Chapter 4

"HE'S discharged?"

The nurse nodded in response to Jenna’s question. Jenna let out a small sigh.

"Just this afternoon. You missed him by a little."

"Hmm… it’s okay."

"Uh… miss?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you met Mr. Clarke’s family?"

Jenna frowned. "No, I haven’t. Why?"

The nurse grinned. "Nothing, really. I just overheard them talking… and they mentioned your name."

Jenna froze.

"Maybe you know them?"

"I don’t know Ben or his family, but… how do they know my name?"

"I’m not sure. Maybe they heard it somewhere?"

Jenna fell silent, deep in thought. What if Ben’s family knew he had feelings for her? If not, how else would they know her name? Or… had they already found out she was the reason Ben got hurt?

"It’s okay. I won’t take up more of your time. I should get going now," Jenna said before walking away from the nurse’s station.

The thought wouldn’t leave her mind.

"If Ben doesn’t remember anything, how do they know my name? If it wasn’t from him, then where did they get it? Could they… recognize my face?"

Jenna sat down on a bench in the hospital lobby.

"Should I meet them? Apologize? After all, I’m the reason Ben got hurt. But… what if they’re angry? What if they chase me away? Hate me?"

She took a sharp breath, not daring to imagine facing their anger.

"Maybe… this is where my connection with Ben ends. Maybe… his memory loss is a sign that we’re not meant to meet again. Maybe… this is a proof that we were never supposed to cross paths. I don’t even have feelings for him, so why am I so bothered by this? From now on, I’ll just pray for him to recover. That’s all I can do. But… what if his memory comes back? And he remembers me?"

Jenna quickly stood up.

"No. No point thinking about that. Ben doesn’t remember anything. Even if the doctor says it might be temporary amnesia, there are cases where people never regain their memories. Calm down, Jenna. This accident is a proof that you and he have no connection. Period."

She let out a small sigh.

"I hope so."

With that, she turned and left the hospital.

THE bedroom was supposed to be his, but it felt completely unfamiliar, as if he were stepping into it for the first time.

"Get some rest, Ben. I’ll be downstairs," said Beatrice before leaving.

Ben watched his sister walk out, then turned his gaze to the balcony. The sliding door was shut, with curtains drawn over it. He pulled them aside, revealing a view of the residential area outside. He let out a quiet breath and sat on the bed, lost in thought—again.

His eyes landed on a wallet sitting on the nightstand. He picked it up and pulled out an identification card.

Matthew Benjamin Clarke.

He glanced at the calendar on the nightstand. Based on his birth year, he was 30 this year. Ben studied his reflection in the mirror and compared it to the photo on his ID. It was definitely him.

Strange. He couldn't remember anything, yet he could calculate his age. Maybe the knowledge he had learned still existed somewhere in his subconscious. That would explain why he could still read and do basic math. He could still recall the doctor's explanation.

"Amnesia can happen in many situations—head trauma, concussions, emotional distress, and more. Some people recover, some don’t. The way amnesia affects problem-solving skills varies too. Some patients can still do things based on subconscious memory, while others need to relearn everything. It’s like meeting an old friend after years apart. You recognize their face but can’t remember their name. Something like that."

Ben put the ID card back into his wallet. The pain in his injured head had eased, but his mind remained blank.

He stood up and walked toward a desk. Sheets of sketch paper were scattered across its surface, some even on the floor. He sank into the chair, staring at the mess.

Drawings of shoes, sandals, slippers—various types of footwear covered each page. He picked up one sketch. It was a design of high heels, shaded in deep ocean blue. The shoes were fully closed, with a slightly translucent upper section. He placed the paper back on the desk.

Rising from his seat, he walked to the balcony. He slid the door open halfway, letting the evening breeze drift into the room.

Stepping onto the balcony, Ben took in a slow breath. From this moment on, he had a lot to learn—starting with the most important question.

Who was Matthew Benjamin Clarke?

Three Months Later

BEN stood straight, adjusting his tie as he looked at himself in the mirror. For months, his sister had insisted he rest at home. Today was the first day he was finally allowed to return to work.

He made his way down to the dining area near the kitchen. Breakfast was already set on the table, and his young nephews, dressed in their school uniforms, were seated and ready to eat.

“Take a seat, Ben,” Beatrice said while pouring drinks for her two sons.

Ben took a seat across from his sister, while his brother-in-law sat at the end of the table.

“Have some tea, Ben,” Wesley offered, taking a sip from his cup.

“Ben—”

“Please.” Ben cut her off. “At the office, please call me Matthew... or Mr. Clarke.”

Beatrice and Wesley exchanged glances.

“‘Ben is just for family. Outside, I’m Matthew.”

Beatrice smiled. “Alright. Eat your fried noodles. I made it special for you today—it’s your favorite.”

Ben took one spoonful and immediately choked, his face turning red. Even after drinking half a cup of water, the heat lingered in his throat.

“It’s… really spicy,” he muttered, clearing his throat.

“But you’ve always liked spicy fried noodles, haven’t you?”

Ben stayed silent. He reached for a slice of bread, spread some butter on it, and pushed the plate of fried noodles aside.

“It’s okay. Eat the bread instead. Next time, I won’t make it spicy.”

“Uncle Ben doesn’t eat spicy food anymore? Then who’s going to compete with me to see who can handle the spiciest food?”

Ben turned to Theo, who was sitting beside him. The boy pouted at his uncle.

“Theo, why are you making that face at Uncle Ben?”

The nine-year-old sighed. “I miss the old Uncle Ben. It’s been so long since you played soccer with me and Jonah. Is it true you’ve forgotten everything? You don’t remember me at all? Then… how are you going to work?”

“Theo…” His father’s warning made the boy lower his head and continue eating.

“It’s okay. Uncle Ben can learn slowly,” Beatrice reassured him.

“Does Uncle Ben have to learn the ABCs again?” Jonah, the second child, asked innocently, making Wesley and Beatrice chuckle.

“Uncle Ben can still read,” Beatrice explained. “He just needs to relearn how to do his job at the office.”

Seven-year-old Jonah patted Ben’s shoulder. “Be patient, Uncle Ben. Life is all about learning. If you don’t learn, it’s hard to get smarter.”

“Alright, hurry up and finish your breakfast. Don’t disturb your uncle,” Wesley reminded his sons as they started getting playful.

Ben remained quiet, finishing his bread in deep thought. Yes, he had a lot to learn. He needed to figure out how Matthew Clarke worked, how he lived.

And this time, he would make sure the new Matthew Clarke was better than whoever he used to be.

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