Chapter 2Take the Pill, Lose the Past

I hung up and went home, only to find the apartment stripped bare, a hollowed-out shell of what it once was.

Zoey and I had designed this place together. This was supposed to be our forever home, our cozy little sanctuary.

Now, the tea set we’d designed, the art we’d chosen, every single object that held a memory of her was gone. She must have been terrified of me remembering our past. She’d even dug up the flowerbeds on the balcony, turning over the soil where we’d planted roses together, erasing even the roots of our shared past.

Staring at the crushing emptiness, a bitter smile touched my lips.

Zoey, in all your careful planning, were you more afraid of my pain, or were you afraid I’d remember everything and crash your perfect wedding?

If you knew there was no cure, that my memories of you would be gone forever, would you feel a single shred of regret?

I slipped my wedding ring off my finger. I wrote her a letter, sealed it in an envelope with the ring, and tucked it deep into the loose soil of one of the empty planters.

Just then, my phone rang again. It was my best friend, Ryan.

He hesitated before speaking. “Cary… man, I have to tell you something. I think Zoey’s cheating on you. I just saw her outside the hospital, all over some other guy.”

“I know,” I said, my voice flat. “It doesn’t matter. Let her be.”

Ryan was stunned by my calm. “Cary? Are you… are you okay?”

His genuine panic almost made me laugh. “Why wouldn’t I be? Zoey and I are divorced.”

“DIVORCED?!”

I gave him the short, brutal version of the story. When I told him I’d taken the pill, a string of curses erupted from the other end of the line.

“That son of a bitch! And her—what a piece of work! To marry that guy, she’d really stoop to anything. You gave up that research position in Paris to be with her! Half of her success, she owes to you! And now she does this, for him? And she has the gall to say she’s doing it so you won’t feel pain? Who the hell does she think she is?”

Finally, a sliver of pain broke through my numbness, and my face grew pale.

Five years ago, when Zoey was at her lowest, I married her without a second thought. I used every connection I had to pull her company back from the brink of bankruptcy. Back then, she would hold me tight every night, whispering in my ear that I was her forever.

But somewhere along the way, things had changed.

Her heart had found room for someone else. She forgot my sacrifices and started demanding that I be tolerant, that I forgive her “compassion” for Leo.

Is it so hard to love one person, and one person only?

Because I managed it just fine.

Ryan, having exhausted his vocabulary of insults, took a deep breath. “I’m telling you, she is going to regret this for the rest of her life. Divorcing you, drugging you… she’ll be kicking herself forever.”

He scoffed. “She has no idea you never finished the antidote, does she? Good. Let her suffer. And you… you’re finally free.”

My eyes drifted to the planter where I’d hidden the letter. I knew Zoey’s habits better than my own. When she was upset, she’d drink a glass of wine on the balcony.

If, when I was gone, she truly felt regret, she would find it.

Late that night, I heard her come in. She was rummaging through the closet in my room.

“What are you doing?”

Her movements froze. She turned to see me standing in the doorway in my pajamas. She frowned, pulling a scarf from her own neck and wrapping it around mine. “It’s freezing in here. Why are you dressed so lightly?”

I ignored her question. “Are you looking for something?”

“Yeah,” she said, avoiding my eyes. “I need to borrow your suit. For Leo. He wants to wear it at the wedding.” She paused, then added, “You might not remember. It’s the one you wore for our wedding.”

I stared at her, my silence a heavy weight in the room.

Of course I hadn’t forgotten. She had designed it for me herself. Two whole months, from the first sketch to the final stitch. A couture piece that was practically priceless. All because I had once casually mentioned, “I wish I had a suit that was one-of-a-kind.”

And now, she was taking that suit, made for me, to dress another man for his wedding.

The absurdity of it was almost comical. I decided to press her. “Is this suit really that important? Why does it have to be this one?”

My question seemed to stir a memory. Her hands stilled for a fraction of a second. The day she’d finished it, she had told me, “This suit, Cary, will only ever belong to you.”

I watched her, waiting. She hesitated for only a moment before speaking. “It was designed by a master artisan. It’s the only one in the world. Leo loves it, and it’s his dream to get married in it.”

Seeing my gaze drop, she added quickly, “Don’t worry. I’ll bring it right back after the wedding. And then… whatever you want, just ask. I’ll get it for you.”

The same smooth, practiced lies. Another blow landed squarely on my heart.

On our wedding day, her eyes had never left me. Afterward, she had carefully stored the suit away as if it were a sacred relic.

“Why are you so careful with it?” I had laughed.

She had looked at me with sincere, earnest eyes. “Because you gave this suit its meaning. I want to preserve that memory forever.”

But now, because Leo “liked it,” she was handing it over without a second thought. The suit, once a treasured symbol, was now just a tool to appease another man.

“It’s late. You should get some sleep. I have to go out again,” Zoey said, oblivious to the storm inside me. She took the suit and left.

I pulled the scarf from my neck and let it fall to the floor. I looked at the empty space in the closet, a hollow ache of disappointment and sorrow filling my chest.

It’s okay, I told myself, talking to the suit as much as to myself. Just like me, once she’s done cleaning house, everything will be fine.

It was just another form of being thrown away.

Once my memory was wiped clean, I could finally let go.

As the thought crossed my mind, another vicious spike of pain shot through my head. And just like that, another huge piece of my memory vanished, pulling me violently from the depths of my grief.