisher through the worst thing that had ever happened to him.

I remember, he thought, and the words felt like a prayer. I remember her.

“You’re thinking too loud.”

Conrad blinked. Belly had shifted, was watching him through half-lidded eyes, her mouth curved in a small, knowing smile.

“Sorry,” he said automatically, then, because he’d learned that honesty was the only currency that mattered between them: “I remembered something. From before.”

Belly’s expression changed, sharpening with the particular blend of hope and caution she wore whenever he mentioned his lost years. 

He reminded himself of Dr. Chen and Dr. Reeves' advice:  traumatic brain injury didn’t follow neat patterns. Some memories would return spontaneously. Others never would. The important thing was to build a life around what he *had*, not mourn what he’d lost.

Easier said than done, when what he’d lost included the first time he’d kissed the woman who was now his wife, and the moment he’d realized he was in love with her.

“Tell me?” Belly asked, her voice soft.

So he did. He described the yellow dress, the kitchen, the way the afternoon light had caught in her hair. As he talked, Belly’s eyes grew bright with unshed tears, and Conrad reached out to touch her face, thumb tracing the familiar architecture of her cheekbone.

“I was so stupid,” he said. “Wasting all that time.”

“You were young,” Belly corrected. “We both were.”

“Still. If I’d known—” He stopped, shook his head. “I would have done everything differently.”

“Would you?” Belly shifted closer, until they were sharing breath. “Because I think we did everything exactly right. We just took the long way around.”

Before Conrad could respond, a crash echoed from somewhere down the hall, followed by a beat of silence, then the unmistakable sound of their twin three-year-olds dissolving into giggles.

“Jesus Christ,” Conrad muttered, already moving. “What time is it?”

“Six forty-five,” Belly said, checking her phone. “New record. They usually don’t destroy things until at least seven.”

They found the girls in the hallway outside what used to be Jeremiah’s room, what was now Susannah and Laurel’s shared bedroom, painted a soft seafoam green and filled with the cheerful chaos of twin toddlers who had their father’s inability to sit still and their mother’s determination to investigate everything.

The vase that had lived on the hallway table, a ceramic thing that Laurel had given them as a housewarming gift, was shattered on the hardwood floor. Water pooled around the wreckage, and stems of daisies lay scattered like tiny casualties. Susannah stood frozen in the middle of the mess, her dark eyes wide and guilty, while Laurel was already attempting damage control, gathering flowers in her small fists.

“It was an accident,” Laurel announced, which was what she always said, whether or not it was true.

Conrad crouched down, careful to avoid the ceramic shards. “What kind of accident?”

Susannah, who had his coloring and his tendency toward serious introspection, bit her lip. “We were racing.”

“Racing to where?”

“Nowhere,” both girls chorused, and Conrad had to suppress a smile.

This was the thing about fatherhood that no one had adequately prepared him for: the way even mundane disasters could fill him with overwhelming love. The way his daughters’ faces, so familiar and yet so miraculous, could undo him completely. Susannah had Belly’s nose and his mother’s name. Laurel had his father’s chin and Belly’s mom’s smile. They were a genetic patchwork of everyone he’d loved and lost, everyone who’d shaped him into the person he’d become.

“Dad?” Susannah’s voice was small. “Are you mad?”

Conrad blinked back to the present. “No, bug. I’m not mad. But you need to be more careful, okay? Glass is sharp. You could have hurt yourself.”

“Sorry,” Susannah whispered.

“I know you are.” He gathered her up, careful to avoid the mess, and pressed a kiss to her curly head. “Go get dressed. Both of you. We’ll clean this up.”

Their twin daughters scampered off, and Conrad heard Belly moving around in the kitchen, presumably getting cleaning supplies. He stood in the hallway for a moment, looking at the broken vase, the scattered flowers, the water damage he’d need to address before it warped the floorboards.

This house. This impossible, wonderful, haunted house.

