Page 9 of Possessive Doctor

“Isn’t that kind of odd? I mean, it’s not like the car caught fire, right? Shouldn’t my things have been there?”

“Amy, listen. Nobody was concerned about your driver’s license or cell phone. We were concerned about you. Is that so strange?”

“Where were we going?”

“What?”

“I was in the car with my parents. You weren’t with us. You must have known where we were going, and I’d like to know why my parents and I were in a car together during the last moments of their lives.”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember. Why is this important right now? I’m trying to feed you before I’m late for work.”

“I had a memory this morning. It was just a flash, and it ended as quickly as it started, but I saw myself getting dressed to go out to dinner with my parents. I think it was that night, but I wasn’t here getting ready. I was in a teenager's bedroom. I’m sure I was living at home with my parents. Did you and I have a fight? Did I move out and go back home?”

“No, we absolutely didn’t have a fight. I can promise you that. Do you think if we did fight, I would let you walk out that door? That’s not me, little girl. I would never stand for that. I don’t know what this memory means. Was there a calendar on the wall? Did you see the date and time on your phone? These things probably won’t make sense to you at first, but that’s not the point. The good news is that you’re starting to remember things.”

“You’re right. It’s just hard for me.”

“I’m sure it is.” He walks over, sets my breakfast in front of me, and kisses my forehead. “Maybe I should take the day off and stay with you.”

“No, don’t do that. I’m okay, really. I won’t do anything stupid again, I promise.”

“You’re sure?” He strokes my hair but eyes me intensely.

“Yes, go to work. I’ll be fine.”

He leaves reluctantly, and as I finish my breakfast, I think how odd it would be for my personal effects to just disappear from the scene of an accident. I mean, didn’t the police or the first responders need my ID to find out who I was so they could contact Andrew?

No, I might not know exactly who I am, but that doesn’t mean I should just leave my identity up for grabs on the black market. Maybe someone already used my cards or something.

With a sigh, I call the hospital.

“Hello, my name is Amy Andrews. I was discharged yesterday, and I was wondering if any of my personal effects were left in the room—in a drawer, maybe?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t see you listed as a patient here,” the woman on the other line replies.

“No? Well, what about Amy Rogers? Maybe I was listed under my maiden name.”

“Your maiden name? Ah, okay. There you are. Let me transfer you up to the ward nurse to see if she can help you.”

The hold music seems to play for an eternity before the ward nurse answers.

“Miss Rogers, thank you for holding. I was on duty when you were discharged. All of your personal effects were picked up by Doctor Andrews.”

“Are you sure? Do you know what items he picked up?”

“I believe it was a jacket, shoes, a purse, and a cell phone.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you.”

“Is everything alright, Miss Rogers? Do you need help?”

“Help? What kind of help?”

“Never mind. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, thanks again.” I end the call with more questions than answers. She must be mistaken. Why would Andrew stand here and lie to me about my things? The way she worded things was a bit odd, her tone too. Miss Rogers, Doctor Andrews. She has to know we’re married, right?

I don’t want to doubt Andrew. Yet, I find myself poking around the apartment looking for my purse and phone. I check the kitchen cabinets, the hall closet, the dresser drawers, and the bedroom closet but find nothing.

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