My Husband Lost His Memories of Our Love

Abigail swallowed the bitterness welling up inside her and lay down, tears slipping silently down her cheeks, disappearing into the fabric of her pillow. The pain in her chest felt like an endless weight pressing down on her, but she remained quiet, unwilling to let the sobs escape.

The next morning, she rose early to make breakfast. As she entered the kitchen, she noticed the house was quieter than usual. A quick glance confirmed it—Olivia and Gabriella had left. A small sense of relief washed over her, a momentary reprieve from their constant scrutiny.

She set the table just as Sebastian came downstairs, adjusting a tie that hung awkwardly around his neck. Instinctively, Abigail stepped forward to help him. Her hands reached for the tie, but he waved her away, his gesture sharp and dismissive.

In that moment, the realization hit her again—he couldn’t stand her touch anymore.

Sebastian continued his clumsy attempt to fix the tie, fumbling with the knot until it was barely passable. Frustration flickered across his face, though he tried to mask it.

Why? he wondered silently. Why can’t I even tie a simple tie anymore?

The answer was plain, though he wouldn’t admit it to himself—he had never learned because Abigail had always done it for him.

When breakfast was ready, they sat at the table. Abigail mustered her courage to speak, her voice steady despite the storm inside her.

“Sebastian,” she began, her tone pleading. “Your mother lied to you. We truly loved each other. It wasn’t an agreement or a threat. Please, you have to believe—”

“Enough!” Sebastian’s hand slammed against the table, the sharp sound echoing in the room. He stood abruptly, his glare cutting through her like a blade.

“Stop spouting nonsense. When the agreed time is up, I’ll divorce you. You’d better behave yourself until then, or I won’t even wait that long!”

His words dripped with anger and disgust, his eyes cold and unyielding.

Abigail felt as though her heart was being strangled, the pain wrapping itself around her like an unrelenting vine. She stared at him, her chest heaving with the weight of words left unsaid.

Why? She asked herself for the hundredth time. Why would he believe me now when he didn’t before?

Her lips twisted into a bitter smile as she lowered her gaze, resigning herself to silence. She returned to her breakfast, her appetite lost but unwilling to show the depth of her hurt.

Once, Abigail had never needed to cook. Sebastian had always insisted on taking care of meals himself or calling their housekeeper when he was too busy.

But after his car accident and subsequent discharge from the hospital, everything changed.

“Why don’t you cook when there’s no one else here?” he’d snapped one day, his voice laced with disdain. “You don’t even know how to do something as simple as this?”

His words had stung, treating her not as a partner but as a servant.

It was Abigail’s first time in the kitchen, but Sebastian’s reaction was as cold and predictable as ever. He took one bite, his expression hardening instantly, and pushed the plate to the middle of the table. The disdain in his eyes was undisguised, a silent declaration of her inadequacy.

The sharp ring of his phone broke the oppressive silence. He glanced at the screen, and his demeanor shifted. Without hesitation, he answered, his voice softening with unmistakable joy.

“Gabriella?”

The sound of that name made Abigail’s hand, holding her chopsticks, freeze in midair. The dining room fell silent again, but Gabriella’s sweet, coquettish voice on the other end of the line was painfully clear.

“Sebastian, the breakfast my aunt made isn’t good. Can you cook for me instead? I only want to eat what you make.”

A tender smile crept onto Sebastian’s face, and he replied indulgently, “Alright. I’ll make you whatever you want.”

The scrape of a chair being pushed back snapped Abigail out of her daze. She looked up just in time to see him stand and walk out the door, the sound of it slamming shut ringing in her ears.

Left alone, Abigail forced herself to continue eating. Each bite felt mechanical, and tears welled up in her eyes as she struggled to swallow. Her heart was a storm of pain and confusion, the ache in her chest nearly suffocating.

Once upon a time, those same words had been meant for her.

“You don’t have to cook. I’ll make you whatever you want to eat,” he used to say, his voice filled with warmth.

The words hadn’t changed, but the person they were meant for had.

The following days passed in emptiness. Sebastian didn’t return, and the coldness in the house deepened as New Year’s Eve approached.

Summoning her courage, Abigail sent him a few messages.

When will you be back? Will we spend New Year’s Eve together?

Her heart ached as she typed those words, memories flooding her mind. Every year before this, Sebastian had insisted they spend New Year’s Eve together. He had even made her swear to it as if their shared celebration was sacred.

But now, the oath seemed forgotten.

The messages remained unanswered, her screen a stark reminder of his silence.