Conrad didn’t remember all the summers when this house had been full of people, his parents, Steven’s parents, all four kids running wild and sunburned and convinced they’d live forever. But he knew the stories. Belly had told them to him during those first uncertain months after he’d woken up, when he was still figuring out who Conrad Fisher was supposed to be.

She’d told him about volleyball games on the beach and fourth of July barbecues and late-night swims when the ocean was phosphorescent with bioluminescence. She’d told him about his mother, beautiful, brilliant Susannah, who’d loved this house more than anywhere else on earth. She’d told him about falling in love with him in this very kitchen, about waiting years for him to love her back.

And Conrad had listened to these stories like they’d happened to someone else, because in a very real way, they had. The Conrad who’d loved Belly all his life, who’d lost his mother at 17, who’d proposed to and married Belly at 23, that person existed only in photographs and anecdotes. He was a ghost that haunted Conrad’s own life.

But the Conrad who existed now, at 29, with a wife and twin daughters and a beach house full of memories both remembered and forgotten, this Conrad was real. This Conrad woke up every morning and chose this life deliberately, not because he remembered building it, but because it was his.

“You okay?”

She looked tired, the girls had been up twice in the night with nightmares, but also beautiful in that specific way that had nothing to do with conventional attractiveness and everything to do with the fact that she was Belly. His Belly. The person who’d stayed.

“Yeah,” Conrad said, and meant it. “I’m good.”

They cleaned up the mess together, working in the comfortable silence of people who’d learned each other’s rhythms. Belly swept while Conrad picked up the larger pieces of ceramic, and they moved around each other like dancers who’d practiced the same routine a thousand times.

When the hall was clean, they migrated to the kitchen. Conrad started coffee while Belly pulled eggs and bread from the fridge, beginning the morning ritual of feeding their small, constantly hungry family. The kitchen had been renovated last year, new appliances, fresh paint, countertops that could withstand the assault of twin toddlers learning to help cook. But the bones were the same. The window over the sink still looked out at the beach. The table was still the one his parents had bought years ago, battered and scarred but somehow still standing.

“I’ve been thinking,” Conrad said, watching the coffee drip into the pot.

Belly cracked eggs into a bowl. “About?”

“About stopping.”

She paused, whisk in hand. “Stopping what?”

“Trying to remember.” The words came slowly, each one carefully chosen. “I’ve spent four years pushing against the gaps, trying to force my brain to give back what it took. And I just ....... I think I’m done.”

Belly set down the whisk. She turned to face him fully, her expression unreadable. “What brought this on?”

“That memory this morning. The yellow dress.” Conrad ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he’d apparently had since childhood, according to Belly. “It was so clear, you know? So complete. And for a second I thought, ‘This is it. This is the beginning. Everything’s going to come back now.’ But then I realized, I don’t know if I want it to.”

“Conrad—”

“Let me finish.” He moved closer, took her hands in his. “I’ve been treating my memory like it’s this precious thing I need to recover. Like I can’t be whole until I get it back. But Belly, I *am* whole. Right now. With what I have.”

Tears were sliding down Belly’s cheeks now, silent and steady. Conrad wiped them away with his thumbs, gentle.

“I don’t remember asking you to marry me,” he continued. “But I remember our wedding day. I remember how you looked walking down the aisle. I remember writing my vows at four in the morning because I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t stop thinking about how lucky I was that you’d waited for me. That you’d chosen me even when I was broken.”

“You were never broken,” Belly said fiercely. “You were hurt. That’s different.”

“Okay. Hurt then.” He smiled, small and genuine. “I don’t remember the first time I told you I loved you. But I remember telling you yesterday, and the day before that, and every single day for the last four years.'

“I can’t even keep track of what I’ve forgotten.” Conrad laughed, shaky. “But what I’m trying to say is ....... I can remember being their dad. I remember every night waking up to their crying, every diaper I’ve changed, every time Susannah has looked at me with those serious eyes and asked questions I don’t know how to answer. I remember Laurel learning to walk and immediately trying to run. I remember building sandcastles and reading bedtime stories and the way they both say ‘I love you, Daddy’ before they go to sleep.”

