Unconscious Husband: Meet Her Love In Silence by Ken Slaner

“You should have come some time earlier, dear. Lilyana succumbed to illness last month. Her children aren’t skilled tailors
themselves, so I doubt they’ll be reopening the shop.”
Upon hearing this, Holden experienced an unexpected pang of sorrow.
Just then, he noticed a man hurriedly approaching down the street.
“What a coincidence – that’s her son now. You can ask him anything else you need,” the woman kindly offered.
Holden paused appreciatively outside the tailor shop, anticipating the meeting with the shop owner.
“Hello, I’ve recently acquired a wedding dress with your shop’s address on it,” Holden initiated.
The shop owner, an older gentleman, immediately made the connection.
“Ah, you must be Mr. Holden Fredrick. Kindly step inside.”
As they entered, Holden took in the modest surroundings of the shop.
A N G E L A ‘s L I B R A R Y
While a few items had been packed away, the layout seemed familiar.
He was overcome by an uncanny feeling of déja vu. He instinctively felt that just behind a particular rack, there should be a
dressing table.
And just as he surmised, the dressing table was right there.

He recalled a mirror that used to be at this very spot. However, upon closer inspection, there was only a blank wall.
The man, noticing Holden’s puzzled look, explained, “We relocated the mirror just yesterday. There’s another one in the adjoining
room.”
Holden stood deep in thought, fixating on the wall where the mirror once hung.
The shop owner broke the silence.
“My mother, before her passing, gave me the task of returning this wedding gown. She held it dear, waiting for the rightful owner
for five long years.”
“Why didn’t anyone claim it?” Holden inquired.
The man appeared taken aback.
“Wasn’t it you who specially commissioned this dress for the one you love?”
Holden hesitated, then shared the painful truth about the memory loss he’d suffered five years prior.
The shop owner’s eyes reflected understanding, his face shaded with a hint of sorrow.
“Regarding the intricacies of the wedding dress design, only my mother truly knew. Yet, she left behind your contact details
before passing. It included a name, a disconnected phone number, and an apartment address. We attempted delivering the
dress to that address, but it was sent back, unclaimed. It was only after finding one of your business cards in my mother’s
possessions that I made the connection to you being the CEO of the BRD Group. So, I forwarded it to your company’s official
address.”

Holden, intrigued, questioned, “Could you share the address of the apartment?”