I thought I had buried my past with my husband, Anthony, who vanished during a storm three years ago. They never found his body, and the grief consumed me — I lost our unborn child and pushed everyone away. After years of pain, I took a solo trip to the beach, hoping to heal. There, I saw him — alive, laughing, holding hands with a woman and a little girl. My heart stopped. I called out his name and collapsed.
When he approached, he said his name was Drake and didn’t recognize me. I was devastated. That night, the woman — Kaitlyn — came to my hotel. She explained he had washed up years ago with no memory. She had cared for him, and they fell in love. The child was hers, and he accepted them as his family.
When I showed him photos of our past, nothing triggered his memory — not even our wedding pictures or ultrasound. But when his daughter ran into his arms, I saw the love in his eyes — the same love he once had for me, now directed at them.
That was the moment I knew: my Anthony was gone. The man standing before me was someone else, with a new life and a new heart. I let him go. I said goodbye. And for the first time in three years, I could finally breathe.