Chapter 1
I had been married to Samuel Grant for six years when a car accident took away part of his memory.
After waking up, he remembered his parents, his friends, and every employee at his company, except me.
A month later, I accidentally overheard his doctor asking, "Mr. Grant, how long are you planning to keep pretending you have amnesia?"
I stood outside the door and didn't walk in.
The room fell silent for a long time.
Then Samuel calmly replied, "Until the child is safely settled."
The doctor sighed. "But that'll take at least two more months. Are you really going to keep lying to your wife?"
I lowered my eyes to the thermos in my hands.
Inside was the soup he loved most.
From that day on, I pretended I knew nothing.
I brought him meals every day. I stayed by his side through every rehabilitation session.
When he held Claire White's hand right in front of me, I simply looked away.
Everyone thought his "amnesia" had finally worn down my pride.
Three months later, Samuel finally "got his memory back."
He rushed home, eager to surprise me.
But when he opened the door, he found nothing familiar, only a house filled with someone else's furniture.
The new owner, holding a child in her arms, looked at him and asked, "Who are you looking for?"
Samuel broke down and called me like a man losing his mind.
*****
When I finally picked up, his voice trembled. "Natalie, where's our home?"
I stood on the boat, watching the dock fade farther and farther into the distance.
"I sold it," I said.
"And you?" he asked.
"I'm gone too."
That day, I just stood outside the hospital room. I never opened the door.
The soup in the thermos had been cooking for four hours and was still steaming hot.
I carried it all the way from the inpatient wing to the parking lot, and it wasn't until I sat down in the car that I noticed the handle had left a red-purple ring on my palm.
Six years ago, on our wedding night, Samuel got drunk and held me tight, refusing to let go.
He told me there were two things he feared most in this life.
First was that I'd leave him.
Second, I'd never make him soup again.
Turned out, I really couldn't believe what he said when he was drunk.
The next morning at seven, I went to the hospital like always.
Samuel was doing his rehab exercises.
Claire was sitting by the bed, rolling up his sleeves. When she saw me come in, she immediately stood up.
Claire said, "Natalie, don't misunderstand. Right now, Sam only remembers me, and I was worried he wouldn't get used to being alone in the hospital."
Samuel didn't even look up.
He said coldly, "You don't need to explain to her."
I set the thermos down on the table. "The doctor said your stomach's not great, so you shouldn't take your meds on an empty stomach."
"Claire brought oatmeal," Samuel said.
Claire quickly added, "I just grabbed it on the way. It's nothing like what Natalie cooks."
Even as she said that, she casually pushed her thermos toward Samuel.
Samuel took the thermos from her.
I stood aside, watching him take a sip.
He used to hate plain oatmeal, always saying it was bland. But now, he didn't say a word against the oatmeal Claire brought.
The nurse came in to change his dressing and, seeing me, greeted with a smile, "Mrs. Grant, you're here early again today?"
Samuel's hand paused for a moment.
"Don't call her that," Samuel cut in.
The nurse froze.
He looked down, flexing his wrist, his tone indifferent. "I don't like hearing that."
The room went quiet.
Claire whispered, "Sam, you might have amnesia, but you're still married. Don't embarrass Natalie."
"I'm just being honest," Samuel replied.
He looked up at me. "Everyone says you're my wife, but I don't remember you at all. What reaction do you expect from me?"
My throat tightened, and I nodded.
"I understand," I said.
He probably didn't expect me to be so agreeable, and his frown deepened.
Before I left, Claire suddenly asked, "Natalie, where's Sam's wedding ring? He didn't have it on when he woke up."
I took the ring out of my bag.
After the accident, the nurse took it off because his finger was swollen. I kept it close to me those days and even took it with me into the shower, afraid I'd lose it.
I set the ring down next to his hand.
Samuel glanced at it but didn't touch it.
"Just keep it for now," he said.
"Why?" I asked.
"I'll wear it when I actually remember you."
I stared at him, then clenched the ring back in my palm.
The metal edge dug into my skin, making it ache.
As I walked out of the room, I heard Claire ask him softly, "Aren't you being a little harsh?"
Samuel didn't answer.
But I already knew the answer.
He hadn't forgotten me.
He needed me to believe he had.
*****
It was pouring rain the day Samuel was discharged from the hospital.
As I drove up to the inpatient building, Claire was already waiting there with an umbrella.
Before I could even get out of the car, Claire helped Samuel into another car.
As the car slowly passed by me, he rolled down the window and glanced at me.
"You go home first," he said.
I gripped the steering wheel, not moving.
"Go home to where?" I asked.
He frowned, like he didn't get why I was asking that.
"Home, of course," he said.
I looked at him and suddenly smiled.
That house was left to me by my mother before she passed away.
In the second year of our marriage, Samuel thought the place was too old-fashioned, so he personally oversaw the renovations for over three months.
The wooden accent wall in the living room was something he picked out after visiting five different stores.
Back then, we had a fight, and I was packing my bags to leave. He blocked the door and grabbed my suitcase.
"Natalie, no matter how much we fight, neither of us is allowed to walk out on this house," he said.
"Why not?" I shot back.
"Because this is our home."
Later, he wrote that line on a sticky note and stuck it to the inside of the entryway.
It stayed there for six years.
He didn't come back until nine that night.
Claire was with him.
Samuel held the umbrella in one hand and dragged her suitcase with the other.
I stood by the dining table.
"What's going on?" I asked.
Samuel said, "Claire's place is pretty far, and it's a hassle for her to get to the hospital, so I told her she could crash here for a few days."
"Which room?"
"The guest room."
Claire quickly shook her head. "No, really, it's fine. I'll just stay at a hotel. I don't want to bother Natalie any more."
As she spoke, she suddenly held her stomach, her face going pale.
Samuel immediately supported her.
"Is it hurting again?" he asked.
"It's nothing. The doctor said I've been having flare-ups lately," Claire replied.
The room went quiet for a moment.
Samuel finally looked at me.
His gaze wasn't the confused look of someone with amnesia; it was wary.
"Natalie, she's not well. Don't stress her out," he said.
I stared at his hand resting on Claire's waist.
I said, "Did I say anything?"
He shot back, "Mom said you've always had a bad temper."
I almost laughed.
Turned out, even my temper was scripted for this show. They really thought of everything to make this act believable.
In the end, I kept my mouth shut.
Claire moved into the guest room, Samuel took the study, and I went back to the master bedroom alone.
Our wedding photo was still sitting on the nightstand.
The next morning, Samuel saw it and frowned at the doorway.
"Put it away for now," he said.
I froze, halfway through changing the sheets.
"Is it uncomfortable for you to see it?" I asked.
"Yeah," he replied.
I climbed onto a chair and took the photo down.
The frame was heavy, and the corner scraped my hand, leaving a bloody scratch.