Page 43 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

He paused, the hurt in his eyes giving way to stubborn resolve. “But I can’t stand by and let you end our marriage when you don’t even know what you’re walking away from.” He shook his head, his words gaining weight with every sentence. “The woman standing in front of me right now isn’t the woman who married me. You don’t remember us. You don’t remember what we built together. You don’t remember why you chose me. How can you make a permanent decision about a life you can’t even remember living?”

I clenched my jaw, irritation building with every word he said. I didn’t need him deciding what was best for me simply because he happened to remember a version of my life that I didn’t.

His shoulders dropped, and the fight left his voice, replaced by a plea. His eyes searched mine, shining with emotion, and when he spoke again, there was no argument left in his words, only a request. “Give me a chance, Alessia.” He lifted a hand toward me, stopping just short of touching me. “Let me show you why you chose me in the first place. Let me show you what we were before all of this happened. Let me prove that what we had was real, that it mattered, and that it’s worth finding again.”

I looked around the room, my mind reeling, before my eyes snapped back to his. “You keep saying I’m not the same person. So why do you want me?”

He lowered his voice, the words carrying a conviction that made me want to scream. “Because my wife is still in there. I just need to help her remember who she is.”

I sat in my car without moving for a long moment, both hands resting limply in my lap.

Talking to Mrs. Garcia had been the right choice. She’d given me something I hadn’t realized I’d been craving so badly—a little piece of normalcy. For the first time since waking up, I’d felt almost like myself again.

Then the question she’d planted began to gnaw at me.

I grabbed my phone and dialed Naija. The second she answered, I skipped the pleasantries. “Did I drop Mrs. Garcia’s project because of Cassian?”

The silence on the other end lasted just a fraction too long.

“…Yes.”

I shut my eyes.

One word. One miserable little word.

“You were planning an investor party for him,” she continued carefully. “You were pulling all-nighters to get everything ready. You said it had to be perfect.”

I slowly pulled the seatbelt across my chest and clicked it into place, staring blankly through the windshield as the truth settled over me, heavy and cold.

I chose him.

I had chosen Cassian over Mrs. Garcia—my first client, my most loyal client, the woman who had trusted me before anyone else did.

Past me had possessed a very specific talent for making spectacularly terrible decisions.

“Did it work?”

“It did,” Naija confirmed. “A lot of the investors showed genuine interest.”

Of course they did. I’d always been good at my job.

I turned the key, and the engine roared to life beneath me. “And what did Cassian do for me in return?” I asked dryly. “Did he at least declare me Wife of the Year? Maybe present me with a trophy, a framed certificate, or—dare I hope—a small fruit basket?”

She stayed silent for so long that I checked the call, half-expecting it to have dropped.

“Naija? Are you there?”

“Yeah, Boss. I’m here,” she finally replied, her voice hesitant. “It’s just… Mr. Sterling didn’t actually attend the party.” The words came out slowly, each one laced with reluctance.

I went completely still, my fingers slowly tightening around the steering wheel until the leather groaned beneath my grip. “What?”

“He didn’t come,” she repeated, softer this time.

“Was he dying?” I asked, keeping my voice deceptively soft.

He’d better have been.

“Uh, not exactly.”