Page 212 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

The question pressed against my ribs. Why would he—

“You’re not doing this for me, right?” My voice was tight. “This isn’t some grand gesture to win me back?”

His face softened as he stepped forward.

“This will be the most unromantic thing someone has ever said,” he said, “but no, Alessia. This isn’t for you.”

Something loosened in my chest.

“This is for me,” he said it like a revelation. Like he was still surprised by it himself. “I am doing this because I hate missing out on my life. Because I’m stuck inside this office, and I look up, and years have passed. I hate that I didn’t have a hobby until a few months ago. I hate that it took me so long—and losing the most important person in my life—to realize that being CEO isn’t even something I want. I just want to be part of this company. I want to use my skills, be useful. And that’s in operations.”

He was close now. Close enough that I could see the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, the way his jaw relaxed when he said the words, like he was letting go of something he’d been holding for too long.

“I want to have free time. I want to waste time. I want to spend time doing nothing.” He paused, his attention settling entirely on me. “I want to spend time with the people I care about most. I want to be with you. I want time to live.”

I searched his face. He was telling the truth. I could see it in the way his eyes didn’t waver, the way his voice stayed steady even when the words were hard. Earnest. He was so earnest, so open. He was beautiful like this. Laid bare. No walls. Just him.

“I was planning to do it anyway,” he said, “but then the Garcia deal happened. I decided it would be my last project before I stepped down.” He took another step closer. He was standing directly in front of me now. “Am I making a mistake, Alessia?”

I shook my head. The words came easy. “No. I think you’re making the right decision. It feels like this is exactly what you need.”

His face broke into a smile. Relief, pure and unguarded, lighting him from the inside. “I knew you would understand.” He moved toward me, instinctive. His head dipped, lips aiming for my forehead—

And stopped.

His hand dropped. His smile tightened, just a fraction. He pulled back, just enough to be safe, just enough to remind himself of all the reasons he shouldn’t reach for me.

I watched him do it. Watched him take all that wanting and fold it away.

And the words left me before I could stop them.

“What if I never get my memories back?”

He froze. “What?”

“What if I never get my memories back.” I said it again, slower this time. “You said it. You said your wife is in there somewhere. You just have to remind her who she is.” I swallowed. “What if I never remember? You want that life back, don’t you? Our old one. Our old memories. I don’t have those. I’ve forgotten the life. I’ve forgotten the wife. What if I never remember her?”

His face fell. Sadness crept into his eyes, softening the lines of his face and taking the warmth from his expression.

He leaned closer, his hand coming up to cup my face, no hesitation this time. His palm was warm against my cheek, his fingers threading into my hair, holding me like I was something precious, something he’d been waiting to hold.

“If you wake up tomorrow with no memory of me again,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, “I will come after you again.”

I stopped breathing.

“I would do everything again. Every clumsy, stupid, desperate thing. I would stand in that hospital room again, watching you look at me like I was a stranger, and I would feel my heart break all over again. And I would stay. I would keep showing up. I would keep trying. Because even when you didn’t know my name, you were still you. You were still the person who made me want to be better. Who made me want to try harder. Who made me believe I could.”

His fingers brushed hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear, lingering there like he couldn’t bear to stop touching me.

“If I had to make you fall for me again and again for the rest of my life,” he said, and his lips curved into something that was almost a smile, trembling at the edges, “if you kept forgetting me every single day, I would do it. I would wake up every morning and introduce myself. I would tell you my name. I would tell you the story of us—the good parts and the bad parts and the parts where I failed you. And I would ask you to give me another chance. Every single day. For the rest of my life. Because it’s you. Every version of me that has ever existed has been searching for you. And every version of me that will ever exist will keep searching. There is no me without you.”

His eyes filled. He didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. Just let me see him, all of him, the wanting and the fear and the impossible, unrelenting hope.

“I—” He faltered, his hands still locked around me. He looked down, frustration flickering across his face, the familiar shape of a word that wouldn’t come. He tried again. “I need my hands free to tell you. But I don’t want to let go.”

I placed my hand over his, pressing his palm firmer against my cheek. His skin was warm, his fingers curving along my jaw like they’d been made to hold me.

“It’s okay,” I said. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”