Sariyah's words hung in the air between us like a storm cloud, heavy with truths I couldn't remember but somehow felt in my bones. 'Maybe forgetting him is the best thing that could have happened to you,' she'd said. The idea that my own mind might be protecting me from years of pain was both comforting and terrifying.

Two days after waking up, I was still in the hospital, surrounded by flowers from people whose names I recognized and cards from well-wishers I could actually remember. Cameron had visited sporadically, always impeccably dressed, always checking his watch, always a stranger.

'I brought your phone,' Sariyah said, placing the sleek device in my hands during her afternoon visit. 'I thought it might help you... understand some things.'

I unlocked it with my fingerprint—at least my body remembered what my mind didn't—and began scrolling through photos, texts, and apps, searching for fragments of my lost life.

'What's this?' I asked, tapping on an app called 'Mood Tracker.'

Sariyah's expression darkened. 'That was Cameron's idea. He insisted you keep track of your... compatibility.'

The app opened to reveal a calendar view, each day marked with a number between -100 and 100. My stomach tightened as I scrolled through month after month of negative scores. -45. -62. -78. Occasionally there would be a neutral zero or a meager positive number, like breadcrumbs of hope scattered among a wasteland of disappointment.

And then I saw it. A -99 from just two weeks ago. I tapped on the entry, and Cameron's comment appeared: 'Clingy and desperate as usual. Can't even give me one evening of peace.'

My hands trembled. 'I don't understand. Why would I stay with someone who felt this way about me?'

Sariyah's eyes filled with tears. 'You kept believing he would change. That if you just loved him enough...'

I set the phone down, suddenly nauseated. 'I need some air.'

The hospital garden was a modest affair—a few benches surrounded by planters of resilient flowers that could withstand the constant shade from the building. But after days confined to my room, it felt like paradise. I closed my eyes, letting the gentle breeze caress my face.

'Taylor? Is that you?'

I turned to see a stunning woman approaching—tall, elegantly dressed in a cream-colored suit that accentuated her perfect figure, her blonde hair cascading in soft waves around her shoulders.

'I'm sorry,' I said automatically. 'I don't...'

'Oh, of course. Cameron told me about your... condition.' Her smile didn't reach her eyes. 'I'm Georgina. Georgina Meyer.'

The name hit me like a physical blow. Georgina. The woman Sariyah had mentioned—Cameron's obsession, his 'white moonlight.' I struggled to maintain my composure.

'Nice to meet you,' I managed, though it felt wrong to say.

'I just wanted to see how you were doing,' she said, her voice dripping with false concern. 'Cameron has been so worried.'

I doubted that very much, based on his behavior, but I simply nodded.

Georgina moved closer, walking alongside me on the garden path. 'It must be so difficult, not remembering your own husband. Though perhaps...' She paused, her voice lowering conspiratorially. 'Perhaps it's for the best. Not all memories are worth keeping.'

Before I could respond, she gasped dramatically and stumbled forward, throwing herself down the short flight of garden steps with a theatrical flair that seemed almost practiced.

'Help!' she screamed, though her fall had been suspiciously controlled. 'She pushed me! Taylor pushed me!'

I stood frozen in shock, unable to process what was happening. Within moments, a small crowd had gathered, including a nurse and—to my horror—Cameron, who must have been arriving for one of his perfunctory visits.

'What happened?' he demanded, rushing to Georgina's side, his hands gentle as he helped her up.

'She pushed me,' Georgina whimpered, clinging to him. 'I was just trying to be nice, to welcome her back, and she attacked me.'

Cameron's head snapped up, his eyes finding mine with a fury that made me step back. 'What the hell is wrong with you?'

'I didn't—' I began, but he cut me off.

'First you conveniently forget our entire marriage, and now this?' His voice rose with each word, drawing more attention. 'Is this some kind of game to you?'

'I never touched her,' I insisted, my voice shaking. 'She fell on her own—'

'Liar!' Georgina sobbed into Cameron's chest. 'She hates me because of you, because of us!'

Cameron's tirade continued, his voice echoing through the garden. I felt something warm trickle down my neck and reached up to find blood—my head wound had reopened under the stress. The world began to spin as a nurse rushed to my side, calling for assistance.

