Page 42 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

I hadn’t.

All I had was the life in front of me and the feelings I could trust now. And right now, I was standing across from a man who desperately wanted me to stay but couldn’t give me a reason to believe I should.

I wasn’t going to gamble my present on a love buried in a past I couldn’t remember, not for a man who didn’t love me.

I clapped my hands slowly, the sharp sound slicing through the silence between us. “That was quite a speech. Very passionate. Very convincing. Just…” I tilted my head, considering him. “Not the right one.” A small smile pulled at my lips. “So, I’m gonna go ahead with my divorce plan.”

His jaw tightened. “I’m not agreeing to this,” he said firmly. “I don’t want a divorce.”

I crossed my arms. “Luckily for me, one can file for divorce without the other party’s permission.”

Not sticking around for another speech, I sidestepped him and tugged my bag free. His grip stayed locked around the strap, knuckles white with the effort.

I tugged once.

He didn’t let go.

I tugged again, this time raising an eyebrow.

We stood there in a ridiculous little tug-of-war over my handbag, which was certainly not how I’d imagined ending my marriage.

“Let go.”

His eyes dropped to the bag.

Then, reluctantly, his grip loosened.

I pulled it free, swung the strap onto my shoulder. Before leaving, I gave his shoulder a light, almost friendly tap. “My lawyer will contact you.”

His hand shot out before I could take another step, his fingers closing around my wrist.

“You don’t have your memories,” he said.

I wrenched my wrist from his grasp. “Wow, what gave it away?”

His eyes locked on mine. “You can file those papers, Alessia. But I will challenge the petition, and I will slow this down considerably.”

He took a step closer, his gaze unyielding. “You have documented retrograde amnesia. You have no memory of our marriage—not the assets we built together, not the terms under which we entered it, not what you’d actually be walking away from. Any settlement you agree to, any decision you make about dividing what we built together, will be made without an informed understanding of what that actually means. I will argue that every agreement signed during this period is made without full knowledge of the marital estate. A judge will listen to that.”

A knot twisted through me. I kept my expression neutral, refusing to let him see it.

He paused. “And most jurisdictions require a separation period before a divorce is finalized anyway. Given the circumstances, I will request an extension of that period.”

My hands curled into fists at my sides.

This fucking man was going to make this as difficult as humanly possible.

Had I been on drugs when I married him? Because there was no other reasonable explanation for how I had looked at this man and thought, Yes. That’s the one. Let’s legally bind myself to him.

I drew in a slow breath, forcing my temper back down. “So, what exactly are you saying?” I bit out, each word clipped.

His face softened, the pain in his eyes impossible to miss. “I’m saying we wait. We give it time, Alessia, until your memories come back.” He lifted his hands in a small, helpless gesture. “We can’t even have a real conversation right now without you threatening to divorce me. Let’s go home. Give yourself a chance to heal and settle into all of this.”

He paused, watching me carefully. “You’ll remember,” he said quietly. “I know you will. Give it time, and everything will come back to you. You won’t always look at me like I’m some random man who wandered into your life.”

A humorless laugh escaped me. “So you want to trap me? Is that it?”

His face fell, anguish flickering across his eyes as he shook his head. “No. I’m asking you to give me a chance. If—when—you get your memories back and you still want to leave, I won’t stop you. I won’t fight you. I’ll sign whatever you put in front of me.”