Remembered Too Late
My husband, Roger Harvey, was a renowned top-tier lawyer in the industry, but he could never remember anything outside of his cases.
He never remembered my birthday or our wedding anniversary.
Every night he stood at the bedroom door and asked politely yet distantly, "Is this the one?"
He could not even remember my name or what I looked like.
To make him "remember" me, I hung our wedding photo on the wall with a label underneath. "Anniversary: May 20."
I put a nameplate on the bedroom door that read "Bedroom."
I even labeled everything in the house with sticky notes that explained in detail how to use each item and its background.
I thought it was a side effect of his high-pressure job, so I never complained.
That changed the day a multi-car pileup sent both me and his childhood friend, Sylvie Gordon, into the emergency room at the same time.
He rushed frantically to Sylvie's bedside and shouted in a clear, urgent voice, "She has tachycardia. She caught a cold last month but no fever."
The nurse handling the rescue grabbed him and asked, "Sir, your wife is also seriously injured. Does she have any medical history or allergies?"
He turned his head, looked at me covered in blood, and shook his head blankly. "I don't remember."
In that moment I finally understood. He was not forgetful. His memory was astonishingly sharp.
He simply reserved that precise, precious memory for someone else.
Everything about me he had never cared to keep in his heart.
This was a dramatic tug-of-war between love and betrayal.
It was a heart-wrenching journey of self-redemption.
Yet when I decided to leave, he was suddenly filled with panic...
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Chapter 3
I lay in the hospital for three days.
In those three days, Roger sent no calls or messages.
He seemed to have completely forgotten that he had a wife named Josie Walton.
Sonya came to keep me company every day. She cared for me while handling the follow-up matters.
I used a newly purchased phone card and sent a message to Roger's assistant in a stranger's tone. "Ms. Josie Walton will travel out of town for a one-month retreat. Please do not disturb her with any matters during this time."
The assistant replied quickly. "Understood. Received."
I knew he would definitely pass the message to Roger.
Roger would only think I was considerate for tactfully disappearing when he needed to care for Sylvie.
On the morning of the fourth day, I pulled out the IV tube from my hand.
With Sonya's help, I completed the discharge procedures and left the hospital quietly.
I did not go home. I asked Sonya to make a trip for me.
I did not want to set eyes again on that house filled with my efforts and despair.
Sonya followed my request and placed the ring on the nightstand in the bedroom, next to the photo frame I once wiped clean every day.
In the picture, I smiled brightly while his expression remained distant.
When she returned, she told me, "I put away your photos from the bedroom and the living room. I cleared every spot where your face could be seen."
I nodded. "Thank you."
She hesitated as if wanting to say more. "Josie, are you really sure about this? Once you leave, you might never come back."
I looked out the window. The distant sky hung gray and heavy, much like my past five years.
But I knew the sun would break through eventually.
"I'm sure." My tone stayed firm. "The world is so big. There has to be a place without Roger and without Sylvie."
The moment I boarded the train, I glanced back at the city where I had lived for over twenty years.
It held my youth, my love, my pain.
Now I left all of it behind here.
The train started moving slowly and carried me toward an unknown future.
Josie Walton had died.
She died in that car accident and in Roger's indifferent gaze.
From now on, I was just myself.
A free person who lived for herself.