Chapter 2
Xander picked up the papers, his voice gentler now. "Sorry about earlier—"
He stopped mid-sentence when he noticed the notebook next to the papers. The open page was covered with the same sentences.
They read: [I'm Ramona, not Shelby.
[Xander wore a gray shirt today.
[Don't forget to take your medicine.
[Mom's death anniversary is May 12th.]
The handwriting started out neat, but got sloppier and sloppier, until the last few lines were barely readable.
Xander's fingers froze. He slowly looked up, and for the first time, he was really looking at me, not seeing someone else through me.
"What's this?" His voice was tight.
I snatched the notebook and hugged it to my chest, like I was defending my last stronghold. "It's nothing. Dinner's ready. It's your favorite steamed fish."
With that, I bolted for the kitchen. I could feel Xander's eyes burning into my back the whole way.
That night, he barely touched his food, just kept staring at me. I kept my head down, fiddled with my food, repeating to myself, 'I'm Ramona. I'm twenty-eight. I'm married to Xander. Today is June 7th, 2026...'
But what came after June 7th, 2026?
My memories, once calm like a still pond, were starting to fracture.
Sometimes I'd get lost in the supermarket, staring at the shelves, forgetting what I needed to buy.
Sometimes I'd look in the mirror, unsure whose face I was seeing.
The worst episode happened at the annual gala of Xander's hospital.
Amid the clinking glasses, chatter, and laughter, I was holding my drink when suddenly I forgot where I was. The faces around me turned unfamiliar, the lights felt blinding, and the music was overwhelming. I stumbled back and bumped into someone.
"Sorry." I looked up and saw a face that looked oddly familiar.
The man was dressed in a sharp suit, his eyes lighting up with surprise. "Shelby? Is that you?"
For a split second, the whole room went quiet. Xander was talking with someone nearby, and when he heard that, he turned around, his face instantly darkening.
"You've got the wrong person, Mr. Ford," Xander said, striding over and wrapping his arm around my shoulder. "This is my wife, Ramona Bennett."
Thomas muttered, "She looks just like Dr. Hughes."
Xander's grip tightened, his fingers digging into my shoulder until it hurt. He practically dragged me out of the venue, and the whole drive home was dead silent.
The moment the villa door slammed shut, he pinned me against the wall, his breath ragged. "Is that what you want? To be her? You have to get involved with her friends too?"
The alcohol and the chaos in my head made me blurt out, "I didn't. It's all of you. No one ever sees me. You all see only Shelby. Xander, look at me. I'm Ramona. I'll get sick, get old. I... I could forget you."
When those words escaped my lips, we both froze.
The anger in Xander's eyes slowly faded, replaced by a strange emotion. "Forget me?"
I'd hidden the diagnosis report at the very bottom of my bedroom drawer. I wanted to hold onto this last shred of dignity, not let myself become a pathetic shell of myself, losing everything that made me who I am, right in front of him.
"Yeah, I will forget you," I said, lifting my chin, but my tears gave me away, rolling down my face. "It's not like you need me to remember anyway. All you want is a Shelby knockoff, someone who never says a word, never makes a fuss."
Xander let go of me. He stepped back, looking at me with a gaze that felt like he was sizing up a stranger, trying to figure out who I really was.
"Ramona," he said, "what's really going on with you?"
I slid down to the floor, hugging my knees and burying my face. "I'm tired, Xander. I've been living as her substitute for three years, and I just... I can't keep pretending anymore."
*****
That night, Xander didn't return to his study. He sat in the living room, opened a bottle, and drank alone until dawn.
Meanwhile, I lay in bed, scrolling through my phone's photo album again and again. There wasn't a single picture of me and Xander together.
There were only secret photos of his back, his profile while he slept, and his dress shoes by the front door. These pieces made up my one-sided love, and now, even these pieces were fading away.
Something changed in Xander after that night.
"He started coming home right on time, skipping out on events he didn't really need to go to.
Sometimes, when I was cooking, he'd linger in the kitchen doorway, like he wanted to say something but couldn't quite get it out. Other times, when I was curled up on the couch reading, he'd blurt out, "What are you reading?" Then he'd clamp his mouth shut, clearly frustrated with how clumsy he sounded.
One day, I noticed that all of Shelby's photos were gone from the study. Every trace of her, her scented candles, her little trinkets, even the medical notes she'd left behind, had been packed away in boxes and stashed in the storage room.
Xander had put up our wedding photo in the study. In the picture, I was in my wedding dress, my smile stiff and awkward, while Xander stared blankly at the camera, like we were two strangers forced to stand together for a photo.
"Why did you take her photo down?" I asked.
He was reading a research paper and looked up. "You don't like it, do you?"
"I thought you liked it," I said.
"I used to," he replied, closing his notebook and rubbing his temples. "But now... I don't want it around anymore."
It wasn't romantic, but it was the most sweetest thing I'd heard in three years.