My Fiancée's Double Life: I Chose to Disappear

My fiancée, Jocelyn, lost her memory in a skiing accident three months ago.

At least, that's what she told me.

She conveniently forgot all seven years of our life together, but no one else.

I spent my life savings on neurologists, desperate to bring back the woman I loved.

Then, one evening, I overheard her on a speakerphone call with her best friend.

"It's just a summer fling to get it out of my system," she laughed. "Ethan's my endgame, but he's a little boring. He'll be waiting like a sad puppy when I'm done playing."

My blood ran cold.

The sleepless nights, the pain, the constant worry-it was all a joke to her.

Her friend asked what she would do if I ever found out and tried to leave.

Jocelyn's reply was chilling. "He's not going anywhere. He's mine. If he tried to leave, I'd find him and lock him up so he could never escape."

I realized our entire history was a lie.

I wasn't her partner; I was her property. A safe bet she could put on a shelf while she had her fun.

My suffering wasn't a tragedy to her; it was the price of her entertainment.

That night, I didn't cry.

I booked a one-way ticket to the other side of the world.

Then, I walked into the courthouse and filed a petition to legally change my name.

She wanted to play a game?

Fine. Let's play hide and seek.