I had been counting down the days until my husband came home. I had imagined the moment a thousand times—running into his arms, feeling his strong embrace, hearing his voice tell me he missed me just as much as I missed him. After months of sleepless nights, worrying if he was safe, the wait was almost over. Just a few more weeks, and Ethan would be home.
But that night at the hospital, everything changed.
I was on shift when the ambulance doors burst open, and paramedics rushed in with a patient. A burn victim, his body covered in bandages except for his eyes. His injuries were severe, his breathing shallow. He had no ID, no memory of who he was.
“Check his emergency contact,” I told the nurse while monitoring his vitals.
Minutes later, as I stood at the nurse’s station, my phone rang. I frowned. Late-night calls were rarely good news.
Then the nurse’s voice cut through the background noise. “Dr. Peterson…” She hesitated, glancing at me nervously. “The emergency contact for the patient…”
Something about her tone made my stomach clench. “Who is it?” I asked, dreading the answer.
She swallowed hard. “J. Peterson.”
The world around me tilted. My breath caught in my throat. My phone slipped from my fingers, crashing onto the floor. The nurses were saying something, but I couldn’t hear them. My heart pounded as I turned and looked at the man lying in that hospital bed.
His eyes. I knew those eyes.
No. No, no, no.
It was Ethan. My Ethan. But how? He wasn’t supposed to be back yet. He was coming home in a month, not now. Not like this.
For days, I never left his side. I barely slept. I barely ate. I told him stories—about how we met, how he had slipped a note under my coffee cup the first time we talked, how we danced in the kitchen at midnight before his first deployment.
His deep brown eyes would lock onto mine, searching, trying to pull the memories from the fog in his mind.
“I wish I could remember,” he murmured one night, his voice hoarse.
I squeezed his hand gently, careful of the burns. “It’s okay,” I whispered. “I remember enough for both of us.”
But something was off. He hesitated when I mentioned childhood memories. He seemed distant when I played our favorite song. And then came the questions.
“You said I have a dog… what’s his name again?”
I smiled. “Maverick. He’s been staying with my parents while you were gone.”
A flicker of something crossed his gaze.
“Maverick,” he repeated slowly, as if testing the name on his tongue. “Right. Of course.”
A chill ran through me. Ethan loved that dog more than anything. He would never forget Maverick’s name. My heart told me this was my husband, but my gut screamed something was wrong.
Then, the truth came crashing down.
One early morning, a military officer arrived at the hospital, his uniform crisp, his expression grim. “Dr. Peterson,” he said. “I need a word.”
I felt a lump in my throat as I followed him into the hallway. My hands were shaking.
“There’s been a mistake,” he said carefully.
I stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“The man you’ve been caring for… he’s not your husband.”
I shook my head. “That’s not possible. His tags—”
“There was an accident,” he interrupted. “A fire. Two soldiers were evacuating civilians when a building collapsed. They both suffered severe burns. Their belongings got mixed up in the chaos.”
My heart nearly stopped.
“Your husband Ethan is alive, Dr. Peterson,” the officer continued gently. “But he’s in a different hospital.”
I gasped. “He’s alive?”
He nodded. “He was severely injured and in a medically induced coma for a few days. The military assumed you were already with him, so… no one double-checked.”
Tears blurred my vision. “Where is he?” I choked out.
“We can take you to him.”
I turned back toward the hospital room. The man lying in that bed… he wasn’t Ethan. But he had been through hell just the same. I had spent days pouring my heart out to him, trying to bring back memories that weren’t his. And yet, he had held onto my words like a lifeline, desperately searching for a past that didn’t belong to him.
“What about him?” My voice wavered.
The officer softened slightly. “He has family. We’ll contact them now that we know who he is.”
I took one last look at the man who, for a moment, I had believed was my husband. Then, squaring my shoulders, I turned back to the officer. “Take me to my husband.”
The two-hour drive felt endless. My fingers were numb from gripping the seat, my heart pounding with every mile. When we arrived, I barely waited for the car to stop before running inside.
“Ethan. Where is he?” I demanded at the front desk.
The nurse took one look at me and pointed. “Room 214.”
I ran.
I burst through the door, and there he was. Propped up in bed, bandages covering his arms, a healing gash along his temple. He looked weak but alive. His deep brown eyes met mine, and for a second, time stopped.
Then, in a voice rough from disuse, he whispered, “Jenny?”
A sob broke free from my chest as I rushed to him, grabbing his hand. “I’m here. I’m right here.”
His fingers curled around mine, weak but firm. “I kept calling… but you never—”
“They sent you to the wrong hospital,” I choked out. “I was with someone else. They thought he was you.” Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks. “I would never leave you. Never.”
His eyes softened, guilt flickering across his face. “God, Jenny… I was so scared.”
I pressed my forehead to his, breathing him in. “Me too.”
For a long time, we just held onto each other, letting the silence speak for the words we couldn’t say. He had been through hell. So had I. But we were here. Together.
Then I saw it—the look in his eyes. A quiet resolve, a decision already made.
“You’re thinking about something,” I said softly.
A faint smile ghosted his lips. “I am.”
I waited, my heart hammering.
“I’m done, Jenny,” he said firmly. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep putting you through this. I can’t keep risking my life, knowing that one day, I might not come back.”
Tears welled in my eyes. “Ethan… are you sure?”
He nodded, squeezing my hand. “I’ve given everything to my country. But now, I want to be home. With you. With our family.” His voice broke. “I want to be there for the little things—the bedtime stories, the first days of school, the holidays. I don’t want to miss any more of it.”
A sob escaped me, but I was smiling. “Ethan…”
He exhaled, closing his eyes for a moment before looking at me again, filled with certainty.
“I fought for my country,” he whispered. “Now, I’m ready to fight for us.”