He paused, gathering courage for the next part.

“I’ve been so focused on who I was before the accident that I haven’t been paying attention to who I am now. And Belly, I like who I am now. I like this life. I like waking up in this house and making breakfast and taking the girls to the beach. I like fighting with you about whose turn it is to do dishes, and I like the way you steal my coffee even though you have your own. I like that we’re building something here that’s ours, not just a recreation of what came before.”

Belly was crying harder now, but she was also smiling. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure that I spent too many years, the ones I remember and the ones I don’t, being afraid. Afraid to want things, afraid to let myself be happy. And I’m done with that.” Conrad pulled her close, until her forehead rested against his. “I have you. I have them. I have this house, this life. Maybe some of the missing pieces will come back. Maybe they won’t. Either way, I’m okay. We’re okay.”

“We’re better than okay,” Belly whispered, and kissed him.

It was the kind of kiss that held years of history, the ones Conrad remembered and the ones he didn’t. It tasted like salt and coffee and the particular sweetness of Belly’s chapstick. It tasted like coming home.

They broke apart at the sound of small feet thundering down the stairs. Susannah appeared first, wearing a striped dress and mismatched shoes, followed by Laurel in overalls and a tutu.

“We’re hungry,” Laurel announced.

“We’re making eggs,” Susannah added, as if this was a group effort they were all engaged in together.

“Are you now?” Belly asked, returning to the stove, slipping back into mom-mode with the easy grace of someone who’d learned to navigate multiple identities at once. Wife, mother, keeper of memories, builder of new ones.

Conrad watched her scramble eggs while the girls climbed into their chairs at the table, already arguing about who got which plate even though the plates were identical. This was his life. These three people, this house, this moment.

It was enough. More than enough. It was everything.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

After breakfast, they all migrated to the beach. It was late June, the summer stretching out before them like a promise, and the girls were determined to build the “biggest castle in the whole world,” which would inevitably be destroyed by the tide but would be rebuilt tomorrow with the same enthusiasm.

Conrad and Belly sat on a blanket a few yards away, close enough to supervise but far enough to let the girls have their independence. Belly had brought a book but wasn’t reading it.

“You know what I think about?” Belly said suddenly.

“Hmm?”

“That night in the hospital. Right after you woke up.” She was watching the girls, not looking at him. “You didn’t know who I was. You looked at me like I was a stranger. And I thought, ‘That’s it. I’ve lost him. The Conrad I loved is gone.’”

Conrad’s chest tightened. They didn’t talk about this often, the early days, the uncertainty, the fear.

“But then,” Belly continued, “you smiled at me. And it was your smile. Not the old Conrad’s smile, but yours. And I realized that maybe the person you’d been was gone, but the person you were becoming was still you. Still the man I loved, just… different. Remixed.”

“Remixed,” Conrad repeated, testing the word. “I like that.”

“I was so scared,” Belly admitted. “Scared you’d never love me again. That I’d have to watch you fall in love with someone else, start a new life that didn’t include me. That I’d have to let you go.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No. I was too selfish for that.” She finally looked at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “I decided to make you fall in love with me again. And if that didn’t work, I’d make you fall in love with me for the first time. Whatever it took.”

Conrad reached for her hand, laced their fingers together. “How’d you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Make me fall in love with you.”

Belly laughed, wet and incredulous. “Conrad, you did that all on your own. I just… stuck around. Kept showing up. Reminded you every day that you were worth loving, even when you didn’t remember why.”

“That must have been exhausting.”

“It was,” Belly said honestly. “Some days I wanted to scream. Wanted to shake you and demand that you remember, that you *see* me the way you used to. But Dr. Reeves said—”

“—that recovery isn’t linear, yeah, I remember.” Conrad grimaced. “I must have been insufferable.”

