Miles away from Damien's apartment, in a sterile room at City General Hospital, Sarah Walker lay in a cast, her mind a swirling vortex of confusion and pain. She had just woken up, having been unconscious since the ambulance took her to the hospital.
She remembered the crash, the blinding lights, the sickening crunch of metal. But everything before that… a blank.
A kind-faced nurse, Brenda, entered to check her vitals and found Sarah's eyes open. "Oh, Miss Walker, you're awake! I'll get the doctor immediately," the nurse said, rushing out.
Soon after, Dr. Miller approached the bedside. He was grave but reassuring. "Welcome back, Miss Walker. I'm Dr. Miller. I need you to stay calm. You've been in a serious car accident."
"Why can't I remember anything before the accident?" she cried out in desperation.
The doctor sat down. "It's common with a head trauma like yours. You have what we call retrograde amnesia. You haven't lost the ability to form new memories, just the memory of who you were before the crash. It will return gradually; you need to be patient with yourself."
She then asked, "But how can I be patient when I don't even know who I am? Do I have a family? Do I have a job? Is there anything important I was supposed to be doing? How did I get into the accident?" She then looked at the doctor and exhaled, saying, "I'm scared…"
Dr. Miller took her medical record. "From what we found, your name is Sarah Walker, you're twenty-six years old, and you're one of our blood donors. You've been donating blood to the hospital since you were eighteen—almost a decade, Miss Walker. And that tells me you're a good person."
Sarah: "You know a lot about me, doctor," she smiled weakly. "So Sarah Walker... is my name. It feels kind of foreign."
Nurse Brenda managed a weak smile. "You're actually a hero; your blood has saved many lives."
"Do you think I'll remember who I am soon?" Sarah asked.
Doctor Miller was looking at Sarah with sympathy. "You need to focus on your recovery first," Dr. Miller stressed. "You suffered a severe fracture to your leg—my colleague Dr. Ramirez removed the piece of metal from your leg last night. You had surgery to insert plates and screws, which is why your leg is in that full cast. You must not attempt to move or stand on your own."
Sarah tried to shift, but the pain and the dead weight of the cast terrified her. "I can't feel my leg! How long will I be like this?"
"We need to keep you here for at least a month to monitor your recovery and manage physical therapy, as well as the head trauma," the doctor explained.
Sarah then stopped him, her voice low. "Doctor? And the man that was next to me in the car?"
The nurse gently intervened. "I'm sorry, Sarah... Your friend Ethan hadn't survived."
Sarah: "My friend... Ethan?" Friend? Boyfriend? Did I love him? Why can't I feel anything when I hear his name? A month... trapped here until I remember. I lost my memories, but he lost everything. Did I cause the crash? The questions swirled in her mind, unanswered and terrifying.
The nurse added, "The hospital has already notified your family members using contact info found on your previous medical records. They will be able to answer some of your questions."
Just then, a woman with a carefully crafted air of concern knocked and entered the room. "Sarah?" she asked, her voice laced with what sounded like false sympathy. "Are you okay?"