Page 152 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

Her hand lingered for a moment before her fingers slipped gently into my hair, resting against the back of my head with a tenderness I hadn’t expected. It was cautious, almost unsure, but she didn’t pull away.

And that tiny gesture nearly broke what was left of me.

“Cassian?” Her voice was softer now, unsure, laced with a concern that shattered me further.

I clasped that hand, pulling it from my hair, and pressed her palm to my wet cheek. I leaned into the touch as if it were the only solid thing in a dissolving world. I squeezed my eyes shut.

When I forced them open, the world was a watery blur. I blinked, hard, and her face swam into focus above me. She was looking down, her brow furrowed not in anger, but in genuine, bewildered worry. As if I were the one who was sick. As if I’d lost my mind.

But that was wrong. I’d been lost before—lost in spreadsheets, in silence, in my own arrogant solitude. In this crumpled heap on her kitchen floor, I had finally, agonizingly, found it.

“I ruined everything, Alessia.” The whisper scraped out of me, raw and broken. My vision swam again. “I ruined everything.”

A tear broke free, tracing a path to where her hand met my skin. I looked down, unable to bear the confusion in her eyes.

“I had one job,” I breathed, the words trembling. “Just one. To make you happy. That’s… that’s all I ever wanted. From the moment I met you. That was the whole point.” A sob hitched in my chest, but I forced the words out. “But then I stopped. Instead of talking to you… instead of sharing the burden with you… instead of spending my time with you… instead of choosing you… I chose work. I chose the ghost of a company over the living, breathing heart of my life.”

I pressed her hand harder against my face, holding it there like a lifeline, then lifted my head just enough to meet her eyes, my own swimming in a shame so profound it felt like drowning. “I am so sorry, Alessia. I am so, so sorry. You… you did so much for me. You fought for me. And I was too blind, too stupid to even see it. I ruined it. I ruined us. I am so sorry.”

My strength gave out. My head fell back into the sanctuary of her lap, my body wracked with silent, shuddering tremors. But I didn’t let go of her hand. I held it like it was the only thing keeping me from dissolving into the floor, the last tether to the world I had set on fire and was now begging, from my knees, for permission to rebuild.

Her other hand came up, her fingers gently combing through my hair. She held me while I shattered, her touch a silent permission to fall apart. Time lost meaning. There was only the quiet rhythm of her breathing, the soothing stroke of her hand, and the tempest of regret shaking my frame.

After a long while, her voice came, soft but firm. “Cassian. Get up.”

I shook my head, my forehead pressing against her thigh. I couldn’t face the world yet. Not when this small, sheltered space felt like the only honest place left.

“Cassian.”

Reluctantly, I raised my head. My face was wet, my vision blurred. She studied me, her gaze tracing the tear tracks, the raw redness in my eyes. The raw anguish I couldn’t hide.

“You don’t need to apologize to me,” she said gently. “It’s not me you need to say it to. It doesn’t matter—”

“It does matter.” I stopped her before she could finish, my reply rough and unwavering. I brought her hand to my lips and pressed a desperate kiss to her palm. “It matters because you’re the same person, Alessia. You are the woman who loved me more than I deserved, who planned adventures to make me smile, who fought for my company in a room full of strangers. And you’re also the woman sitting here now, who doesn’t remember any of it, and has every right not to give a damn about me.” My thumb stroked over the spot my lips had touched. “You are both. And I failed both of you.”

I locked my eyes with hers, needing her to see the absolute certainty in mine. “Alessia, I’m also so, so sorry. For everything I did after you woke up. I was… lost. Scared. I just kept making everything harder for you. I should have been your partner, your safe place. Instead, I was another obstacle. Another problem to solve. Accusing you of faking amnesia… refusing to sign the papers… it was all so selfish. I was only thinking about my own guilt, my own loss. I wasn’t thinking about you. What you needed. The peace you deserved.”

A fresh tear traced a path through the old ones. “I’m not saying this to earn points. You don’t have to forgive me, Alessia. I don’t expect you to. I just… I need you to know, because it’s true. And I am so deeply, wretchedly sorry. You deserved so much better than what you got from me.”

But I don’t know how to let you go.

My hand tightened around hers, trying to convey through touch what words couldn’t—that this wasn’t a strategy. It was just a man, hollowed out by his own failures, kneeling before his wife.

She held my gaze for a long moment, then looked away, drawing a slow, steadying breath. When her eyes met mine again, they were clear and resolved. “Get up.”

I don’t want to let you go.

She read the reluctance in my posture and shook her head, a faint, exasperated gesture. Then, to my horror, she began to lower herself, as if to sit on the floor with me.

“No,” I said, the word sharp with concern. I released her hand and caught her by the arms instead, hauling myself upright as I pulled her with me. “You’re staying off the floor, Alessia. You were sick just last night.”

We stood facing each other. She didn’t speak for a long moment. She just looked at me, her eyes scanning my face with an intensity that felt like… anger?

Why is she mad at me?

A cold dread seeped in. Shit. Did I make the apology about me again? Was my breakdown just another form of selfishness?

Her jaw tightened as her eyes scanned my face. “You look miserable.”