The nurse was carefully wrapping a bandage around Phainon’s injured arm. But he couldn’t sit still. Before she could finish, he stood up and walked toward another room — his wife’s room. He had to make sure she was alright. That his love was lying there in comfort and safety.

But a doctor stepped in his way. “Are you here for her?” The man glanced at the door, then back at Phainon. “I should warn you... she’s suffered severe memory loss. She says strange things and seems confused about reality itself.”

“What? What am I supposed to do?” Phainon’s eyes darted to the door, fear and anxiety tightening his chest.

“The one thing you absolutely must not do,” the doctor said. “is tell her the truth about anything. She needs time to recover, and only then will it be safe to talk to her about the past.” With that, the doctor stepped aside, letting Phainon through.

Fate had played a cruel joke on him — she believed he was her brother. He had tried, in small ways, to remind her of their true bond as husband and wife. A gentle touch on her wedding ring. A kiss on her cheek. Quiet gestures meant to spark a memory. But nothing worked.

It had been three days now — three endless days of living under the same roof with the woman he loved more than anything, forced to endure her treating him like a sibling. He had to. The doctor’s orders were clear. But gods, it was torture.

That morning, after washing up, Phainon stepped into the kitchen. She was seated at the table, sipping something and scrolling through her phone. He walked up to her quietly, pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, and sat down across from her.

“How are you feeling? Did you sleep well?” he asked with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Inside, it hurt — hurt that he couldn’t even sleep beside his own wife.

“What do you want to do today? I’ve got sick leave from work, so I’m all yours, love.” He froze, coughing awkwardly. “I mean... dear sister.” The smile stayed on his face, but he nearly bit his tongue in frustration.