My Dead Fiancée Returned With Another Man

After the art exhibition, I came down with a terrible fever.

When it finally broke, I stared at my pale reflection in the mirror, shaved off the stubble, and pulled myself together. I still had my career to think about.

What I didn't expect was running into Iris again at the coffee shop downstairs from my office while meeting a client. She sat in the corner with Violet, the two of them apparently arguing about something.

I was going to avoid them, but my client Maya Sacchetti's enthusiastic greeting gave me away. "Mr. Stevens! Over here!"

Iris looked up. Our eyes met.

This time, there was no coldness in her gaze like before. Instead, I caught something curious, almost searching.

I forced myself to look away and sat down across from Maya. We started discussing the new jewelry design proposal.

"I love the concept behind this Shattered series. That sense of rebirth from despair really grabs you." Maya pointed at the design mockups, her interest piqued.

"What inspired this, Mr. Stevens?"

My fingers tightened around my coffee cup.

The inspiration came from the hallucinations I saw after swallowing sleeping pills on the seventh day after Iris' memorial. It came from the brief, sharp relief I felt during countless nights when I dragged a blade across my skin.

"Nothing worth mentioning," I said. "Just the idea that some things, once broken, stay broken. You can glue the pieces back together, but the cracks will always show. Better to shatter them completely and start over."

Maya nodded approvingly. Across the room, Iris suddenly stood up and walked straight toward me. Violet tried to grab her arm but missed.

"Graham Stevens." She used my full name.

I ignored her and kept talking to Maya. "For the centerpiece stone, we're recommending an uncut black diamond—"

"Graham Stevens!"

Iris raised her voice and slammed her hand down on my design boards. Maya jumped, glancing between us with visible confusion. "Mr. Stevens, who is this?"

I took a deep breath, closed the folder, and looked up at her. "Ms. Ford, what do you want? Please don't interrupt my work."

Iris didn't answer. Her gaze locked onto my wrist. My sleeve had ridden up, exposing the jagged scars underneath. They had faded somewhat, but they were still impossible to miss.

"Violet told me you tried to kill yourself three times. Because of me."

Her tone carried disbelief mixed with something else I couldn't quite read. Guilt, maybe. Or just the uncomfortable weight of responsibility.

After all, being responsible for someone's near-death was a heavy burden to carry, especially for the version of her that existed now. It was probably inconvenient.

I tugged my sleeve down to cover the scars. "You're mistaken, Ms. Ford. It has nothing to do with you. Don't flatter yourself."

Iris flinched, her expression darkening. "Graham, I know you resent me. But I lost my memory. I didn't—"

"So, losing your memory makes it okay to just start over without a second thought?" I cut her off. I couldn't help it. The bitterness spilled out.

"Iris, we live in the modern world. If you really wanted to find your way home, all you needed to do was walk into a police station. They could have identified you in minutes. But you didn't.

"You had countless chances over the past three years to come back, to look for your past. But you chose to stay there. You chose to stay with Jack.

"It wasn't because you lost your memory. It's because deep down, you never wanted to come back at all."

Iris' eyes widened, something like recognition flickering across her face.

The woman who used to lie awake at night in the city, anxious about art exhibitions and mortgage payments and our future together, had found exactly what she wanted in those mountains. A way out. Jack's life-saving act had given her the perfect excuse to take it.

Iris stood frozen, looking stunned. Just then, the coffee shop door swung open. Jack rushed in, breathless, carrying an insulated soup thermos.

"Iris! Why'd you run off? I made you soup."

He saw the two of us facing each other and went pale. The container slipped from his hands and hit the floor. Hot soup splashed out, soaking the hem of Iris' pants.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Jack dropped to his knees, frantically trying to wipe it up.

Iris immediately crouched down beside him and grabbed his hands. Her voice turned soft, almost unrecognizable. "Don't touch it. It's hot. I'm fine."

She pulled Jack to his feet and positioned herself protectively in front of him. "Graham, I'm sorry for what happened in the past. But I love Jack now.

"He's gentle and timid. He can't handle this kind of confrontation. Please don't show up in front of us again."

I watched the scene unfold and felt strangely calm. I almost wanted to laugh.

"Don't worry," I said, turning to the bewildered Maya with an apologetic smile. "Let's find somewhere else to talk."