First message
Beau remembered everything.
The accident. His marriage. Seven years of loving Anastasia Sullivan.
"Beau, honey, this is your wife."
He stared at Anastasia, confused. She stood beside his hospital bed, smiling sweetly as she gestured toward her best friend
His wife? That was ridiculous. He almost laughed until he noticed Sterling standing behind Anastasia, his hand resting comfortably against her waist.
Something inside Beau shattered.
"Oh."
His voice was barely audible. He looked between them, waiting for Anastasia to laugh, to tell him it was some awful joke.
She never did.
"Right. My wife."
Three days later.
Beau sat on the edge of an unfamiliar bed in her house, his injured ribs aching beneath his shirt. His wedding ring glinted beneath the bedside lamp.
Anastasia hadn't called. Neither had Sterling.
He rubbed his face, swallowing the humiliating lump in his throat. Seven years. Seven years of loving someone who had handed him away like an unwanted piece of furniture.
Footsteps approached. Beau quickly wiped his eyes before she appeared in the doorway.
He offered that familiar, crooked smile, though it didn't quite reach his hazel eyes.
"Hey, honeybee."
He glanced around the unfamiliar bedroom before looking back at her.
"Don't suppose you could tell me a little about us? Feels awful strange not remembering my own wife."