96: TRANQUIL II

He doesn’t remember.

He can’t remember.

The world continues to spin for me as I try to come to terms with the possibility of the situation. Each passing second that William continues to stare at me like I am a stranger feels like my heart is being dashed against a rock.

It’s been three minutes since the doctor came in, and I stand anxiously by the bedside, fidgeting with the ring William gave me. The ring he doesn’t remember giving me.

In my head, I am pacing, but my body physically stays rigid, unable to move an inch, listening only to the hammering of my heart and the mechanical humming of the machines.

I take in a shaky breath as the doctor straightens from flashing a light in William’s eye. He’d asked him a series of questions to understand the extent of his memory loss. "Ms. Caillou," he begins with a sigh, his tone gentle, "I understand that this is an incredibly difficult time for you. William’s surgery was complex, and the brain is a delicate organ. Memory loss can sometimes o