A pause. A flicker of something in his gaze.
“Maverick,” he repeated slowly, analyzing the word. “Right. Of course.”
A chill crept up my spine. Ethan loved that dog more than anything. He never forgot Maverick’s name. My heart told me this was my husband. But my gut… my gut screamed something was wrong.
And then, the truth came crashing down.
It happened one early morning. A military officer arrived at the hospital, his uniform crisp, his expression grim. “Dr. Peterson,” he said, “I need a word.”
I felt uneasy as I followed him into the hallway. My hands were shaking.
“There’s been a mistake,” he said.
I stood there shocked.
“The man you’ve been caring for… he’s not your husband.”
I shook my head. “That’s not possible. His tags—”
“There was an accident,” he continued, his voice carefully measured. “A fire. Two soldiers were evacuating civilians when a building collapsed. They both suffered severe burns. Their belongings were mixed up in the chaos.”
