It happened in a blink. One moment, Matthew was stirring sugar into his coffee; the next, his vision blurred, his arm went numb, and the world tilted. He collapsed as the café spun around him.

A soft, urgent voice cut through the chaos.
“Repeat after me: The sky is blue.”

His tongue failed him. Then, everything went dark.

When he woke, he was in the back of an ambulance. Sitting beside him, holding his hand, was her—Taylor. His wife. The woman he had buried twenty years ago.

“Taylor… is it really you?” His voice cracked.

She hesitated. “I’m alive, but… I don’t know if I’m your Taylor. I have flashes. Fragments. But nothing whole.”

He told her everything—the car wreck, the endless search, the empty coffin he buried. Tears welled in her eyes as she shared her story:

A man named Alister had found her after the accident. She woke up in a cabin, disoriented and broken, with no memory of her life. He told her she was his wife, and she believed him. For twenty years, she lived in that cabin, trapped in a life that wasn’t hers.

Then the memories started returning—small things, like a name. Matthew’s name. The moment she saw him collapse in the café, she knew.

“I couldn’t go back,” she whispered. “I ran to you.”

The police found Alister days later. He didn’t resist. “I lost my fiancée in a crash years ago,” he confessed. “When I found her, it felt like fate had given her back to me. I loved her in my own way… but I know it was wrong.”

Taylor moved to the city, determined to rebuild her life. She enrolled in medical school to become a nurse, driven by the desire to help others. Slowly, she and Matthew reconnected—coffee dates, long walks, and shared memories that came back piece by piece.

She wasn’t the same woman he had married. She was stronger now. But she was still his Taylor.

Love isn’t about where you’ve been—it’s about choosing, every day, to move forward together.