Missing from the Farm

I open my eyes just a crack. I try to take in my surroundings, but the light is just so bright, and my head is pounding. Where am I, and why do I hear running water? I lift my hands to my face to try and block the light that I have now surmised is the sun. Slowly I push myself to a seated position and fully open my eyes, wincing from the pain. Where in the world am I? I look around and realize I am seated next to a small, bubbling stream and surrounded by the most beautiful trees covered in fall-colored leaves. I would think I had died and gone to heaven if not for the pounding pain in my head. I try to gather my thoughts and piece together memories, but there is nothing. The only thing I can recall is my name, Abigail.

Fear rises inside me, but I know I can not let it control me. I get to my feet and begin walking, holding my palm pressed hard against my left temple. I follow the stream hoping it will lead me out of the woods and eventually, hopefully, to civilization.

After walking for what felt like an eternity, I came to an opening in the trees. There is a huge, bright red barn at the peak of a hill about 100 yards from where I stand. I nearly faint with relief and pick up my pace. I reach the barn, a little breathless and legs burning from the exertion. I know I need help, so I go to the big sliding doors and poke my head in through the half-open side. About 10 feet from me stands a man brushing a beautiful black quarter horse. The man is tall, 6 feet probably, and built for work on a farm. His hair is black with bits of grey throughout and just past his shoulders, even pulled back from his face. From where I am standing, his face appears handsome, but his eyes are truly striking. His eyes are the most beautiful shade of hazel and look so very sad, even from this distance.

I make a quiet throat-clearing sound trying very hard not to alarm the man or the horse. The sound was enough to get the man's attention and he quickly snaps his head in my direction. When his eyes meet mine, I watch as disbelief, shock, and then relief cross his face. He drops to his knees and begins to sob. Uncertainty and frustration bubble up inside me from my lack of memory. The man finally pulls his head up from where he was sobbing into his hands. He sees the confusion and fear on my face and rises to come to me. I take a step back, and the man stops. I can now see my confusion mirrored on his face. He speaks to me then and says, "Abby It's me, Leo, your husband." Husband? I have a husband? What is going on? Maybe if I speak to this man, my husband, he can give me the answers.

"Leo," I say quietly. "I have no memory except my name. I woke up next to a stream a mile or so into the woods, and I am scared." Leo stared into my lost eyes and reached for my hand. I took it because something inside me trusted this man, my husband. He leads me to an office in the back corner of the big barn. When I step inside, I see the walls are covered in newspaper articles, maps, search and rescue plans, pictures, everything you would need to find someone that had gone missing. He motions for me to take a seat in the chair nearest the door. He remains standing and begins telling me the story of the day I went missing 6 months ago.