She kissed him goodbye, knowing he wouldn’t remember her tomorrow, just as she had done every evening for the last five years on her way out the door to head to work. Maggie and Jon had barely made it home from their amazing honeymoon five years ago when they were hit by a drunk driver. That car accident rerouted the path of their lives. Maggie didn’t have a scratch, the drunk driver died on impact, and Jon suffered from a severe head injury that put him in a coma for three months, only to wake with a form of amnesia that no one had ever had any experience with before.

The craziest part of the amnesia was that shortly after sunrise when Jon woke from his coma, he seemed to be just fine, memory-wise, that is. They spent the day talking, and the doctors ran more tests now that he was awake. Maggie didn’t notice anything awkward about his speech, his recollection of their life prior to the accident, or anything really, and all of his scans came back clean according to the doctors. Everything was going to be okay, or so Maggie had believed.

That was until the sun had set on the very day he had awoken, and suddenly every memory Jon held vanished. Jon didn’t know who she was, he did not know where he was, what had happened, and he didn’t even remember who he was. This began the cycle of reminding him daily of himself.

Since Maggie truly loved Jon and believed in the sanctity of marriage, she remained his faithful, loyal, and dutiful wife, even taking on extra shifts and odd jobs to cover the medical bills to try to bring her husband back to her full time… But this was definitely taking a toll on her; she could feel herself depleting, disappearing into a sea of loneliness.

"This next experiment drug has to work," Maggie thought, the silent prayer a desperate plea as she walked into another night shift at the diner.

The shift dragged by, fueled by cold coffee and agonizing fear. When she finally arrived home just as the sun began to peek over the horizon, she found Dr. Chen waiting in the living room, his face unreadable.

"The drug was administered just before midnight," he said softly. "His sleep was restless. We've monitored his brain activity. There is nothing conclusive yet, but his vitals are stable."

Maggie nodded, slipping into the bedroom. Jon was awake, sitting up in bed. His eyes darted around the room, full of the familiar, terrified confusion of a stranger in a strange place. The drug had failed. Her heart broke, shattering five years of fragile hope.

"Who are you?" Jon asked, his voice hoarse.

Maggie managed a weak smile, the last one she had left. "I'm Maggie, your wife. You had an accident five years ago..." She reached for the bedside table, ready to begin the daily recitation, the ritual of their life together. She reached for the remote control for the ceiling fan.

"No, don't," Jon mumbled, squinting at the fixture spinning lazily above them.

Maggie froze, her hand hovering over the plastic button. "Don't what, Jon?"

He looked straight at her, his brows furrowed in genuine, remembered annoyance, a look she hadn't seen in half a decade. "Don't put it on high. It's spinning too fast, Maggie. You know I hate the rattling noise."

Maggie dropped the remote. It clattered to the floor, unheard. Her knees gave out, and she collapsed against the doorframe, tears finally, blessedly, escaping. The memories hadn't returned, not the honeymoon, not the wedding, not the accident. But somewhere, deep inside the fog, one small, insignificant piece of their shared, mundane existence—her nightly habit of turning the fan on high and his morning habit of complaining about it—had stuck.

Jon didn't remember their past, but he had retained a secret memory of their continuous present. Her love had not been forgotten; it had simply been inscribed onto a new slate, one shared habit at a time. The cycle of explaining might continue, but now Maggie knew: he was listening.

"Okay, Jon," she whispered, her voice thick with pure relief. "I'll turn it down. Tell me, do you want coffee or tea?"