Daniel’s Letter

When I woke, I was in a hospital room.

Dark.

A window.

A narrow bed.

That disinfectant smell.

Daniel sat beside me.

The moment I moved, he sprang up.

“Mom? Mom, you’re awake. Are you hungry?”

“Light,” I muttered. “It’s dark.”

He turned on the lamp.

Too bright.

My head felt heavy, like I had slept for days.

“What happened?”

Daniel’s face crumpled.

“Mom, you don’t remember again.”

Again?

He told me I had fainted at the flower shop.

The owner called him.

By the time Daniel arrived, I was already at the hospital.

Doctors said I would wake soon.

But I slept until midnight.

Daniel took my hand.

“Mom, please don’t scare me like this.”

His eyes were wet.

My silly son.

He was grown, yet cried more easily now than when he was small.

“I’m fine,” I said, touching his face. “Look. I woke up.”

He bent forward, and I hugged his shoulders.

He was thinner.

Too thin.

My heart ached.

After my husband died—no, after the accident—Daniel had cared for me.

I knew this.

I did not remember everything, but I knew.

Three years ago, I woke at home after lying in bed for half a year.

Daniel told me there had been a car accident.

His father died.

I survived.

But I had forgotten my husband.

Photos did not help.

The man in them felt familiar and strange.

Whenever I tried to think about him, my head hurt.

My memory grew worse after that.

Sometimes I misplaced things.

Sometimes I went out and forgot why.

Sometimes Daniel could not find me.

Doctors said it was a protective response to trauma.

My mind had hidden the pain from me.

Daniel stopped mentioning his father.

He thought that protected me.

Maybe it did.

Maybe it left a hole I kept trying to walk toward without knowing why.

After returning home from the hospital, I behaved for a while.

Morning exercise with old friends.

Afternoon television.

Plants.

Meals with Daniel.

Then one morning, I dressed carefully again.

Pink coat.

Silver hair braided.

Leather shoes polished.

Daniel stood at the door.

“Mom, where are you going?”

“I told you. I have a date.”

His face changed.

“Mom…”

“I’m going to the flower shop. I’ll be back before dinner.”

I tapped the card around my neck.

“See? Prepared.”

He looked like he wanted to stop me.

Then he did not.

That day, I remembered more.

A young man in the countryside.

Dark from the sun.

Shy.

Smiling with crescent eyes.

He came to see me after work, pretending he only happened to pass by.

Everyone teased us.

He never admitted anything.

But I knew.

He liked me.

And I liked him.

We agreed, somehow, without saying much.

Years later, he found me again.

At the flower shop.

He always came early with flowers.

I always arrived a little late.

He had made me wait for him through so many years.

Surely he could wait a little for me.

But that day, he did not come either.

Daniel appeared near sunset.

He did not drag me away.

He only spoke quietly to the flower shop owner.

Then reminded me to come home.

I returned with the bouquet still in my arms.

That night, I found the key to the locked cabinet.

Inside were old keepsakes.

Photo albums.

I opened one.

A young woman and a young man smiled together.

Their shoulders touched.

She was me.

He was—

My chest tightened.

I turned the pages.

The two became three.

A baby.

Then a boy.

Daniel.

And the man beside us was my husband.

Thomas Moore.

My dead husband.

The memory came like blood.

The crash.

His body shielding mine.

His hand falling.

Warm blood splashing across my neck, sliding down into my collar, into my heart.

I knew.

I remembered.

I folded over the album and cried until my whole body shook.

Then something slipped under my door.

A sheet of paper.

Daniel’s handwriting.

I wiped my tears and unfolded it.

Mom,

Did you remember something today? I’m worried. You looked tired at dinner. You barely ate. But I still want to talk to you.

These days, you keep going to the flower shop. You say you have a date. I think you remembered how you and Dad used to meet.

You told me before that Dad always brought flowers when he saw you. You said he loved looking at you but blushed easily. Before marriage, he was careful even holding your hand. When you said this, Dad always told you not to expose his embarrassing past.

I didn’t care much then. I was young. Now I’m grateful you told me those things, because they help me understand you better.

I remember the joy when you woke three years ago. After half a year of fear, I finally felt like I could breathe. The accident was something none of us expected. When I reached the hospital, I thought both you and Dad were leaving me.

But maybe heaven heard me. You woke up.

Mom, you forgot Dad at first. It hurt me, but I know you forgot because it was too painful. Every time we mentioned him, your head hurt, and your memory worsened. The doctors said your case was special. As long as you stayed emotionally stable, you could live normally. So I stopped mentioning him. I thought as long as we were both healthy, it was enough.

But when you fainted at the flower shop, I was terrified. I was afraid you would go find Dad.

Mom, I never thought you were a burden. Maybe I nag too much. I know I annoy you sometimes. But if I don’t say things, I panic. I won’t stop you from going out. I never wanted to imprison you. Just remember to come home. I’m still waiting here.

Don’t go find Dad yet. It’s too early.

You haven’t met your daughter-in-law. You haven’t held a grandbaby.

If you remember something and feel sad, tell me. Don’t hold it alone. Your memory isn’t good. Don’t think too hard by yourself. Ask me.

I love you, Mom.

Please don’t leave me alone.

At the bottom, he drew a little smiling face.

Ugly.

Not cute at all.

I pressed the letter to my chest.

“Silly son,” I whispered.

Fine.

I would stay.

What else could I do?

The next morning, I woke and saw the note I had written beside my bed.

Husband is gone.

Daniel needs talking.

Future grandbaby.

Future grandbaby?

My son had a girlfriend?

That brat hid this from me?

I rushed out of bed.

Daniel was making breakfast.

“Mom, you’re awake.”

“Where is my daughter-in-law?” I demanded. “Bring her to meet me!”

Daniel stared.

Then he laughed.

For the first time in a long while, he looked young again.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll bring her.”