I Left Him When He Lost His Memory

The jarring ring of my cell phone broke the morning silence.

I stared at the screen. LINCOLN.

Yesterday, I had shoved past his brother Julian and walked out of Mercy General without a backward glance. Now, my soon-to-be ex-husband was calling me.

I swiped the green icon and brought the device to my ear.

"Iris?" His voice sounded hollow, scraping against the receiver.

I didn't answer immediately. I poured my black coffee, the dark liquid filling the ceramic mug.

"Iris, are you there?" Panic edged into his tone.

"I'm here."

"Why haven't you visited me?" he demanded, the words tumbling out in a rushed, desperate mess. "I woke up in this miserable room, and you aren't here. Where are you?"

Dr. Evans had warned me about the brain swelling. The severe confusion. Lincoln had completely erased my visit from his fractured memory. He forgot the divorce papers sitting on his lap. He forgot the confrontation.

"I'm at home," I stated flatly.

"Then come to the hospital! I need you." The rustle of stiff hospital sheets transmitted through the speaker. "My head is killing me. I'm so confused. You need to be here with me."

"I'm not coming, Lincoln."

Silence stretched over the line, broken only by the faint, rhythmic beeping of his heart monitor.

"What do you mean you aren't coming?" His voice dropped, trembling. "I'm your husband. I fell. I almost died."

"And you survived," I replied, taking a sip of my coffee. The bitter taste coated my tongue. "Congratulations. Now we can proceed with the divorce."

"Divorce?" He choked on the word. "No. No, we aren't doing that. I love you!"

"We are done, Lincoln. There is no marriage left to save. There is only paperwork."

"Stop saying that!" he yelled. The sudden spike in volume forced me to pull the phone an inch away from my ear. "I love you deeply! I would never leave you. We are going to build a family. We are going to be happy!"

I set my mug down on the granite counter. A sharp, ugly laugh escaped my throat.

"Happy?" I asked, my grip tightening on the phone. "You think we're happy?"

"We are!" he insisted, his breathing turning ragged. "I don't know why you're acting like this. I don't know why you're punishing me. I love you, Iris."

"Your love is disgusting."

He gasped as if I had reached through the phone and struck him. "Iris..."

"Don't say my name," I cut him off, my voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Your love is dirty, Lincoln. It's filthy. It reeks of cheap hotel soap and another woman's perfume."

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"You dragged our vows through the mud for two years," I continued, refusing to let him interrupt. "You smiled at me across the dinner table while texting her under it. You touched me with the same hands you used on her. Your love makes my skin crawl."

"No!" he sobbed. Actual tears choked his words. "I wouldn't do that. I'm a good husband. I'm a good man!"

"You bought her jewelry with our joint account, Lincoln," I pushed forward, my tone completely devoid of warmth. "You took her to the exact same restaurant where we had our rehearsal dinner. You didn't just cheat. You humiliated me."

"I don't remember that!" he pleaded. "I wouldn't do that!"

"Your amnesia doesn't erase my trauma."

"You're making this up!" Every word he spoke was laced with denial. "You're just angry about the accident."

"You're a parasite." Every word I spoke was a calculated strike. "You fed on my patience. You drained my youth. You thought your bank account gave you a free pass to treat me like garbage. You are nothing to me now."

"Please," he begged, his voice cracking entirely. "Please, Iris. My brain is broken. I can't remember. I just want my wife."

"Your wife is dead."

"Lincoln, who are you talking to?"

A new voice filtered through the background. High-pitched. Needy.

Chloe.

She was still there. Still hovering around his bed like a vulture waiting for the carcass to cool.

"Get away from me!" Lincoln roared, the sound tearing through the phone.

"Baby, you're pulling your IV!" Chloe shrieked. "Give me the phone. She's just upsetting you!"

"Don't touch me!"

A loud crash echoed through the receiver. A plastic tray hitting the linoleum floor. Glass shattering.

"Get out of my room!" Lincoln screamed at her. His voice was raw, tearing at his vocal cords. "Get out! I don't want you here! I want my wife!"

"Lincoln, please!" Chloe cried. "She hates you! I'm the one who loves you!"

"Get out!" he bellowed again.

Footsteps retreated rapidly. A heavy wooden door slammed shut.

Heavy, erratic breathing filled the line. The heart monitor in the background was screaming, a frantic, rapid alarm.

"Iris?" Lincoln panted, crying openly now. "Iris, she's gone. I kicked her out. It's just me. Just us."

I stared out my kitchen window, ignoring the dull gray sky.

"There is no us," I said.

"Why are you doing this?" he wailed, completely losing control. "I don't understand your hatred! I don't understand why you look at me like I'm a monster! What did I do to deserve this?"

He genuinely didn't know. The trauma had wiped his guilt clean, leaving him a victim in his own twisted narrative. He got to experience the heartbreak without carrying the blame.

It wasn't fair.

"You'll sign the papers, Lincoln. Or I will take this to court, and I will drag your pristine reputation through the gutter. I have the bank statements. I have the hotel receipts. I have every single text message you sent her."

"I don't care about the money!" he cried. "I just want you!"

"Then you'll die wanting."

I ended the call.

The silence in my apartment rushed back in, heavy and suffocating.

I tossed the phone onto the counter and pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes. My chest heaved. I had won the argument, but the victory tasted like ash.

My phone buzzed against the granite.

I ignored it.

It buzzed again. And again.

I dropped my hands and glared at the screen, expecting Lincoln's name to flash across the glass.

It wasn't Lincoln.

It was an unknown number.

I picked it up and swiped to accept the call.

"Stop calling me, Julian," I snapped, assuming his brother was trying a new tactic.

"I'm afraid you have the wrong man, Iris," a smooth, deep voice replied.

I froze. The voice was unfamiliar. Rich, calm, and entirely too confident.

"Who is this?" I demanded.

"Someone who knows exactly what your husband has been hiding," the stranger said. "And someone who can ensure you get a lot more than just a divorce."