Chapter 1

On our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, my husband denied that I was his wife in front of a nurse.

Three minutes later, he recognized the old girlfriend who entered his hospital room holding our cabin key.

I placed the listing agreement for our lake cabin in front of Grant. He glanced at it, then pushed it away.

“Who are you?”

The nurse stopped recording his vitals. “Mr. Brooks, this is your wife, Helen.”

“My wife?” Grant studied me again. “Then why did she come here trying to sell my house?”

Heat rose into my face. Our names were printed on the agreement, yet Grant looked at me like a stranger exploiting an injured man.

“Today is our twenty-fifth anniversary.” I caught the papers before they slipped to the floor. “Susan was supposed to meet us at home at six. You agreed to sign the listing agreement for the cabin.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“The first eighty-five thousand dollars from the sale comes back to me. That was my mother’s inheritance—the down payment.”

Grant touched the bandage above his temple. “I don’t remember owing you money, either.”

Four years earlier, when my mother was dying, Grant had driven her to appointments when I couldn’t leave work.

For twenty-five years, I had trusted him to show up.

The doctor warned that a concussion could disrupt recent memories, so I started putting the papers away when the door opened.

Celia walked in carrying two coffees.

Grant immediately sat straighter. “Celia. You came.”

She stopped. A brass key hung from her finger, tied to a faded blue ribbon.

It was the key to our lake cabin. I had tied that ribbon myself.

Celia set the coffees on the bedside table. Grant pointed to the cup without sugar packets.

“The black coffee is yours. You never take sugar.”

“You remember.” She smiled.

I looked between them. “You remember how she drinks her coffee, but not that I’m your wife?”

Grant looked away.

I held out my hand to Celia. “Give me the key.”

Her fingers closed around it. “Grant said I could stay at the cabin. He said I could stay as long as I wanted.”

“When did he say that?”

“Before the accident.”

I turned to Grant. “So you remember that?”

“I remember Celia lost her husband. She doesn’t have a stable place to live.”

“But you forgot we were selling the cabin tonight. You forgot you owe me eighty-five thousand dollars.”

“Don’t discuss money in the hospital.” He looked at the nurse. “I’ve just been in an accident, and she’s pressuring me to sell my house.”

The nurse gathered her equipment and left to get the doctor.

After the door closed, I held out my hand again. “The key.”

Celia kept it and looked at Grant.

“Don’t make this harder for her,” he said.

“I own half that cabin.”

“So do I.”

“Does that mean you can hand it to another woman without telling me?”

“It’s temporary.”

“You promised to sell it today.”

Grant settled against his pillows. The confusion on his face gave way to irritation.

“Even if I promised you, Celia needs that house more than we do.”

Celia slipped the key into her pocket, leaving the ribbon visible. Grant didn’t ask her to return it.

I put the agreement back in my folder. His anniversary gift remained at the bottom of my bag.

As I walked toward the door, I heard him ask Celia to open his coffee.

He remembered her name, how she took her coffee, and the promise he had made her.

Only the memories that required him to answer to me were gone.

Before I touched the door handle, I looked back at him one last time.

Now I only wanted to know whether the accident had taken Grant’s memory—or given him an excuse to break every promise he had made to me.