Page 10 of Possessive Doctor

Still worried about my missing items but pleased that my husband wasn’t keeping them from me, I sit down on the bed and consider taking a long nap. I’m about to close my eyes when I glance into the bathroom and see the one cabinet I haven’t checked.

“Don’t do it. That’s silly. Why would he stash your purse in the bathroom pantry?” I tell myself but lift myself off the bed anyway.

I open the closet door and push the bath towels to the side. There, beneath them, I find a drawstring plastic bag with the name of the hospital on the side. I open it and pull out a tan leather purse.

Inside, I find a wallet and a cell phone with a dead battery. They don’t look at all familiar, but I know that they’re mine. The wallet is filled with credit cards, a social security card, a driver’s license, and a student ID for the local college. They all have my name, Amy Rogers, on them.

My stomach churns as I consider the unthinkable. Is it possible that Andrew Adams and I aren’t married? Has he been lying to me? I scan the bedroom for a cell phone charger and find one plugged in behind the night table on Andrew’s side of the bed. My hand is shaking as I plug in my phone. The truth is in there. I know it is.

Considering my options but there aren’t many. I don’t have the strength to pack up and leave. I can’t even get in and out of the shower by myself. No, there has to be some simple explanation for all of this.

Maybe I never got around to having my name changed. Andrew, knowing that I might worry he was lying about being my husband, planned to keep my things from me until I regained my memory. That makes sense, right? But then, why is there a trace of me in this apartment? Why does it look like he just grabbed my clothes out of some other closet somewhere and stuffed them into his?

The phone is in rough condition. The screen is shattered, and it’s taking forever to charge. At this point, I’m afraid it might be a lost cause. I pick it up and press the power button just as I hear Andrew come off the elevator.

My heart races, and I begin to panic but not because of what he did. As crazy as it seems, I’m worried about how he’ll react to me questioning his intentions and integrity. I should be furious with him, but all I want in the whole world is for him to not be angry with me.

It’s crazy, I know, but ever since I woke up, he’s done nothing but take care of me. That has to count for something.

He doesn’t even force himself on me, only ever touched me when it was necessary. It’s me who’s putting myself on a silver platter just for him. I’m the one who asked for a kiss. I’m the one who waved my ass in front of his face and asked him to touch me.

I swallow hard as I listen to his footsteps approaching the bedroom door. I have to be strong. He still owes me answers, and if having to give them upsets him, then he isn’t the man that I think he is. Still, I’d probably want to be with him either way.

5

ANDREW

“Icame home a bit early. I realized I hadn’t prepared you anything for lunch. You must be starving,” I call out to Amy who I assume is in the bedroom. I wait, but she doesn’t answer. I creep into the room, expecting to find her fast asleep.

If only she was fast asleep. Instead, she’s seated on the bed. Beside her is the tan leather purse the police officer retrieved from the crash site.

Shit.

“Amy? What’s going on? What are you doing?” I ask her.

“I suppose I could ask you the same thing.”

“What do you mean? I just told you. I’m here to feed you late lunch or an early dinner. However, you look at it.”

“I’m talking about this,” she points to the bag. She pinches her lips and draws a deep breath before saying, “You told me this morning that this didn’t exist, but I found it hidden under the towels in the bathroom. Why?”

“Did finding it make you feel any better about what happened? Did it jog your memory?”

At this, she closes her eyes and runs her hand through her hair. “No, but that doesn’t answer my question. Why would you keep this from me?”

“I did answer your question. I didn’t think having the purse you carried or the jacket you wore on the night your parents died would make things any better for you. I didn’t want to stress you out more. You’d only push yourself to remember.”

She looks down at her feet and begins to cry.

Fuck. My throat closes up and my insides are in shreds. The last thing I want is for her to get hurt because of something I did.

Slowly, I sit down beside her and take her hand in mine. I drape one arm around her shoulders and pull her close to me. God, she smells good, like lavender. I half-expect her to push me away, but she buries her face in my chest.

“What about your cell phone?” I ask, seeing the phone plugged into my charger. “Did you learn anything from that?”

“The screen is broken. It doesn’t light up anymore,” she whimpers.

“Listen to me closely, little girl. I need to ask you something important.”

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