Page 102 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

I didn’t even need her to answer.

I would have been content just to hear her on the outgoing voicemail message. Just that small, recorded piece of her—words meant for anyone but me—would have been enough.

A temporary salvation.

But I could never press ‘call.’

She didn’t want me anymore.

The one thing I could still give her was my absence. I would not become another burden, another demand on her peace.

And yet, here I was, stealing every second I could get in her presence, hoarding the sight of her like a man starved.

“If I fainted, do you think it would delay the proceedings?” The words were out before I could stop them.

She didn’t even look up from her phone. “I’ll probably just throw cold water on you. But,” she shrugged, “feel free to try.”

For the first time since she’d left, a real smile touched my lips.

God, I missed her. With a force that emptied my lungs.

My eyes dropped to her screen. “You’re bored?”

Her fingers stilled. “How do you know that?”

“You only play Angry Birds when you’re bored.”

For the first time since she’d walked into the room, her eyes lifted to meet mine. They were wary, skeptical. “How do you know that?”

My chest ached, a dull, permanent throb. “Our marriage wasn’t all bad, Alessia,” I said softly. “I do know you.”

Her gaze held mine for a moment longer, a silent, unreadable exchange, and then the lawyers entered. The process of ending our marriage began.

There were no new papers to sign. We had already dismantled our life with signatures two months prior. This was just the ritual: confirming our identities, acknowledging the petition, answering the judge’s procedural questions in sterile, agreed-upon terms.

My hand kept finding its way to my pinky, my thumb circling her ring in a nervous, ceaseless rhythm.

A habit I couldn’t break. A tether to a sinking ship.

With every formal word from the judge, my grip tightened around the cool metal, as though I could physically hold on to what was being legally severed.

And then, it was over.

A few words from a stranger in a robe, and our marriage was completely over.

Before the reality of it could fully settle in, I was standing outside the courthouse, watching Alessia walk toward her car, where Naija waited.

“It was great knowing you,” I called, stepping forward.

I extended my hand.

A handshake. A painfully formal ending to something that had once been my entire life.

She stopped and turned.

Her eyes dropped to my outstretched hand. For a second, suspicion flickered across her face.

Then she stepped forward and slipped her hand into mine.