He looked at me like I had staged the whole thing for attention, making me feel incredibly uncomfortable. I was about to insist that he leave, husband or not, when he tossed a stack of medical records onto my bed.
He added, “You’ve really outdone yourself this time, Emilia. Faking an illness this severe just so you wouldn’t be discharged? And now, you’re pretending to have amnesia too?”
“Huh?” I blurted out, utterly dumbfounded.
The doctor looked just as bewildered as I was, mumbling, “Faking an illness and pretending to have amnesia?”
“I’ve told you before, no matter how much you act out or fake it, it’s useless. You’d better stop this nonsense! By tonight—no later than tonight—you either leave the hospital and apologize to Lianne, or don’t bother coming home ever again!”
With that, my so-called husband stormed out of the room, not giving me a chance to get a word in.
After he left, the doctor gave me a sympathetic look. He seemed to pity me for marrying a man like that. Despite my near-death injuries and two months of being bedridden, my husband hadn’t visited me once. Instead, he thought I was faking it and even accused me of falsifying medical records.
I didn’t know what to say. Having just discovered I apparently had a husband, I couldn’t figure out how to describe my current feelings. I simply couldn’t wrap my head around it.
How could I remember every little detail from my childhood, even things from when I was three, yet forget something as monumental as getting married?
No matter how much I thought about it, it didn’t make sense. The headache that came from overthinking made me stop trying. I hated pain, and it wasn’t worth it—maybe he just wasn’t important.
I had always been the type to only remember the important and useful people in my life. If someone wasn’t important, they were not worth the mental effort. Hence, I decided to stop thinking about my so-called husband and focused all my energy on my physical therapy.
That evening, I received a phone call.
“Emilia, get home right now. If you don’t—”
I hung up before he could finish his sentence. For over two months since my accident, he hadn’t visited me once or cared whether I lived or died.
If I couldn’t remember him while remembering everything else, our marriage was obviously a loveless business arrangement. And this cold, emotionless husband thought he could bark orders at me like a king? Absolutely not.
To make sure I didn’t have to deal with any more of his nonsense, I blocked his number after hanging up. Then, feeling satisfied, I sipped the glass of water I had successfully poured earlier.
…
Irvin stared at his phone, momentarily stunned. He had always been the one to hang up on me. I had never dared to end a call with him.
If anything, I used to beg him not to hang up, pleading with him to hear me out or to see her. But now, I hadn’t even let him finish his sentence before cutting him off.
His thoughts wandered back to the hospital that morning. My unfamiliar, almost detached demeanor, the convincing medical records, and my apparent memory loss all left him feeling inexplicably irritable.
“Irvin, is Millie still refusing to come home?”
Julianne’s soft, apologetic voice interrupted his thoughts. She added nervously, “Maybe I should try talking to her again. It’s my fault, after all.
“If I hadn’t passed out the last time I visited her, if I had let her vent her anger and hit me as much as she wanted, maybe she wouldn’t be this upset.”
Her self-blame and guilt made Irvin’s expression turn icy. In his mind, if I still had the energy to lash out, there was no way my condition could be that serious.
“Don’t bother with her. She’ll come crawling back once she’s done throwing her tantrum.”
“But…”
“No buts. This isn’t your fault. She’s the one in the wrong.” His voice was cold and dismissive. “If she’s so determined, let her stay away forever.”
Julianne hesitated, her face riddled with guilt. “Irvin… maybe I should just leave. If I go, Millie won’t be so angry or upset anymore…”
