Remembered Too Late

Rabbit

Modern | Completed

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My husband, Roger Harvey, was a renowned top-tier lawyer in the industry, but he could never remember anything outside of his cases. He never remembered my birthday or our wedding anniversary. Every night he stood at the bedroom door and asked politely yet distantly, "Is this the one?" He could not even remember my name or what I looked like. To make him "remember" me, I hung our wedding photo on the wall with a label underneath. "Anniversary: May 20." I put a nameplate on the bedroom door that read "Bedroom." I even labeled everything in the house with sticky notes that explained in detail how to use each item and its background. I thought it was a side effect of his high-pressure job, so I never complained. That changed the day a multi-car pileup sent both me and his childhood friend, Sylvie Gordon, into the emergency room at the same time. He rushed frantically to Sylvie's bedside and shouted in a clear, urgent voice, "She has tachycardia. She caught a cold last month but no fever." The nurse handling the rescue grabbed him and asked, "Sir, your wife is also seriously injured. Does she have any medical history or allergies?" He turned his head, looked at me covered in blood, and shook his head blankly. "I don't remember." In that moment I finally understood. He was not forgetful. His memory was astonishingly sharp. He simply reserved that precise, precious memory for someone else. Everything about me he had never cared to keep in his heart. This was a dramatic tug-of-war between love and betrayal. It was a heart-wrenching journey of self-redemption. Yet when I decided to leave, he was suddenly filled with panic...

Divorce Runaway bride Hidden identities Rebirth Divorce

Chapter 11

Yesterday 16:16

Chapter 1

My husband, Roger Harvey, was a renowned top-tier lawyer in the industry, but he could never remember anything outside of his cases.

He never remembered my birthday or our wedding anniversary.

Every night he stood at the bedroom door and asked politely yet distantly, "Is this the one?"

He could not even remember my name or what I looked like.

To make him "remember" me, I hung our wedding photo on the wall with a label underneath. "Anniversary: May 20."

I put a nameplate on the bedroom door that read "Bedroom."

I even labeled everything in the house with sticky notes that explained in detail how to use each item and its background.

I thought it was a side effect of his high-pressure job, so I never complained.

That changed the day a multi-car pileup sent both me and his childhood friend, Sylvie Gordon, into the emergency room at the same time.

He rushed frantically to Sylvie's bedside and shouted in a clear, urgent voice, "She has tachycardia. She caught a cold last month but no fever."

The nurse handling the rescue grabbed him and asked, "Sir, your wife is also seriously injured. Does she have any medical history or allergies?"

He turned his head, looked at me covered in blood, and shook his head blankly. "I don't remember."

In that moment I finally understood. He was not forgetful. His memory was astonishingly sharp.

He simply reserved that precise, precious memory for someone else.

Everything about me he had never cared to keep in his heart.

...

The nurse looked at him with surprise and disbelief, then turned to report to the doctor.

The doctor managed to pull up my medical records through my ID number.

Throughout the entire rescue process, Roger stayed by Sylvie's bed.

He held Sylvie's hand. Worry filled his eyes as he kept murmuring details about her condition. "Temperature normal, blood pressure a bit low. She can't eat seafood. She's allergic. She got caught in the rain last week and had a slight cough. Not sure if it affected anything."

Every word came out clear and organized. No wonder he was the undefeated star attorney in court.

My attending doctor shook his head as he listened. When he came to examine me, he could not hold back and said, "Your husband really cares deeply about that Ms. Gordon."

I tugged at the corners of my mouth but could not make a sound.

The anesthesia was wearing off. The intense pain from broken ribs and internal bruising felt like countless needles piercing me.

Yet none of it compared to the agony of my heart being torn apart.

Roger, my husband, never glanced at me even once from beginning to end.

It was as if I was not his wife but a complete stranger.

Sylvie's test results came back first. She only had a mild concussion and some superficial wounds.

Roger let out a long sigh of relief. He carefully helped her sit up and comforted her softly. "It's all right, Sylvie. Don't be scared."

Sylvie leaned into his arms and cried beautifully. "Roger, I was so afraid. I thought I'd never see you again."

Roger patted her back gently. His voice was tender enough to melt anyone. "Silly girl. How could I ever let anything happen to you."

What a touching scene.

If I were not lying on a bed less than ten feet away, covered in blood, I might have been moved too.

The nurse came to change my dressings. She looked at them, then at me. Her eyes filled with pity.

She whispered to me, "Ms. Walton, your hospitalization paperwork hasn't been done yet, and the medical bills..."

I understood what she meant.

I endured the pain, pulled out my phone, and called my best friend, Sonya Murphy.

As soon as the call connected, Sonya's lively voice burst through. "Josie, you miss me already? Did the great lawyer Roger forget to come home again, leaving you all alone and lonely?"

My tears broke free in that instant.

I sobbed uncontrollably and only managed to choke out a few words. "Sonya, come to the hospital... save me."

Sonya went silent on the other end. Then came the crash of a chair and hurried footsteps. "Address! Which hospital?"

I gave her the address and hung up.

Roger finally spared me a single second of his attention.

His brows furrowed. Impatience and reproach flashed in his eyes, as if he blamed me for disturbing his tender moment with Sylvie.

He stood up and walked to my bed.

I thought he would finally show some concern.

Instead he opened his mouth with an icy question. "Can you keep it down?"

My heart sank completely into an ice pit.

In his eyes, my desperate cry for help while on the brink of death was nothing more than noise.

At that moment, Sylvie, who had finished her discharge procedures, walked over weakly and tugged at Roger's sleeve. "Roger, let's go. The disinfectant smell here is strong. It makes me uncomfortable."

Roger immediately turned around, supported her, and switched back to gentle mode. "Okay, let's go home."

He did not look at me again. He simply held Sylvie and walked step by step out of my sight.

The nurse could not stand it anymore. She chased after them and called out, "Mr. Harvey! Your wife is still here. She's badly hurt!"

Roger disappeared down the hallway without turning back.