“Don’t ever thank me for looking after you, Ava.” I don’t mean to sound affronted, but it’s unavoidable. “You are my wife. It’s what I’ve been put on this earth to do.” She looks up at me, a small frown crossing her forehead, and I find myself holding my breath, waiting for her to tell me she remembers something—remembers me saying that before, because I know for damn sure I have. Or any recollection, no matter how small or insignificant she thinks it is. But when she shakes her head, I realize it’s not coming.
