“She remembered something. About me.” Patty stills, then slowly grins—this time all warmth and knowing.
“She asked if I had a skull tattoo. And… a nipple piercing.”
One eyebrow arches, and there’s laughter behind her eyes. “Well now. That’s one hell of a way to come back to a man.”
I chuckle under my breath. “Told her they were real. Reminded her she used to trace the tattoo when she couldn’t sleep. She said maybe it wasn’t just a dream.”
Patty leans in, voice low and certain. “That’s not just something, sweetheart. That’s the beginning of everything.” The words land hard. Sharp and true.
Five weeks of waiting. Hoping. Breaking. And now she’s finding her way back.
“She remembered me,” I whisper.
Patty nods. “Because you never left.” She taps the edge of my plate. “Now eat before I cry in public.”
I smirk and dig in. “Yes, ma’am.” She watches me take a bite, satisfied.
“Just keep doing what you’re doing, Logan,” she says softly. “She’ll find you. Piece by piece.”
I nod, phone still beside me like a lifeline. Like proof I wasn’t dreaming.
And for the first time in weeks, I let myself feel it.
Hope.
Real and raw and wrapped around her name.
Chapter 5
Kayla
Asoft knock comes at the door—just a whisper of warning—before it creaks open. Dr. Hamid steps inside, his white coat fluttering at the edges as he moves with his usual unhurried grace. He carries warmth in his smile, kindness etched behind the rectangular glasses perched low on his nose.
“Good morning, Kayla,” he greets, glancing down at the chart in his hands before easing into the chair beside my hospital bed. “How are you feeling today?”
I pause mid-stroke, the hairbrush frozen halfway through a tangle. “Tired,” I admit, “but… clearer. Less foggy, I think.”
He nods, pleased. “That’s exactly what we want to hear.”
I set the brush in my lap my heartbeat starting to climb as he closes the chart with a gentle snap.
“Well,” he begins, leaning forward slightly, “I have good news. Your most recent scans—CT, MRI, and all cognitive assessments—are showing significant improvement. Neuroplasticity is working in your favor. The trauma is healing. No new ischemic damage. Cognitive recall is increasing at a very promising rate.”
My throat tightens. I swallow hard, fingers going still.
“In layman's terms,” he adds gently, “your brain is fighting to bring you back. And it's winning.”
I stare at him, eyes locked, barely blinking.
“It’s been five weeks since we brought you out of the medically induced coma. You’ve made remarkable progress. Given time—and continued neural stimulation and follow-up neuropsych evaluations—I believe many of your memories will return.”
Many. Not all. But it’s more than I had yesterday.
“And the best part…” He smiles gently. “With the right discharge plan and a continuity-of-care agreement with your local provider, you’re well enough to go home.”
Home.
The word lands in my chest like a weight. Heavy. Unfamiliar.
