I finger the key necklace, wishing I could remember my past. Even though I feel happy now, settling into my life, I still hate the gaping hole in my memories. It’s like I can’t rewind any farther than waking up in the hospital to see what happened before that day. I can’t remember my childhood. Or my grandparents. I can’t remember any birthdays. I don’t remember my wedding or giving birth to my daughter. Some of those life events I’ll never be able to re-live, and that bothers me more than I want to admit. The journals are nice, and helpful, but not the same as actually having the real memories.

“I feel a lot healthier and stronger—mentally and physically—with the changes I’ve made. I feel comfortable in my own body now. I think it was a step I had to take.”

He listens intently and nods. “I think that’s important. For you to feel like you’re home, with your family, happy with your life and yourself.”

“I know the face changes bother you a little. But I felt like I had to do that for me. It’s hard to explain how scary it is to look in a mirror and not see yourself. Since I had the surgery, I don’t feel that way anymore.”

He shakes his head, and his hair falls into his face. Pushing it away, he meets my eyes. His are full of empathy. Not anger or betrayal like I saw there last night. “I never even thought about that part of it. Looking in mirrors and seeing photos. Not feeling like it’s you.”

I touch my cheeks. “This is how I see myself, in my head, if that makes sense.”

He nods and leans over to kiss my cheek. “It does, baby. And you’re beautiful. I’m sorry I freaked out. It’s not because I don’t love how you look. I really do. It was just a surprise.”

“I know, and I’m sorry for that.”

He takes a deep breath and sips his coffee. “You went to a good surgeon, right? I mean, they obviously did an amazing job, but I worry…after what you’ve been through.”

“Yes. I actually wanted to talk to you about all that.” I stall by smearing a small glob of butter on my toast with a knife, and he raises an eyebrow as he waits for me to continue. “Do you remember the guy who gave me CPR?”

He blinks at me, freezing in place, holding his spoon of yogurt halfway between the bowl and his mouth. “Redwood?”

“Yes.”

He puts the spoon and bowl back on the tray. “Of course I remember him. Why?”

“He came to see me when I was still in the hospital.”

“I know.”

I cock my head at him in surprise. “How did you know?”

“He told me. Sometimes we talk.”

“Oh.” I swallow over the lump of nervousness in my throat. Redwood never told me he was still in touch with Asher. “I didn’t know that.”

“Has he contacted you again?”

“No, I contacted him.”

A muscle in his cheek twitches. He glances down for a moment, then returns his gaze to my face. “Can I ask why?”

I can’t read his facial expression or the tone of his voice at all, which is rare. I’m unsure if it’s a bit of jealousy I’m detecting, or something else.

“I’m not really sure, to be totally honest. He gave me his contact information at the hospital and told me to call him if I ever needed anything. I found out while I was in rehab that he has a TBI, like me. I think I felt like he would understand what I was feeling and going through.”

“You didn’t think I could help you? And understand how you feel?” The scrunch of his brows and the darkening of his eyes tell me he’s hurt that he can’t be everything.

He shouldn’t have to be. No matter how much a person loves someone, they cannot bear that much burden.

“I think you’re understanding of how I feel, but I don’t think you really understand what it feels like to have a brain injury. There’s a difference.”

He nods, slowly resolving that no, he cannot be all the things. “You’re right.”

“So I called him to talk about how I was feeling. How I feel like an imposter, living someone else’s life. Not comfortable with my face and my body. I told him how I was considering some alterations.”

“Didn’t he try to talk you out of it? It’s a major decision to make.”

I shake my head. “No, he was very supportive of it. He told me about the plastic surgeon who did his reconstructive surgery. She’s a very well-known and respected surgeon. Sarah checked her out.”

“So Sarah knew about all this too?”

Oh, no. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned Sarah. I don’t want her to get in any trouble. She’s been with us much longer than expected because I love having her here, and she wants to stay on as long as we want her to. I’d hate for her to be let go because of me.