Page 26 of I Do, You Don’t (You Don’t #1)

I wake choking on air.

The first breath tastes of metal. The second burns. My body jerks upw ard, tangled in wires and stiff hospital sheets, as if I’ve been underwater for days and only now broken the surface.

Fluorescent lights buzz overhead. A heart monitor keeps its steady pulse. I blink, trying to adjust to the harsh white room, but nothing looks familiar. Nothing feels familiar. My brain is soup.

Where am I?

“No response to her name yet, but her vitals are improving. Try again.”

A doctor’s voice. Calm. Detached.

I try to speak, but my throat is raw.

“Nadia?” A voice pierces the fog. Feminine. Soft. I turn my head. A woman with curly auburn hair steps closer, her hands fluttering nervously at her sides.

She’s crying.

“Oh my God,” she breathes. “You’re awake.” She rushes forward, grabbing my hand. I don’t pull away, even though I have no idea who she is. “It’s me. Poppy.”

Poppy.

The name doesn’t stir a memory, but I nod anyway. Her grip tightens, as if she’s afraid I’ll vanish again. Beside her stands a man I don’t recognize.

Then I see him.

Jarren.

His hair is longer than it was earlier today. Before, it was cropped short, almost a buzz cut, but now dark roots show beneath tousled strands. As I study his face, I notice a small scar on his left eyebrow. One that wasn’t there this afternoon.

Still, relief floods me, loosening the knot in my chest. Everything w ill be okay now that he’s here. It doesn’t matter how confused I am. Jarren will protect me. He’ll help me make sense of this.

When our dog Buddy died, he held me all night.

Arielle was only three, and Ava hadn’t been born yet.

He never told me to toughen up. He stroked my hair, helped me into the shower, cared for me.

Jarren and I have always balanced each other.

When I’m down, he lifts me up. When he’s down, I do the same.

So I have no doubt he’ll do that now. I expect him to rush to my side, kiss my forehead, and tell me everything is fine, or if it’s not, that we’ll face it together.

I smile, drinking in the sight of his tousled dark hair and piercing blue eyes. But something’s wrong. His face is a blank mask, stripped of warmth. No crooked grin.

A chill slides down my spine.

He lingers at the edge of the room, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“Jarren,” I croak. The name slips out before I can stop it. I try to lift my hand, but it barely twitches. “Where are the girls?”

He doesn’t move.

His eyes sharpen, distant, cold. “What did you just say?”

I blink, thrown. “Arielle. Ava. Our daughters. Where are they?”

The room goes still.

Poppy stares at me as if I’ve grown horns.

Jarren steps closer, but not the way I hoped. There’s no comfort in his gaze. Only suspicion, guarded, grim, like he’s waiting for the punchline of a cruel joke.

“You think this is funny? Playing games the second you wake up?”

“I’m not joking,” I whisper, panic clawing up my throat. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

The doctor steps closer, shining a light into my eyes. “Nadia,” h e says gently, “can you tell me who else is in the room?”

I glance around. These people mean nothing to me. All except Jarren. I know him. Or I thought I did.

My voice trembles. “I don’t know. Only my husband.”

The words land like a blow. He flinches.

Then it crashes over me, the memories.

Not of this place. Not these faces. But of a life so vivid it makes my chest ache.

Jarren coming home from a trip, boots still on, dried creek mud clinging to the soles.

Arielle and Ava at the table, eating grilled cheese I’d cut into stars.

Sunlight spilling through the windows, catching the smudges left by little fingers.

The cabin, his childhood home we’d remodeled, filled with the scent of bread, smoke, and something I can only call home.

He kissed my cheek, set the groceries on the counter, and murmured something about a fire later. “Let the girls splash in the creek before dinner.”

That creek wasn’t just a place; it was a pulse between us. That life wasn’t a dream. It was real. We carved our initials into a tree there. Held hands. Argued. Made up. Planned a future.

And now he looks at me like none of it ever happened.

Something must have gone wrong. Something terrible. Jarren’s upset because I failed to protect them. That’s why he’s cold. That’s why he’s distant. It has to be.

He blames me.

I see it in the way his eyes refuse to soften. In the way his jaw tightens, like he’s biting back words sharp enough to shatter us both.

I glance at Poppy again. She’s still crying, and now I notice the man beside her rubbing slow circles across her back.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “Who are you?”

Jarren recoils . The color drains from his face.

The man answers, steady and quiet: “Connor. Poppy’s fiancé.”

“Oh.” The word slips out, thin and useless. I don’t know what else to say. I don’t know why I’m supposed to care about Poppy and Connor.

A cold silence settles over the room. Jarren’s eyes sharpen with disbelief. I can see only him.

The heart monitor quickens.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The doctor steps closer, glancing between us, murmurs something to a nurse, and she slips out.

I clutch the blanket tighter, breath shallow. “I don’t understand,” I whisper. “Where are my daughters? Why are you pretending they don’t exist?”

Poppy gasps.

Jarren’s mouth opens, but no sound emerges. Then, at last, a single word.

“No.”

The way he says it is like watching a bridge burn from both ends.

“No, what?” My voice is barely audible.

“I’m not doing this.” He gestures sharply at me, as if I’m a problem he can’t name. “Whatever this is.”

I shake my head, the motion dull and aching. He’s confused. That’s all. Traumatized. Confused. Just like me. So I remind him. “We carved our initials into that tree. You gave me your grandmother’s ring. You, ”

“You bullied me in high school,” Jarren cuts in. “You made my life hell. And now you’re, what? Pretending we were married?”

He falters. For a split second, pain flickers in his eyes, but then h e slams it shut, locking himself behind a wall I can’t reach.

The room tilts, vision blurring. The ache in my chest is sharper than any broken rib.

He looks at me not just like a stranger, but like a threat. A manipulator. Someone he has to guard against.

Poppy steps forward, her hand light on my arm. “Nadia, it’s okay. You’ve just been through something traumatic. Your brain might be”

I can’t stand it another second. Where are my babies?

“I remember everything,” I insist, but the words crumble, fragile and weak.

I lock onto Jarren’s eyes, pleading. “Please. You have to believe me. I wouldn’t make this up.

If they’re gone, if something happened, I need to know.

I need to fix it. I know you’re angry. I can feel it. You think I let them get hurt.”

Jarren’s voice cuts sharp. “You remember what you want to remember. But that doesn’t make it real.”

His words scatter like ash.

I stare at him. My husband. My love. Or at least… the man who used to be.

The doctor murmurs something. The heart monitor drags slower.

And suddenly, the silence in the room is louder than any scream .