I Forgot You on Purpose

Oliver had sounded so chill back then. "I'm not like you guys. I really do love Cecelia. But I can't go my whole life without kids, right? Gotta think about the family line."

Then his voice dipped, all warning. "If any of you say a word to Cecelia, don't blame me for cutting you off."

It felt like someone reached in and squeezed my heart until it cracked.

That's when it hit me—this love I thought was unshakable? It was paper-thin. Useless.

And Oliver? He was the one who swore he never wanted kids.

Back at dinner, Oliver slid some food onto my plate. "Cecelia, your favorite—spicy wings."

I barely looked at them before picking them out. "I can't handle spicy anymore."

He blinked, confused, then gently asked if he'd messed up somehow. Kept saying he'd get his memory back soon.

I shrugged. "Tastes change, Oliver."

His smile cracked. "No, Cecelia. I won't change. I'll love you forever. I promise."

Right. Internally, I scoffed. He'd promised that before—meanwhile, Katy and Perry were basically his shadows now.

When I said yes to his proposal, I told him I didn't need much. Just one thing: I couldn't be one of many.

I'd said, "If I'm not the only one in your heart, I'll forget you. I'll forget everything."

He'd sworn that day would never come.

He thought I was asking for a promise. I was giving him a warning.

After Oliver dropped me off that night, he didn't even try to pretend—just drove off.

I knew exactly where he was headed: straight to Katy and Perry.

Ever since her little begging act, Katy had been sending me videos of her and Oliver playing the happy couple.

I never watched a single one. Just dumped them all onto a USB.

Next morning, Oliver showed up bright and early, freshly showered, dressed like he was heading to a date, holding a bag of my favorite pierogi.

But that love bite on his neck? Felt like someone stabbed me clean through.

I swallowed it down and forced a smile. "Thanks, Oliver. I've got something for you too."

Then I handed him the file folder.

His eyes lit up.

But just as he started to open it, I stopped him. "That's for five days from now. You'll have to wait."

His smile twitched—probably remembering his fake wedding to Katy and Perry in five days.

"Why five days?" he asked.

I met his eyes. "Because it's a weekend gift."

He exhaled, like that somehow made everything okay, and gently placed the folder in the cabinet like it was a love letter.

Watching that almost made me excited for the reveal.

Oliver—if you knew what was in that folder: the baby you've been begging for, proof of your little flings, and the divorce papers...

Would you still be smiling like that?

Maybe sensing I wasn't feeling it, Oliver ditched all his plans just to cheer me up.

He'd always been like that—reading my moods like a book.

I said, "Let's go to Hawira."

The place he proposed. Seemed fitting it'd also be where we ended.

He went all out—rented a private island, played the perfect husband.

Every morning, my toothpaste was prepped, my favorite breakfast waiting.

We watched the waves, the sunsets, went diving—checked off every romantic cliché in the book.

But I knew better. I knew the truth.

Every night, he was with someone else.

The island was big enough to hide a lot of women—young, curvy, flirty. But not big enough to hide the aftermath.

I'd wake up to moaning echoing through the walls.

One night, it was the study—just one door between us.

"Oliver, you're amazing."

I padded over barefoot and peeked through the crack.

There he was—Perry bent over the desk in some tacky Playboy bunny getup. Katy knelt nearby, fox tail swinging, all breathy like, "Master, don't give all your love to Perry. I want your..."