As I was helped back inside, I caught one last glimpse of them—Cameron cradling Georgina, his face a mask of concern that he'd never once shown me. And in that moment, I knew Sariyah was right. Forgetting him was indeed the best thing that had ever happened to me.

I stared at the divorce papers in my hands, feeling a strange sense of calm. The thick manila folder contained my freedom—a chance to escape the prison I'd apparently built for myself over five years. Though I couldn't remember a single day of my marriage, the evidence of its toxicity surrounded me like a suffocating cloud.

Three weeks had passed since I'd awakened in the hospital with selective amnesia. Three weeks of discovering painful truths about my life with Cameron Scott—a husband who treated me with cold indifference when he bothered to acknowledge me at all. The reopened wound on my head had finally healed, but the emotional wounds were still raw and bleeding.

I took a deep breath and knocked on Cameron's study door.

"Enter," came his clipped response.

He sat behind an imposing mahogany desk, not bothering to look up from his laptop as I walked in. The study was meticulously organized—sleek, modern furniture arranged with military precision, not a single personal photo or memento in sight. It felt as sterile as our interactions.

"I need to talk to you," I said, my voice steadier than I expected.

Cameron sighed dramatically, as if I'd interrupted something of monumental importance. "Make it quick. I have a conference call in fifteen minutes."

I placed the divorce papers on his desk, sliding them toward him. "I want a divorce."

That got his attention. His eyes flicked from the papers to my face, his expression morphing from surprise to amusement. A cold smile spread across his handsome features as he leaned back in his chair.

"Really, Taylor? This is your new strategy?" He chuckled, the sound devoid of any warmth. "First the convenient amnesia, now divorce papers?"

"This isn't a strategy," I insisted. "I don't remember our marriage, but I've seen enough to know it's not something I want to continue."

Cameron stood, towering over me with that same amused expression. "You've been spending too much time with Sariyah. She's always had a talent for dramatic ideas."

"Sariyah helped me find a lawyer, yes, but this is my decision."

He picked up the papers, flipping through them with casual disinterest. Then, maintaining eye contact with me, he slowly and deliberately tore them in half, then quarters, then eighths, letting the pieces flutter onto his desk like confetti.

"You're just playing hard to get like you always do," he said, his voice dropping to a condescending whisper. "This pathetic act won't work on me anymore."

I stared at the shredded remains of my escape plan, feeling a strange mix of anger and relief. Anger at his dismissal, but relief that his reaction confirmed everything Sariyah had told me about our marriage.

"This isn't an act," I said quietly. "And tearing up the papers doesn't change anything."

Cameron circled the desk, stepping uncomfortably close to me. I could smell his expensive cologne—sandalwood and something sharper beneath. "Five years, Taylor. Five years of the same tiresome games. You threaten to leave, I ignore it, you crawl back begging for attention." He traced a finger along my jawline, and I fought the urge to recoil. "But I must admit, the amnesia angle is creative. Did you think forgetting me would make me want you more?"

I stepped back, breaking contact. "I didn't choose to forget you. But maybe my mind knew what it was doing."

His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Careful, Taylor. You're my wife. That hasn't changed just because you've decided to play make-believe."

"I'll get more papers," I promised, turning to leave.

"We'll see," he called after me, his voice laced with smug certainty. "Grandfather's birthday banquet is tomorrow night. I expect you to be there, playing your role perfectly. After all, amnesia or not, you're still a Scott."

I paused at the door. "And if I refuse?"

"Then I'll make sure your little friend Sariyah regrets ever giving you ideas." His threat was delivered so casually it took a moment to register. "Her design firm does a lot of business with Scott Industries. It would be a shame if those contracts suddenly disappeared."

I left without another word, my hands shaking with rage. Sariyah had warned me about this—his pattern of threats and manipulation whenever I'd tried to assert independence in the past. I might not remember those instances, but my body remembered the fear, the helplessness.

But something had changed. The Taylor who had endured five years of emotional abuse was gone, replaced by someone who saw Cameron Scott for what he truly was. And that Taylor—the new Taylor—wasn't going to back down so easily.