WHO WAS HE?

Antonio was standing at the window of his hospital room watching the sights of children playing football, still unable to remember or understand anything.

The doctor said he might remember gradually, but what if he never recovers his memories?

Antonio sighed and went back to his bed. He was about to lie down when the door cracked open.

A middle-aged man stepped into the room, his weathered face lined with concern. His clothes, though clean, bore the unmistakable signs of a life spent at sea—faded denim and a heavy flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms tanned by years under the sun.

Beside him stood a woman, his wife, her expression a mixture of worry and curiosity. She clutched a worn leather handbag to her chest, her fingers fidgeting with the strap.

“How are you doing, dearest?”

She asked Antonio.

Who was alerted by the sudden entrance of these strangers.

He was a bit tense but managed to force a smile.

“My head still hurts a little… sorry do I know you?”

He asked