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 4
Roger returned to the place he called "home" only after a full week.
For those seven days, he never left Sylvie's side until the doctor confirmed her complete recovery. Then he personally drove her back to her house.
When he pushed open the villa door, no familiar aroma of dinner greeted him. Only cold silence filled the rooms.
He frowned. An inexplicable irritation rose in his chest.
Josie was not home?
He remembered the message his assistant had passed on about her going out of town for a month-long retreat.
She certainly picked the right time.
He changed his shoes, tossed his coat onto the sofa, and headed straight to the bedroom on the second floor.
As he pushed the door open, he almost asked out of habit, "Is this the one?" But he noticed the sticky note that once read "Bedroom" was gone.
Not just from the door. Every sticky note he knew so well had vanished from the entire room and the whole house.
The large wedding photo still hung on the wall, but the label marking the anniversary underneath had been torn off.
The house felt excessively clean. All of Josie's personal belongings—cosmetics, clothes, books—had disappeared without a trace.
It was as if this woman had never lived here at all.
The irritation in Roger's heart grew stronger.
He walked to the nightstand and immediately spotted the platinum ring lying quietly on top.
Next to the ring stood the photo frame that once held a picture of him and Josie.
Now the photo had been removed, leaving only an empty white backing.
He picked up the ring. Its cold touch spread from his fingertips.
He suddenly recalled how Josie treasured this ring and refused to take it off even for showers.
Yet now she had left it behind.
What did this mean?
A panic he had never felt before slowly enveloped Roger like an invisible net.
He pulled out his phone and dialed a number he had never called on his own initiative.
"The number you have dialed is powered off."
He hung up irritably and called his assistant instead. "Find out Josie's itinerary. Where did she go for her retreat? When is she coming back?"
The assistant replied quickly, but the answer only deepened his unease. "Sir, there are no travel records for Miss Walton. No flights, trains, or long-distance buses show any ticket purchases in her name."
No travel records?
Then how had she gone out of town?
An absurd thought flashed through his mind.
She had left.
Not for a retreat, but truly left.
At that moment, his private phone rang.
The caller ID showed an unknown number from a remote city in the neighboring province.
He answered with a harsh tone. "Who is this?"
A calm, formal male voice came from the other end. "Is this Mr. Roger? The husband of Josie Walton?"
Roger's heart sank heavily. "Yes. What happened to her?"
The man paused for a few seconds as if choosing his words carefully. "Mr. Roger, this is the West River City Police Department. We recovered a female body downstream from the Azure River. Based on initial item comparison, we suspect it may be your wife, Josie Walton."
"...What?" Roger's mind buzzed and went completely blank.
The voice on the phone continued clearly and coldly. "The facial features of the body are severely damaged and cannot be identified visually. We need you to come as soon as possible to assist with DNA comparison and confirm the identity of the deceased."