I pinched the bridge of my nose, the pain too much to respond. My eyes remained closed until Paxton started pointing out landmarks.

Nothing looked familiar. Not one thing. Not the market where he claimed that I shopped, the dance studio I supposedly took my daughters to, the park we played at. Nothing.

“Do you remember?” Paxton questioned as the car turned right. Right into a very lovely area.

I shook my head back and forth while my nerves began to stand on end, interest increasing. It appeared we lived in an exceptionally nice neighborhood, a cul-de-sac with large lots. Paxton stopped at a four-way stop sign and then turned right again.

“Are we rich?” I blurted, my eyes widening.

Paxton laughed and patted my hand. “We’re not rich. We’re okay, but not rich. Not yet, anyway.”

“But we have nice things.” I don’t know why I said it, really. Rambling. That’s what it was. Nervous gibberish.

“Yes, love. We live the American dream. Payments and all, but this isn’t our house. This is where our daughters have been staying for the past couple weeks.”

“Wait. You’re just going to pick them up like this? I need a minute before you just throw them at me.”

“Throw them at you?”

“Please,” I begged, pleading for more time. I at least wanted something for the pain first. “Please, Paxton. Can’t we go home first? I need something for the pain, and I want to review my surroundings first and get, uh…used to all this…shock.”

“They’ve been waiting for two weeks. They miss you.”

“I know. I get that. I do. I’m just in a lot of pain. I don’t want them to feel like I didn’t miss them, too.”

Paxton looked down at my hand covering his forearm and caved. Thank God. “Fine, we’ll get you settled into your room with some pain meds first. I’ll come and get the girls while you rest.”

“Thank you,” I softly said with a relieved sigh. There was no way I could have pretended to be excited to see them. Not with the amount of pain I was in.

Paxton made a U-turn, heading back the way we had come. He stopped at the same four-way stop and went straight. Our house was on the best allotment, a dead-end street with a long, blacktop drive. The yard got me. The landscaping sprawled in magnificent sego palms mixed with African lilies. I would have never thought to do that.

Wait. Why did I know that? How was it that I knew the names of tropical plants but not my own family? I didn’t understand how I knew the bed of stinky flowers were California poppies, either. Who would want fishy flowers that close to their house? Wait. What? I was about to walk into a life I didn’t know, and here I sat cultivating flowers in my head.

What the hell?

“What’s that?” I asked pointing to a building a football-field length away from the house. Damn, this place amazed me.

“The little cottage, or my shop?”

“Shop?” Out of the corner of my vision, I caught a work truck driving along the dirt lane toward the building, but I didn’t turn my head to look. I was in too much pain to care.

“Yes. My work.”

My hand grasped the handle and I squeezed, trying not to flip out. I was in excruciating pain after riding for two hours. Do you think my husband cared? No, not at all. He turned and drove through the side yard until we, too, were on the same path as the truck. As much as I wanted to, I didn’t say anything. I clenched my jaw and took long, deep breaths.

Paxton rolled down his window and talked to the guy about a filtration system and a fountain. I tried to care. To pay attention to detail and regain my memory, but I couldn’t. The pain going up my leg, through my hip, and to my lower back was too much for me to care. Or was it the pain in my neck? I couldn’t even tell anymore.

“Hello, Gabriella. How do you feel?” a short guy with broken English asked.

“Hi, I’m okay. Thank you,” I lied with a smile. I was ready to cry. I just wanted to lay down.

The older man showed me his bright white teeth and nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. I saw your car. You’re very lucky.”

“You saw the car?” My excitement may have been a little high. My voice was anyway. I wanted to see the car. Maybe that would jar something.

Paxton didn’t let his employee answer. I could tell by the two-minute conversation that he powered over him, too. This guy lived on a constant power trip. Paxton gave me a look that I learned very quickly meant shut up, continuing with his important conversation. I gathered from the discussion that Paxton did landscaping, maybe something to do with pools and water features. I didn’t care. I wanted to go home. Wherever that was.

I searched my surroundings. My surreal surroundings. We truly did have the best lot. It was huge, and although I couldn’t see it, I could tell the ocean was in our backyard. I could feel the sea breeze on my face, smell it in the air, and hear it in the distance. Waves lapping a beach in the distance. Holy shit. I lived by the ocean!

But my excitement was short lived when pain shot through my back. I’m not sure what Paxton and the guy that I now knew as Tony, talked about. I’m not sure what the rest of my surroundings looked like. All I knew was, I hurt like hell and I needed to rest.

As much as I tried to keep my mouth shut and let Paxton explain what he wanted done on some jobsite, I couldn’t. Not for one more second.

“Paxton, please,” I quietly pleaded in a faint voice, white knuckles squeezing the handle of my door.

Paxton glanced over at me and then back to Tony. “I’ll call you later. Try to get the Boteler job done tomorrow so we can start on the one in Wellington come Monday morning. Did you get that stone delivered over there?”

“Paxton!” I pleaded again. I had to.

“Okay, okay. I’ll call you later, Tony.”

Paxton drove back to our home and parked in a three-car garage. Even the garage had a brilliancy about it. Clean. Everything in its place. My fingers tapped on the console between us while I waited for Paxton to retrieve my crutches from the back. Emotions mixed with pain, and my heart picked up a little anticipation and speed.

“Did you get my bag with medicine?” I questioned. That’s all I wanted. Something for the pain and a place to lay down.

“Yes, I already told you I would give it to you when we got home. You don’t need to worry about that.”

Easy for him to say.

I struggled my way out of the car, holding my breath as I dragged my stiff leg from behind me. “I’m an adult. I think I can worry about my own medications,” I snapped. Paxton didn’t move, therefore, I couldn’t move.

“I’m going to let that slide because I know you’re in pain. Don’t do it again.”

I didn’t have the strength to argue. Whatever. I didn’t care who gave them to me. I just wanted them. I didn’t have the endurance to check out my house. I know I stepped in from the garage into a mudroom. The washer and dryer on one end, a white bench with blue and white chevron lines in the middle and four cubby holes with all our names—starting with Paxton, of course. Pink and white sandals on the shelves below hooks, holding little white jackets. Holy shit! This was real.

I’m a mother.

The next door opened to a chef’s kitchen. One from Cribs or something, and then an open dining room connected to a living room with more signs of little girls. The table held a Barbie coloring book with a sandwich bag full of crayons on top. A cheap McDonald’s toy, a green whistle, and a pink jelly-bracelet in the shape of a star.

Paxton dropped my one and only bag to the table and picked up the things, putting them in their place, a drawer below a beautiful buffet. Sleek. Shimmering black marble or something. It was gorgeous and complemented well with the rest of the décor.

“Anything? Does any of this feel familiar?” Paxton asked while retrieving the bottle of pain pills from my bag. Thank the good Lord above!