The next morning, I woke early.
The hospital felt heavier today—quieter, emptier as i stepped into it. Like it knew what was coming.
I rushed to his room, my heart already tight. My footsteps echoed against the sterile floor.
The nurse at the desk looked at me, eyes flicking down at the chart.
"Zayn?" I asked, breathless.
She blinked, hesitated. "He… he's been discharged."
I froze.
"Discharged?" I repeated, my voice sharper than I intended. "Who took him?"
"His mother… and Lina," she said quietly. "They picked him up this morning."
My chest tightened so much it felt like it would crush me.
I turned on my heel, nearly knocking over a chair in my rush to leave.
Every step toward the street burned with anger and disbelief.
How dare they? How dare they take him from me—after everything?
I didn't even think when I reached their mansion. Not about discretion, not about calm.
I stormed up to the front door and rang the bell.
A maid opened, polite but cautious.
"I—I need to see Zayn Kareem," I said, my voice trembling with rage.
She shook her head. "I'm sorry, ma'am. He's resting. His mother said no visitors."
"No!" I snapped. "I'm not just any visitor. I… I need to see him!"
The door shut almost in my face.
I pressed my forehead against the cool wood, feeling my chest tighten again.
Then, after a long moment, it opened.
Slowly. Hesitantly.
Mrs. Kareem appeared, perfectly composed, as always, but something in her eyes betrayed a flicker of annoyance.
"You again," she said smoothly.
"I came to see him," I said, my voice low but firm.
"He's resting," she replied. "You shouldn't be here."
"I have a right!" I snapped. "He—he's my husband!"
Her gaze narrowed, sharp. "You were his wife. He doesn't remember that. Not anymore."
The words hit me like a punch.
"What do you mean?" I whispered.
"Three years," she said. "He doesn't remember the last three years before… everything happened."
I blinked. "The last three years?"
"Yes. That's when he met you. Married you. Moved out of our family mansion to live with you. You've been feeding from hand to mouth, but you were happy. Because he loved you."
My chest burned.
The memories hit me all at once. The tiny apartment we rented, the nights we went hungry, the mornings when he'd give me the last bite of bread and tell me I could eat first. The laughter. The whispered promises. The stolen kisses in the quiet of our tiny kitchen.
And now… all of it was gone from his mind.
I pressed a hand to my mouth to keep from screaming.
"So… he doesn't remember any of that?" I asked, my voice barely audible.
"Not a thing," she said. "The last three years are a blank. Nothing. He remembers only what came before that… before you."
I staggered back, swallowing hard.
"He… he doesn't know me," I whispered.
She nodded, a smugness hidden behind her composed expression.
"Exactly. And that's why I brought him home. To help him… relearn what is real. What is important."
My fists clenched.
"Relearn?" I repeated through gritted teeth. "He doesn't need to relearn anything. He… he loved me!"
Mrs. Kareem's lips pressed into a thin line. "He loved a memory he doesn't have. And you… you were never part of what he remembers now."
I shook my head, a storm of anger and grief swirling inside me.
"No," I said quietly, voice steadying. "He may not remember… but I will make him remember. I will remind him who we are. What we had. And that we loved each other—truly, deeply."
She arched a brow. "Bold words, Samirah. But this isn't your world anymore."
"I don't care," I said, stepping forward. "He's mine. And I will not let you—"
She cut me off with a small, almost amused shake of her head.
"You'll see. He doesn't remember the last three years. You can't just walk in and expect him to love you again. Not yet."
Her voice was calm, but it only fueled my determination.
"I'll wait," I said. "I'll fight for him. And I'll remind him… everything."
Her expression didn't change, but I knew she recognized the steel in my voice.
I had lost him once.
But I would not lose him again.
Even if it killed me.