Page 101 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

But my house was still empty. The divorce papers were still signed.

My wife was still gone.

And for the first time since she walked out, I had no enemy to fight, no problem to solve. I had cleared the battlefield, and all that was left was the devastating, quiet truth:

I had no idea what to do.

Liam’s voice was soft with concern. “Hey… you okay?”

I shook my head, my gaze fixed on the floor.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked, in a tone that already knew the answer.

No.

But I looked up, my vision blurring, and heard myself say, “Yes.”

So Liam and Rohan stayed.

They pulled up chairs, and I told them everything. Every failure. Every moment I’d overlooked. Every selfish choice I’d made. I laid the entire wreckage of my marriage at their feet, piece by painful piece.

They didn’t interrupt.

They didn’t offer solutions or try to tell me what I should have done differently. They didn’t try to fix me.

They just listened.

And in that moment, their silent, unwavering presence was a greater gift than any advice could ever be.

For two months, time had moved with a cruel, dragging weight. Each day was a heavy, conscious burden, relentlessly reminding me of what I had lost.

Every morning, I woke up in a cold, empty bed, the silence a constant scream that my wife was gone. And every morning, the same agonizing question would slice through me: Was this how she felt?

Did she lie awake night after night, her hope slowly withering, wishing that this would be the night I finally came home to her?

Did the memories of our life here haunt her the way they now haunt me, each one a sharp reminder of what I threw away?

I couldn’t even remember the last time I had warmed her side of the bed.

Had she been sleeping in the cold?

While I had been consumed by work, my wife had been here. At home. Alone. Waiting. Maybe just wishing for a glimpse of me.

Just as I was doing now.

And now the day I had been dreading was here. The day the court would formally dissolve our marriage, and she would no longer be my wife.

I hated the sun for having the audacity to rise. I hated the night for ending and forcing me to live through this. I hated the court for not collapsing into the earth. I hated the flawless operation of my car for delivering me to my own execution.

I hated everything in the world that continued to function normally while my life ended.

Everything except the sight before me.

Alessia sat beside me, her attention captured by the screen in her hand, while I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her.

For two months, I had ached for even a glimpse of her.

I must have picked up my phone a thousand times, my thumb hovering over her number, always stopping just short of calling.