I had been counting down the days until my husband came home. I thought I knew exactly how our reunion would go. I had imagined it a hundred times—Ethan stepping through the front door, his arms open, his familiar smile lighting up his tired face. But life had other plans. Because that night at the hospital, everything changed.
A patient came in on a stretcher, barely clinging to consciousness. His body was covered in burns, bandages wrapped around him so tightly that only his eyes remained visible. He had no ID, no memory of who he was.
“Check his emergency contact,” I instructed the nurse, focusing on his vitals.
Minutes later, as I stood at the nurse’s station, my phone rang. The sound sent a chill down my spine—late-night calls never brought good news. At the same time, the nurse hesitated, her face turning pale as she glanced between me and the chart in her hands.
“Dr. Peterson,” she said, her voice tight. “The emergency contact listed for this patient…” she swallowed hard before whispering, “J. Peterson.”
The world tilted beneath me. My fingers lost their grip, and my phone slipped to the floor with a loud clatter. My heartbeat roared in my ears as I turned toward the man lying in the hospital bed.
Those eyes. I knew those eyes.
No. No, this couldn’t be happening.
This was Ethan.
But he wasn’t supposed to be here, not like this. He was supposed to be coming home in a month, healthy and whole, not broken and lost.
For days, I barely left his side. I held his hand, careful of the burns, and told him everything. Our first meeting, how he had slipped a note under my coffee cup the first time we talked, the way we danced in the kitchen before his first deployment.
He listened intently, his deep brown eyes searching mine as if trying to pull the memories from the fog in his mind.
“I wish I could remember,” he whispered one night, his voice hoarse.
I squeezed his hand gently. “It’s okay. I remember enough for both of us.”
But something felt off.
At first, I ignored the little things—the way he hesitated when I mentioned a childhood memory, the distant look in his eyes when I spoke about our wedding song. But then came the questions.
“You said I have a dog,” he said one afternoon, his voice uncertain. “What’s his name again?”
I smiled, thinking he was joking. “Maverick. He’s been staying with my parents while you were gone.”
A pause. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face.
“Maverick,” he repeated slowly, as if testing the name. “Right. Of course.”
A shiver crawled down my spine. Ethan loved that dog more than anything. He would never forget his name. My heart told me this was my husband, but my gut screamed something was wrong.
And then, the truth hit like a wrecking ball.
Early one morning, a military officer arrived at the hospital. His uniform was crisp, his face unreadable.
“Dr. Peterson,” he said gravely. “We need to talk.”
My stomach clenched as I followed him into the hallway, my hands trembling.
“There’s been a mistake,” he said.
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
“The man you’ve been caring for… he’s not your husband.”
A sharp breath caught in my throat. “That’s impossible.”
He sighed. “There was an accident—a fire. Two soldiers were evacuating civilians when a building collapsed. Both suffered severe burns. Their belongings were mixed up.”
My chest tightened. “Then where’s Ethan?”
The officer’s expression softened. “He’s alive, Dr. Peterson. But he’s in a different hospital.”
My knees nearly gave out. “Alive?” I gasped. Tears burned my eyes, relief and confusion clashing inside me. “Why—why wasn’t I told?”
“There was an error with the paperwork,” he explained. “We thought you were already with him, so no one double-checked.”
I covered my mouth, shaking. Ethan had been alone. Thinking I had abandoned him.
My gaze darted toward the hospital room where the burned man lay. He wasn’t Ethan, but he had clung to my stories, desperate to believe they were his own. He had suffered, fought to hold onto a life that wasn’t his.
“What about him?” I asked, my voice unsteady.
The officer nodded. “We’ve identified him. His family has been contacted.”
I took a deep breath, one last glance at the stranger I had poured my heart into. Then, I turned back to the officer.
“Take me to my husband.”
The two-hour drive to the hospital stretched like an eternity. My hands were ice-cold, my heart racing. Every mile, every turn, brought me closer to Ethan.
Finally, we arrived. The moment the car stopped, I bolted inside.
“Ethan,” I choked out. “Where is he?”
The nurse at the front desk barely had time to react before she pointed down the hall. “Room 214.”
I ran.
I burst through the door, my breath catching. And there he was. Propped up in bed, bandages wrapped around his arms, a healing gash on his temple. He looked weak—but alive.
His deep brown eyes met mine, and for a moment, the world stopped.
Then, in a voice rough from disuse, he whispered, “Jenny?”
A sob tore from my throat as I rushed to his side, grabbing his hand. “I’m here. I’m right here.”
His fingers curled around mine, weak but firm. “I kept calling for you,” he rasped. “But you never…”
I shook my head, tears spilling down my cheeks. “They sent you to the wrong hospital, Ethan. I was with someone else. They thought he was you.” My voice cracked. “I would never leave you. Never.”
His eyes softened. “I was so scared,” he admitted.
I pressed my forehead against his. “Me too.”
We held each other, letting the silence say what words couldn’t. He had been through hell. So had I. But we had made it. Together.
Then, something shifted in his gaze—an unspoken decision forming in his mind.
“You’re thinking about something,” I whispered, searching his face.
A faint smile ghosted his lips. “I am.”
I held my breath.
“I’m done, Jenny.” His voice was steady. “I can’t do this anymore. 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 again, but this time, for a different reason. “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 don’t want to miss any more of it.”
A sob escaped me, but I was smiling through my tears. “Ethan…”
He exhaled, his grip on my hand tightening.
“I fought for my country,” he murmured. “Now, I’m ready to fight for us.”
