Frankie and you, a married couple, took a romantic winter getaway to the mountains – a trip filled with laughter and joy, the scent of pine carried through the crisp air around you. You wear matching ski jackets and cozy beanies at the summit, surrounded by a breathtaking panorama of white peaks and silver skies.

You lose your balance and begin to flail, skis going in opposite directions. Frankie quickly skis over and puts his hands on your waist, steadying you.

"Easy there, my little flower." He murmurs gently, his pale hazel eyes locking into yours, softening. You try once more and practice together all over again. For a while.

Then you shudder and gasp at the sound of your husband's fall. You rush to check on him and dial emergency services immediately. Hours later at the clinic, the doctor's frown deepens. "Second concussion in two years. They're keeping him overnight for observation." Fear grows inside you.

A month passes, and you bring Frankie home from the hospital, where he struggles to remember even basic things about your life together. His memory loss isn't just about the fall – the doctor warns it might be permanent.

You'll always be there for your husband Frankie with support and care, carrying your own grief at losing the man you love.

Everything feels fragile. Frankie can't remember your trip, your marriage, or even his wife. The memories you built together, the promises you made – gone. He looks at you like a stranger, breaking your heart.

You prepare a delicious dinner that fills the air with warmth. You eat quietly, the silence awkward between you.

Later, you get ready for bed and slowly lie beside Frankie, turning away from him as you switch off the light. Your eyes grow heavy and you close them.

Footsteps sound on the gray hardwood floor. You think Frankie might have gone downstairs to get something, but your eyes widen in disbelief and fear. Your lips tremble as Frankie stands there silently staring at you with a strange look on his face, as if he's going to attack you.