Page 70 of “Not” Engaged to the Grumpy Billionaire

“Amnesia?” I repeat, the word foreign on my tongue.

“It’s not uncommon in cases like this,” he explains. “Her mind may be suppressing certain memories as a way to cope with the trauma. It could be temporary, or it could last longer—it’s hard to say at this stage.”

I rub a hand over my face, trying to process this. “So, what happens now?”

“For now, we recommend keeping her in a familiar environment,” the doctor says. “Somewhere safe, where she feels secure. That could help her recover her memories naturally.”

“Safe,” I echo. “You’re suggesting I take her home?”

The doctor hesitates. “Only if you’re comfortable with it. She’s asking for you specifically, and in her current state, it might be best to keep her in an environment she recognizes.”

I exhale sharply, my mind spinning.

When I return to Becky’s room, she looks up at me with a small, hopeful smile. “What did the doctor say?”

I sit down in the chair beside her bed, my elbows resting on my knees. “He said you might have some memory loss. It’s probably temporary.”

Her brow furrows. “Memory loss?”

I nod, meeting her gaze. “Becky, you’ve forgotten some things. Like… the fact that we’re not together anymore.”

She stares at me, her expression unreadable. “But… we are together, Nate. Aren’t we? And we have Max, right?”

“No,” I say gently. “We haven’t been for a long time.”

Tears spill down her cheeks, and she shakes her head. “I don’t understand. Why would I forget something like that?”

I reach for her hand, squeezing it lightly. “We’ll figure it out, okay? One step at a time.”

As the night stretches on, I sit with Becky while she drifts in and out of sleep. The nurses come and go, checking her vitals and adjusting her IV.

My mind is a whirlwind of thoughts - what this means for her, for Max, for all of us. Taking her home feels like opening a door I’d firmly closed years ago, but what choice do I have?

The good thing is there is only a space in my life for one woman, and it was definitely not Becky.

Chapter fifteen

Liz

The soft creak of the door opening pulls me from my thoughts. My heart leaps when I see Nate step inside, his face pale and drawn, his shoulders hunched like he’s carrying the weight of the world.

“Nate!” I call out, rushing toward him before I can stop myself. “Where have you been?”

He pauses, clearly taken aback by the urgency in my voice. “Liz…”

“I’ve been worried sick,” I cut in, barely giving him room to explain. “I was looking all over for you! You didn’t answer your phone. I thought—”

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice soft but firm, cutting through my panic.

I stop, my arms crossing instinctively over my chest. “What happened? Where were you?”

He exhales deeply, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “I got a call in the middle of the night. It was the hospital.”

I stare at him, the tension in my chest tightening. “The hospital?”

“It’s Becky,” he says, his voice heavy. “She was in an accident. A hit-and-run.”

The words land like a punch to the gut. Becky. Of course, it would be her.

---