Chapter Four

Madeline’s POV

(A few weeks later)

It’ll take a few more weeks until my physical injuries are healed, but it isn’t certain that my mental injuries will recover just as fast. I will have to start seeing a psychotherapist to have some professional assistance with the recovery.

It is quite complicated though, technically I need to resolve all my trauma and PTSD, but how can I do that if I barely remember the trauma that ensued?

And above all of that, I still can’t shake the thought of Andrew, my “boyfriend.” I have so many questions left unanswered, regarding him and my crash. At the moment, all I’ve registered is my appearance and my name. I wake up with blinding sunlight pouring down onto my face and the sweet scent of lilies in a bouquet mixing with… mashed peas and orange juice?

Ew. Hospital food.

I’m used to it though. I wake up to the disgusting smell every day and force it down my throat as my only sustenance.

Just as I start to inspect the tray they have prepared for me, I turn to face my Mother doing the same. She notices and smiles out of sympathy. I’m well aware that she is my Mother, but I still feel guilty that she has to see me in this state.

Once we are both finished gagging down the so-called “food” she takes our trays outside the room and returns, closing the door politely. Her hands thread through the rough sheets the hospital provided as she clears her throat.

“Good morning darling. How are you?” She starts calmly without even glancing into my eyes.

The voice that rose I barely recognized as my own asked, “I’m… fine. How are you?”

I had hesitated before the ‘fine’ since, given the current state I was in, the answer was obvious. I was clearly unwell, but my Mother was attempting to make small talk and rekindle her bond with her daughter, so I tried my best to answer cautiously.

At this, the woman broke down in uncontainable sobs. She gasped and started to weep right in front of me. She poured out her heart explaining how my past wasn’t a happy one and she wished to just act like it never happened, hoping it would relieve the burden I had in my ‘past life,’ or the time before my accident.

But she of all people would know that hiding the truth is worse than telling me in smaller pieces. Apparently, I have had such an unstable childhood she would rather have it kept away from me.

Today is finally the day I learn about my previous life before all this chaos arose, and to be completely honest, it was almost… awkward. She is a stranger, once close to me, having the responsibility of sharing the story of a life that isn’t hers. That even she didn’t know everything about.

I consoled her and she calmed down before mumbling, “You were five, Madeline, when your father left us.” She paused to let me register the information.

So that’s why she was the only one visiting.

“He had been drinking and taking drugs, so in a way, I eventually became glad when he left. He wasn’t nice to you and barely acknowledged our existence. So I poured my heart out into being a single working Mother and supporting you and our cat while paying rent.”

It’s finally happening. After weeks of waiting.

“My sister wasn’t around. After she got married, she became a completely different person with your uncle. Just as emotionless and rigid as he is.”

She stares down at her hands, gripping and intertwining with the sheets. And then, for the first time, she looks me in the eye and holds a soft smile on her lips, the first in all the time I've known her.

“But she had a son, you know? A pretty little gentleman who used to sweep you off your feet and play with you when I couldn’t. Oh, he was just the sweetest little boy, 3 years older than you but he didn’t care about the age gap.” She laughs lightly and looks up at the ceiling, almost picturing it.

“Then he moved away and you were heartbroken.”

Oh.

“Everyone important in your life had left you. Everyone but me.” She frowns, a melancholy air washing over us once more.

It must’ve been hard for her to explain the losses in our small family to me twice. But rather than crying, I could barely feel bitter about these strangers if I didn’t remember who they were to me. Strangers that had left me for other reasons than death.

I feel sympathy for not only my past self, but my Mother having to raise me alone and re-explain my history. I can tell she’s a kind-hearted lady, I’m sure we will figure things out and grow closer from here.

My Mother then put on a brave face and a smile before adding peppily, “Oh, and your boyfriend Andrew! I get along with the guy and I’m so glad you still have him in your life!”

Oh, that’s right. I have a boyfriend.

---

Andrew’s POV

Every single day I visit Madeline without fail. And every single day the air is clouded with tension and unsorted feelings. I walk up to her room, greet her, politely close the door, and place down a single white lily into her growing collection. One for every single time I visit.

Lilies. Her past self's favorite flower.

We would sit there in almost unbearable silence until she tries to make small talk with me. I share a few stories, only of first years of dating of course, and laugh about all the things I know about her. The difficulty is that she had to relearn everything about me, and since there are gaps in her memory, I have to learn different aspects about her.

In other words, if she doesn’t remember something that influenced who she was before the crash, she would be a slightly different person. Regardless, I want to get to know the new Madeline, no matter what it takes.

I will make this right.

And I have a plan. I’ve decided that once she is allowed out of the hospital, I will take her on a date. Preferably at the seasonal fair or even simple stargazing. She always had a thing for outdoor dates, especially picnics as long as there were no ants or bees. I smile subconsciously at the thought.

Though this version of her hasn’t been outside yet, maybe I should rethink our date location. But then again, I’d love to be the one to introduce nature to her once again.

I continue chatting about favorite colors and foods, after all, I need to act as if I’m still her boyfriend. That everything is completely normal, even if I’m suffering inside.

I’m doing what’s best for her at my expense, this is fine.

This is what boyfriends do. Right?