Daddy Dearest

Chapter Sixty-Six

BEN

A cacophony of beeps and clicks chases away the darkness. I open my eyes to a sterile, fluorescent lit room. Staring at the bland ceiling, a profound confusion plagues me. Why am I in a hospital bed? The last thing I remember is... I search the foggy depths of my mind, but nothing surfaces.

I hear a rustling beside me, and I turn to see a woman, her beauty as cold and captivating as a winter morning. Her ice-blond hair frames her face and her eyes, green as emeralds, sparkle with a mixture of hope and trepidation.

"Do you... do you know who I am?" she asks, her voice trembling, her eyes welling with tears. A whisper of an accent — Irish? — laces her words.

I open my mouth to respond, and to my surprise, I sound different, the words tumbling out in a British accent I didn't know I possessed. "I...I'm sorry. I don't remember."

Her hand flies to her mouth as she gasps. "Oh, Ben," she sobs, leaning closer. "You really don't remember me? I'm Waverly, your wife."

Ben? Is that my name? I want to tell her I'm sorry, but I can't. The words lodge in my throat, replaced by a growing sense of panic. What happened to me? Why can't I remember?

A man in a white coat enters, casting a comforting hand on Waverly's shoulder. "Mrs. Davenport," he says gently. "We need to give Ben some time. He's experienced a severe head trauma."

Head trauma? The news hits me like a punch in the gut. The room begins to spin and I close my eyes, fighting the waves of nausea. Waverly is saying something to the doctor, her voice sharp with desperation. But I can't make out the words. It's like I'm underwater, the sounds muffled, distant.

Through my foggy confusion, four young faces enter the room. The woman, Waverly, introduces them as Lottie, Charlie, Noah and Madi. The names are as unfamiliar to me as everything else. My gaze lingers on the one who doesn't fit the pattern - Melody, a girl with black hair and honey-toned skin. She's like a... melody in a discordant symphony. The others are obviously Waverly's children, their blonde hair mirroring her own, but Melody... she seems out of place.

I look at the blond young man. "Is she your girlfriend?"

"No, Ben," Waverly cuts in, her eyes brimming with more tears. "She's part of our family. Her mother is ill... We're taking care of her."

The girl, Melody, gives me a nod, her eyes holding a sorrowful curiosity. The youngest one, Madi, curls her small fingers around my own. She looks more like Melody than her own siblings, her hair a curtain of dark curls.

The onslaught of information feels like a stampede, trampling over my already confused mind. I'm a father? A husband? My heart races, my breath grows ragged. A panic attack. That's what the doctor calls it.

Suddenly, I need to see myself. Maybe if I can see the man they know, it will trigger something. "Can...can I have a mirror?" I ask a passing nurse.

She hands me a small hand mirror, and I'm confronted with a face I don't recognize. Black hair, blue eyes. Handsome, they'd probably say. But it's a stranger's face.

"Tell me about myself," I urge Waverly, searching her face for any sign of deceit.

"We've been married for twenty-one years. You're from Hammersmith, London," she says, her voice filled with a desperation I don't understand. "You're a professor... a writer."

A writer? The idea seems alien. As she continues to speak, her words become a blur. The room spins again, the sterile white of the walls closing in on me.