"Katniss, how do you feel today? We brought some clothes for you."

My eyes flutter open. I lie in a hospital bed. Two blonde-haired women dressed in matching blue scrubs stand in front of me. One is in her mid-twenties, the other looks to be approaching fifty. Their features are similar; I suspect they are related as both wear nametags with the surname Everdeen.

Confused I ask, "Why am I here?"

"You had an accident and bumped your head," the younger one explains.

I put my hand to my forehead expecting to find a lump, but it's smooth. "I don't remember."

The older woman's eyes fill with tears. She shares a worried exchange with the younger one. "Do you know who we are?" she asks me.

Is this some kind of trick question? "You're hospital employees named Everdeen?"

"I'm a medical intern," the younger one pipes up. "But I'm also your sister, Prim. This is our mom, Lily. She's a nurse in Labor and Delivery."

"She doesn't know us," Lily says, wringing her hands.

I close my eyes and try to remember them. But nothing surfaces. I open my eyes again and note fear on both their faces. I've never seen them before in my life.

A redheaded man with movie star looks comes into the room, takes the clipboard that is attached at the foot of my bed, and comes close to my side. The nametag on his white coat reads Dr. Odair. "How are you doing this morning?" he greets me.

"Okay, I guess."

"Mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"Go ahead."

"What's your full name?"

"Katniss Everdeen." I guess at that since one of them called me by that name, and both are Everdeens.

"What year is it?"

"2019." I know that because I can easily see 2019 on the chart Dr. Odair holds.

"Who are these two women?" He points to my visitors.

"My sister and my mom?"

"Did you know that on your own?"

I point to the younger one. "She told me, but I don't recognize them."

My mom's face falls and my sister escorts her from the room.

"What's wrong with me?"

"You had a head injury which caused retrograde amnesia," Dr. Odair says. He taps his pen against the clipboard. "To put it in layperson's terms, you've lost your memory."

Lost it? But where did it go? "Will it come back?"

He doodles a school of fish on the top of my paper work. "Probably. But since there's no evidence of concussion, we'll be releasing you sometime today."

"Release me? But where will I go? I don't know who I am."

"You'll be released into the custody of your family. Take it easy over the next few days. If your memory doesn't return within a week or two, make an appointment with a neurologist. Now if you'll excuse me, I have another amnesiac to check on. Weird that we'd get two cases of retrograde amnesia at the same time."

As he leaves, a nurse brings in a tray of scrambled eggs, toast, and orange juice. Suddenly I am ravenous. I gobble down the food, wishing for more. Bored, I pick up the remote on the table by my bed and turn on the television. After flipping through a dozen channels, I settle on a reality show featuring a woman selecting her wedding gown. I root for the future bride to select the frilly one with pearls and lace, but she chooses the plain one without any beading at all. So boring.

Later, a cheery nurse comes in to take away my empty tray. She points to clothing that sits on a nearby chair. "You can get dressed now. Your husband is here to take you home."

My mouth falls open. "I'm married?" I look to my left hand for a ring, but it's bare. Where's my wedding band?

"Appears so." She gives me a knowing grin. "You're a lucky girl. He's handsome."

I close my eyes willing my memory to return. How could I forget my husband? But it's as if a giant wall is blocking the view to my life. I sigh. At least the nurse said he's handsome.

I dress in jeans, a white t-shirt, and sneakers. Is this utilitarian outfit my usual attire? It's so basic.

Even though I'm perfectly capable of walking, the nurse insists I wait for an orderly to take me out in a wheelchair. A bald, middle-aged man pushes me out of the building into a blast of warm air. Based on the temperature I speculate it's summer. I'm getting good at figuring things out.

Another wheelchair already sits empty next to the gray sedan where I am deposited. A stocky man sits in the back seat, his eyes closed. Ash blonde curls peek out beneath the white bandage that encircles his head. What happened to him?

From behind me, a voice booms. "You look great sweetheart. Let's get you out of that chair and into the car. We have a long drive ahead of us." From the corner of my eye I catch sight of a tall, sandy-haired man with bedroom eyes and a sensuous mouth. The nurse was right. He kisses my cheek and helps me into the front seat. He shows me how to use the safety buckle, the gold band on his ring finger flashing in the sunlight. My heart beats rapidly. He must be my husband.

As soon as he starts the motor he fiddles with the air conditioner, pointing the air vents toward me. He's so thoughtful. But once he drives away from the hospital pickup zone, my husband drops all interest in me. He stares into his rearview mirror and starts talking to the guy in the back seat.

"You sure know how to inconvenience a person, Peeta. First, you get the whole family into a tizzy with the news that you're bringing a mystery bride, and then I get a call that you were in a car crash. Delly had to ride with Mom and Dad to the cabin. She wasn't very happy about it."

"Who are you?" the backseat passenger asks.

My husband's face goes red. He hits the brakes hard as we come to a stop sign, causing me to jerk forward. Thank goodness for my seatbelt. He's not such a great driver.

He turns around to glare at the backseat passenger. "Your brother Rye, you dope. The doc said you lost your memory…" He pauses, and then his face crumples. The anger in his voice is gone, replaced by fear as he asks, "It's really true, isn't it?"

My mouth falls open. I turn in my seat to face my brother-in-law, as well. "You've lost your memory?"

Peeta's face lights up and he gives me a shy smile. "Yeah, and I have ten stitches in my head to prove it."

I smile back at him. I like his sense of humor. "I've lost mine, too."

A car's horn blasts behind us, and my husband Rye and I turn forward. Rye hits the gas and makes a right turn out of the parking lot and onto the street. "This is just great," he says. "Neither of you two idiots knows who in the hell you are."

I rest my left hand lightly on my husband's knee. "Well, I know I'm your wife even if I don't remember you."

Rye snorts. "You're not my wife, honey, you're his." Mortified, my hand flies off his knee as he tips his head toward the backseat.

I'm married to Peeta, not Rye? I twist around in my seat again to observe my real husband. He's physically different from his brother, in build and appearance. But that's not to say he's unattractive. Rye may be handsome, but Peeta is cute, with the typical boy-next-door good looks. He has the most beautiful blue eyes I've ever seen. There's something about those eyes. They look so familiar. Like me, he's not wearing a wedding band either. Don't we have rings?

"So how did you two meet?" Rye asks.

I raise my eyebrows to Peeta. He gives me a sweet smile – oh, those dimples - and he raises his shoulders to indicate he's as lost as me. I turn forward in my seat daydreaming about his dimples.

"Well, this is gonna be one hell of a weekend," Rye interrupts my thoughts. "If I didn't know better, Peeta, I'd think you're faking amnesia and you got your new wife to play along. Because you know Mom is going to have a fit that you didn't invite her to the wedding. In fact, Delly was a bit miffed, too. You really kept this a secret. You never told anyone you were even dating."

We were a secret? Is that why my mother and sister didn't mention Peeta to me?

Rye glances at my midsection. "Are you pregnant?"

My hands immediately fly to my belly. I rub my hands over it. Could I be expecting? Would the doctor have mentioned it if I were?

I frown. "I don't think so." But maybe I am. Maybe that's why I was so hungry this morning.

I turn in my seat again to look at Peeta for an answer. A sheepish expression sits on his face. "Did you remember something?" I can hear the panic in my own voice. Maybe I am expecting.

Rye snickers. "He's probably thinking about the conception."

My face heats up as I face forward trying to process everything Rye's said.