“You weren’t. You were scared and frustrated and grieving something you couldn’t even properly remember losing. That’s not the same as insufferable.” Belly squeezed his hand. “And for what it’s worth, I fell in love with you all over again too. The new you. The one who asked questions and listened to answers and didn’t assume he knew everything. The one who was gentler, more patient. Who’d learned that sometimes the bravest thing you can do is accept help.”

“That doesn’t sound like me at all,” Conrad said drily. “The old me, I mean.”

“No,” Belly agreed. “The old you was brilliant and beautiful and sort of, completely emotionally constipated. The new you is still brilliant and beautiful, but you’ve learned to actually talk about your feelings. It’s very sexy.”

Conrad laughed, surprising himself. “Yeah?”

“Very.” Belly leaned over and kissed him, quick and sweet. “Though I wouldn’t complain if you wanted to be a little more emotionally constipated in bed. That brooding thing you used to do was-”

“Belly!”

“What? I’m just saying, there’s a middle ground between strong silent type and guy who cries during insurance commercials.”

“Excuse me, but I cried during one insurance commercial, and it was about a dog reuniting with its owner after ten years. That’s objectively moving.”

They were laughing now, tangled together on the blanket, and Conrad felt something ease in his chest. This. This was what mattered. Not the memories he’d lost, but the ones he was making. Right here, right now, with the woman he loved and the children they’d made together.

“Mama! Dad! Come see!”

Susannah was waving frantically, and when they walked over, they found that their daughters had indeed constructed an impressive castle, or at least, impressive by three-year-old standards. It had towers and a moat and was decorated with shells and sea glass and what looked like part of a dead crab.

“It’s beautiful,” Belly said seriously.

“It’s the best castle in the whole world,” Laurel declared.

“The whole universe,” Susannah corrected.

Conrad crouched down to their level. “You know what this castle needs?”

“What?” the twins asked in unison.

“A flag.” He found a piece of driftwood and a scrap of seaweed, fashioned them into something approximating a banner, and planted it on the tallest tower. “There. Now it’s official.”

The girls cheered, and Conrad caught Belly’s eye over their heads. She was smiling at him with that particular expression that meant, 'I love you', and, 'thank you for being here' and 'we’re going to be okay', all at once.

They stayed on the beach for hours, until the sun was high and hot and the girls were pink-cheeked and sandy and starting to get cranky. Belly took them inside for lunch and quiet time, but Conrad lingered, walking the shoreline alone.

This beach. This house. This life.

Conrad had walked this beach countless times before the accident, though he couldn’t remember any of those walks specifically. What he remembered was every walk ..... after. The first time he’d made it to the water on crutches, barely 8 months post-seizure, Belly hovering anxiously beside him. The first time he’d gone in the ocean again, scared of the waves in a way he’d never been before. 

He remembered bringing the girls here when they were newborns, terrified he’d drop them in the surf. Remembered Susannah’s first steps, taken right there by the tide line. Remembered Laurel’s fear of waves, and how patient Belly had been, holding her hand and letting her approach the water at her own pace until one day she’d just charged in, fearless.

These were his memories.

Not borrowed or reconstructed, but his.

Conrad didn’t know if more memories would come. Didn’t know if his brain would ever give back everything it had taken. But lying there in the dark with Belly beside him and his daughters sleeping down the hall and the ocean singing its eternal song outside the window, he realized something fundamental:

It didn’t matter.

The past was beautiful and important and worth honoring. But the present, this present, this life, these people, was more than enough. Somewhere in the back of Conrad’s mind, another small memory might surface, or it might not. Either way, he’d keep building this life, one day at a time, one moment at a time.

The spaces between what he remembered and what he’d lost would always be there. But he’d learned to live in those spaces, to make them home.

And Conrad Fisher, father and husband and keeper of incomplete memories, finally, finally let himself believe it.

Notes:

thank you to everyone who read and stayed throughout my writing. belly and Conrad have given me reason once more to fall in love with the art of writing and i hope that this book is not my last.

i love you all deeply.

Notes:

hope you guys liked the chapter! sorry about the cliffhanger guys :”)) please do leave kudos and comments (i love reading through them all the time!).