Page 19 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

The memory of our first meeting, once a cherished story, now played back in a horrifying new light. Had he stayed that day because he wanted to? Or had I made him stay?

I had been the one keeping us moving forward. The one who proposed. The one who planned the dates, the vacations, the future I had been so certain we’d share. I was the one who said I love you first, months into our relationship, with my whole heart exposed and nothing held back.

He never said it.

All those years I’d spent translating his silence into love suddenly felt unbearable. I’d convinced myself his actions were his way of saying what he couldn’t put into words.

What if I’d been wrong?

What if the words had never been difficult?

What if he simply didn’t feel them?

Not for me.

The thought kept circling through my head when Cassian caught my wrist and turned me toward him.

My gaze stayed fixed on his chest, refusing to climb any higher. His fingers slipped beneath my chin, gently lifting my face until our eyes met.

“Alessia.” He swallowed, his voice softer now. “Can we please not do this tonight? Can we talk tomorrow? Please.” His eyes held mine, pleading.

I tilted my head, staring at him.

That damn tomorrow again.

We’ll go tomorrow.

I’ll be there tomorrow.

Let’s do it tomorrow.

Every promise had been pushed into another day until tomorrow had become the place where everything between us went to disappear.

Our marriage had become a collection of tomorrows that never came.

And now, with my suitcase packed and my heart already breaking apart, he was asking me to give him another one.

A disappointed shake of my head was all he got before I tore my wrist from his grasp and walked down the stairs.

I snatched the car keys from the ceramic bowl by the door. My fingers had barely curled around the cold brass of the knob when his hand caught my wrist again, stopping me cold.

“Alessia, you’re being ridiculous.”

I turned to him.

The anger I’d been fighting all evening had burned itself down to a dull ache beneath my ribs. I looked at his hand around my wrist, at his face, and felt the last thread holding me to this house strain.

“No,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “What’s ridiculous is me finding reasons to stay with you when you’ve given me thousands not to.”

His grip loosened.

I pulled my wrist free before he could say another word and stepped outside. Cold air hit my face, but it didn’t clear my head the way I needed it to. I made it one step onto the porch before stopping.

My feet refused to carry me any farther.

I wanted to leave. Every part of me wanted to put distance between myself and the man who had just shattered everything I thought I knew about our marriage. Yet some stubborn piece of me refused to let this be the end while doubt still had room to whisper.

I had to know. I couldn’t make this final, shattering decision based on assumptions. I owed myself the truth, even if hearing it would destroy me.