Please Come Back, My Love novel Chapter 222

Alexander’s POV

The helicopter’s rotors cut through the night air as we flew east over the Long Island Sound. I kept my eyes on Elena, wrapped in thermal blankets on the seat beside me, her face still gray despite Dr. Garrison’s best efforts to stabilize her body temperature during the fligt to the island.

ETA thirty minutes, sir,” the pilot’s voice crackled through my headset.

I nodded, though he couldn’t see me.

Thirty minutes until we reached the island-my private sanctuary off the coast of Connecticut, forty acres of forest and rock that didn’t appear on most

maps.

The medical facility there was better equipped than the one at the estate, and more importantly, it was completely isolated.

No one would find her there. Not Julian Sterling. Not the police investigating her “drowning.” Not whoever had pushed her off that bridge.

She would be safe.

My eyes drifted to her throat, where the silver heart-shaped locket had shifted outside her clothes during the transfer. The chain was visible against her pare skin, the pendant catching the helicopter’s interior lights.

Even unconscious, even half-dead from hypothermia, she wore it like a talisman.

The EMTs had tried to remove it for the medical examination, but I’d stopped them.

Ashford-Moreau-Hunt.

The missing daughter of one of the most powerful families in Europe had been right in front of me all along, and I’d known it the second I’d seen that

locket around her neck.

Dr. Garrison leaned forward from the back seat, checking Elena’s vitals on the portable monitor. “Her core temperature is stabilizing at thirty-five point wo

Celsius. Heart rate seventy-four. But Alexander, I need to tell you something.”

I turned to look at her, my jaw tight. “What?”

Γ

“When we did the initial assessment back at the estate, before we moved her…” She hesitated. “There’s significant trauma to the back of her skull. Consistent with impact against something hard. The bridge railing, most likely, when she went over.”

My stomach dropped. “How bad?”

“I won’t know until we can do a proper CT scan. But there’s swelling. Possible concussion, possibly worse.” She met my eyes. “Alexander, when she wakes up -if she wakes up without complications-there’s a chance she won’t remember what happened. Head injuries like this can cause retrograde amnesia.”

“How much would she forget?”

‘Impossible to say. Could be just the accident. Could be days, weeks, even months before the injury.” She paused. “In severe cases, patients lose all autobiographical memory. They retain language, basic knowledge, motor skills-but they can’t remember their own history. Who they are, where they came from, the people in their lives.”

Chapter 222-

Looked back at Elena, her face peaceful in unconsciousness. No memory of Julian Sterling. No memory of the pain he’d caused her, the baby she’d lost, the muther who’d been murdered.

She might wake up as a blank slate.

The helicopter began its descent. Below us, the island emerged from the darkness-a sprawltag compound of modern glass and steel nestled into the rocky coastline, lights blazing against the night.

“Prepare for landing,” the pilot announced.

We touched down on the helipad behind the main house. I gathered Elena into my arms, careful not to jostle her, and carried her toward the medical wing. Dr. Garrison, who had followed me closely from the helipad, immediately began directing her team that was assembled and ready.

“Get her into the CT scanner immediately, “I ordered as we entered the sterile white facility. “I need to know the extent of the head trauma.”

“Yes, sir.” Dr. Garrison’s team moved with practiced efficiency, transferring Elena to a gurney and wheeling her toward the imaging suite.

I followed, refusing to leave her side. I stood behind the glass partition, watching as they slid her unconscious body into the machine, watching the images appear on the monitors.

Dr. Garrison’s face grew more serious as she studied the scans.

“Well?” I demanded.

“Subdural hematoma,” she said quietly, pointing to a dark area on the scan. “Small, but it’s there. The brain is swollen, particularly around the hippocampus and temporal lobes. We’ll need to monitor her closely for the next forty-eight hours. If the swelling increases, we may need to perform surgery to relieve the

pressure.”

“And the amnesia?”

“Almost certain. Severe.” She turned to face me. “The areas affected are critical for memory formation and retrieval. When she wakes up, there’s a very strong possibility she won’t remember her personal history. She’ll likely retain semantic memory-language, general knowledge, learned skills–but episodic memory, her life experiences, relationships, identity…” She trailed off. “Those could be completely gone.”

My heart pounded. “Permanent?”

“Impossible to predict. Some patients recover memories over time. Others never do,” Dr. Garrison paused. “There’s something else.”

“What?”

She pulled up another image. “We ran a full body scan while she was in the machine. Alexander, she’s pregnant.”

The world seemed to tilt. “What?”

“Approximately eight weeks. The fetus appears healthy despite the trauma and hypothermia.’ She met my eyes. “Did you know?”

“No.” I stared at the scan, at the tiny flutter of a heartbeat barely visible on the screen. Eight weeks. That would put conception around the time she’d been with Sterling, before everything fell apart.

She was carrying Julian Sterling’s child.

1:11 am P P P P

Chapter 222

And she had no idea.

“The pregnancy complicates things, Dr. Garrison continued. “We need to be very careful with medications, monitoring. And she needs to be told as soon as she’s conscious. Pregnant women require specialized care.”

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