French provincial decor.
They’d spent a lot of hours in this room—making love, sharing dreams. Until the third miscarriage had taken too much of a toll on both of them.
“Then by all means, don’t let me hold you back. Dig in.” She closed his suitcase with a decisive click and spun away hard and fast.
Too fast. The room spun and she gripped the footboard of the bed to keep from stumbling.
“Shana?”
She blinked fast to clear the spots dancing in front of her eyes, to quell the nausea from her blossoming headache.
If she could just get Chuck to leave so she could lie down and breathe...
“Please. Go.” She pushed free the two words, a mammoth undertaking with her stress headache spiking.
Why was he walking so slowly? She saw his mouth moving, but nothing was coming out. That didn’t make sense. And then he tipped.
Except no.
The whole room tipped because...
Her hand slid from the bed on her way to the floor.
Thirty-six hours later
Until today, Charles “Chuck” Mikkelson had run out of ideas for a second chance with his wife. Admitting defeat had never been an option for him, professionally or personally.
But amnesia as a do-over with Shana was extreme, even for him.
Surely he’d heard the neurologist wrong. Chuck’s gut knotted. “Do you mean Shana is disoriented? Fuzzy on things like the time or date? Forgot what she had for dinner?”
After all, she’d suffered a minor aneurysm that had left her unconscious for just over thirty-six hours. The longest day and a half of his life. But finally, she was awake. Alive.
Two physicians occupied the secluded sitting area where Chuck had been brought after a staffer located him grabbing a bite in the cafeteria while a privately hired nurse sat with Shana. Chuck couldn’t believe his wife had actually woken up the one time he’d stepped away from her hospital room. The neurologist—Dr. Harris—sat beside Chuck. Another of Shana’s physicians stood at the window. Snow was coming down in thick sheets of white, as if the hospital sterility was outside as well as indoors.
“Shana is disoriented, but it’s more than that,” Dr. Harris explained slowly from the chrome-and-leather chair he’d pulled around to face Chuck. “You need to accept that she has lost her memory.”
Amnesia. The word still ricocheted around in Chuck’s brain. “She doesn’t know who she is?”
Dr. Harris closed the tablet that he’d used earlier to show the part of her brain that was affected. “Actually, she does know her name. She recalls details about herself. The memory loss focuses on more recent events.”
“How recent?” Chuck asked, unease creeping up his spine.
“She has the month correct. But five years prior.”
Five years ago? That meant... “She doesn’t remember anything about me.”
Much less about being married to him. There were some times between them lately he wouldn’t mind forgetting. But the thought of losing memories of the good times with Shana?
Unthinkable.
The two doctors exchanged somber looks before Shana’s other doctor took a seat in the other wingback. Dr. Gibson was young, but tops when it came to fertility specialists. It meant a lot to Chuck that the man had shown up to weigh in on Shana’s condition even though they weren’t trying for another baby.
“Chuck, I’m sorry to say, she does not remember you,” Dr. Gibson said in the quietly comforting tone he’d used during Chuck and Shana’s failed in vitro and three miscarriages. A phantom sucker punch to the gut wracked Chuck.
It had been bittersweet when Dr. Gibson had assisted in caring for Chuck’s stepsister two months ago, after she delivered twins in a car. Pretending nothing was wrong had been hard as hell for Chuck, and Shana hadn’t wanted his comfort.
“We were having trouble. Do you think this memory loss is more psychological than physical?”
He’d blamed himself repeatedly for this aneurysm. If they hadn’t been fighting, if intense emotions hadn’t raised her blood pressure, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.
“There’s no question she’s had an aneurysm, and she’s incredibly lucky to have come through it so well. But that’s not to say there aren’t psychological aspects in play. The body and mind work in tandem.”
Staring at the tablet in the doctor’s hand, Chuck moved toward a planter, something to rest on. “How do we proceed from here? What do we tell her, and what’s her prognosis?”
“I realize that you need answers, but it’s too early to project the long term. For now, the counselor on staff here suggests we answer questions as she asks them, no additional information,” Dr. Harris warned. “A psychiatrist will be consulting. Things are still so very new.”
The obstetrician leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Let’s focus on the positives. Shana’s awake and physically fine. The baby’s heartbeat is strong. That’s news to celebrate.”
Chuck frowned, certain he’d misunderstood. Gibson had to be confusing patients after a late shift.
Dr. Harris straightened. “The baby?”
“What baby?” Chuck said precisely. Because no way could Shana be pregnant now of all times. The dark irony of that would be too much to entertain.
Dr. Gibson’s eyebrows shot up before he schooled his face back into an alarmingly blank expression. “She didn’t tell you about the pregnancy?”
Chuck shook his head slowly, stunned, half-certain there was an error. Fate couldn’t be this twisted.
“Shana is expecting,” he said baldly. “Two months along. And from your reaction, Chuck, she hadn’t told you yet.”
Chuck sifted through the hell of the past day and a half. There hadn’t been any need to call Dr. Gibson in on the case on a weekend. Chuck had said no to the possibility of pregnancy when the admission staff had asked.
Now he realized the truth of it. Shana had gotten pregnant without an in vitro procedure.
The reality slammed into Chuck like a ton of bricks. Against all odds, they were expecting a child.
Now.
He couldn’t even sort through the layers of “stunned” to feel anything but shock.
Chuck’s mind winged back to their attending the baptism for his sister Glenna’s daughter. He and Shana had actually spent a week getting along, drawn into
