Forgotten Memories at the Twilight

Leona’s POV

My head is submerged in water.

I can’t breathe.

Everything’s murky — like the world has been dipped in the wrong color.

I blink slowly. Fluorescent lights buzz above me. A beeping machine pulses nearby.

I’m in a hospital. That much I know.

But why?

How?

I don’t remember. Not a single thing.

I’ve been sitting alone in this too-white room, trying to piece myself together.

I glanced out the window earlier — it was dark.

Night, I think.

Strange. I know what night is, but I don’t know if I’ve ever had a night before.

I look down at my hand. A ring catches the light — silver, delicate, a heart-shaped diamond.

It feels heavy. Like it doesn’t belong there.

I slide it off and examine it more closely.

Inside the band: a single letter.

D.

Is that me?

I dig through my brain, heart racing.

Nothing.

Just static.

A soft click — the door opens.

A woman in blue scrubs enters, carrying a small tray.

She freezes mid-step, gasping, a hand flying to her chest.

I jump.

“What?” I croak, voice rough like gravel.

“You’re awake,” she breathes.

She disappears.

A minute later, she returns — with him.

A man. Tall, glasses, perfect. Sculpted, almost. Like he was never meant to exist in a hospital.

He smiles at me.

It’s warm, but strained.

I smile back. I don’t know why.

He opens his mouth. One word:

“Leona.”

The name echoes strangely in the air. It doesn’t settle. Doesn’t fit.

I blink at him, confused.

He says nothing else. Just checks my pulse, shines a light in my eyes, listens to my breathing.

“Any pain? Nausea? Headaches?” he asks.

I shake my head.

“No. Not that I... know of?”

And still — I’m not sure if I’m lying.

“You’ve been in a coma for two months,” he says.

I stare at him.

Two months?!

He pulls out a clipboard. “I’m going to ask you a few questions. Just answer as best you can.”

I nod.

“What’s your name?”

I search my memory.

Look for anything.

Blank. Empty.

“D?” I offer. It comes out like a question.

He scribbles something.

“Do you know where you are?”

“Hospital.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“My doctor?”

This time, his eyes soften. Pain. Pity.

“How did you get here?”

I shake my head.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

He nods once. “Okay. Sandra here will take care of you,” he says, gesturing to the nurse. He backs out, pulling out his phone. “I’ll call your husband. Let him know you’re awake.”

Husband?

That explains the ring.

I nod, but something feels wrong.

Why can’t I remember anything?

Sandra sticks a needle in my arm, draws some blood, adjusts my IV. I don’t even feel it.

“You must be overwhelmed, sweet child,” she says gently.

I look at her, but I don’t think I see her. Everything feels too new. Too distant.

“You have to be strong now — for the both of