Lost and Found In Love

Chapter 8

The hospital room was quiet, the stillness broken only by the occasional hum of a passing nurse's cart or the muffled sounds of life outside William's door. He sat upright in bed, his hands resting on the edge of the blanket, his thoughts fixed on the name Sandra Morgan had mentioned the day before: Richard Hale.

That name stirred something deep in the recesses of his mind, a faint ripple in the otherwise stagnant waters of his memory. He couldn't summon the details, but the mere sound of it felt significant, as though it held the key to a part of himself he desperately needed to uncover.

The knock at the door brought him back to the present. Clara stepped in, her ever-present clipboard in hand and a look of quiet determination on her face. She had that air about her today—the same one she'd had when she first suggested the garden—like she'd come prepared with a plan.

"Good morning," she said, closing the door behind her. "How are you feeling?"

"Nervous," William admitted, his gaze meeting hers. "I've been thinking about that call with Hale. What if he tells me something I'm not ready to hear?"

Clara moved to the chair beside his bed, setting the clipboard down on the table. "That's a valid fear," she said gently. "But you've already come so far. Whatever he tells you, it's just another piece of the puzzle. And you're not facing it alone."

William nodded, her words steadying him. "So, what's the plan?" he asked.

"I spoke with Sandra this morning," Clara said. "She's arranged a call with Mr. Hale for later today. She said he's eager to speak with you."

"Eager?" William repeated, his brow furrowing. "That's... unexpected."

"He cares about the company," Clara said. "And from what Sandra told me, you were one of his top executives. He probably wants to make sure you're okay."

The idea felt strange—someone like Richard Hale caring about his well-being. William had always imagined CEOs as cold and detached, more focused on profits than people. But then again, he didn't remember much about Hale, so who was he to judge?

"Okay," William said, exhaling slowly. "Let's do it."

The call was scheduled for mid-afternoon, giving William a few hours to prepare. Clara stayed with him, guiding him through exercises designed to calm his nerves and help him focus. She had a knack for knowing exactly what he needed, and by the time the phone rang, he felt as ready as he could be.

Clara placed the call on speaker, setting the phone on the table between them. William's heart pounded as the line connected, the seconds stretching into what felt like an eternity. Finally, a deep, authoritative voice came through.

"William," the voice said, the tone both commanding and warm. "It's good to hear your voice."

"Mr. Hale," William replied, his own voice steady despite the nerves tightening in his chest. "Thank you for taking the time to speak with me."

"Please, call me Richard," Hale said. "And it's no trouble at all. I was deeply concerned when I heard about your accident. How are you holding up?"

William hesitated, unsure how much to share. "It's been... challenging," he said finally. "I'm still piecing things together, but I'm making progress."

"That's good to hear," Hale said. "You've always been a resilient man, William. I have no doubt you'll get through this."

The words struck a chord, though William couldn't say why. He glanced at Clara, who gave him an encouraging nod, and decided to press forward.

"Richard," he said, the name feeling strange on his tongue. "I don't remember much about my time at Weston-Hale. Can you tell me about my role there? About the projects I worked on?"