My husband, Oliver Dawson, "forgot" everything in a car crash—and somehow fell for me all over again.

After getting out of the hospital, he said he wanted to date me from scratch. Moved out, made it all romantic.

People thought we were couple goals. I figured he just wanted that first-date spark back.

Then I overheard him with his best friend.

"The amnesia was a lie. I only moved out to take care of Katy. She's pregnant. Cecelia's never wanted kids. I'm not going childless."

I glanced down at my barely-there bump and booked a hospital appointment.

Then I found the memory-erasing pill Mom left me—and took it.

Oliver had no clue I'd forget him in seven days. Completely.

"Ms. Cervini, are you sure? You're three months in. This might mean no kids—ever."

I didn't flinch. "I'm sure."

The nurse gave me that soft, pitying look but kept quiet.

Once the anesthesia wore off, I popped the pill.

Oliver had faked his memory loss. But in seven days, I'd really forget him.

I booked a ticket home for exactly one week later.

Right as I set my phone down, the door burst open. Oliver walked in with a ridiculous bouquet.

"My princess," he said, all charm, "may I have the honor of taking you to my class reunion?"

Since the crash, he'd been laying it on thick—flowers every day, barely working, always planning some cute little outing.

But this same doting Oliver had knocked someone else up.

Just yesterday, his side chick showed up. First thing she did? Drop to her knees, begging me to let him go.

"Perry and I aren't pretty or successful like you," Katy sniffled. "You'll find someone better. But we're from the middle of nowhere. Our parents only care about sons. If we lose Oliver, we've got nothing."

Her voice was soft, sweet even—but every word hit like a slap.

When I didn't say what Katy wanted to hear, she doubled down.

"I'm already pregnant with Oliver's kid," she said. "I'm not after a title—I just need him to fake-marry Perry and me so people back home stop talking."

Still kneeling, but her eyes? Pure dare.

I don't even remember what I said.

Oliver leaned in, snapping me out of it. "What's on your mind, baby?"

I spotted the bite mark on his collarbone and looked away, letting him buckle my seatbelt without saying a thing.

By the time we got there, the table was already packed.

The second we walked in, the teasing kicked off.

"Oliver and Cecelia have been married, what, four or five years? Still act like they just started dating!"

"Well, Cecelia's basically his lucky charm. Ever since they got together, his company blew up. He's, like, Ashville's top CEO now."

"I still remember senior year—some psycho ran onto campus with a knife. Almost got Cecelia, but Oliver threw himself in front of her. Took the hit, arm was a mess. Said he didn't even think—just knew he couldn't let her get hurt."

The smile on my face froze.

Once, Oliver swore he'd die before letting anyone hurt me. Now? He was the one who broke me the worst.

A month ago, when I was still falling for his whole "amnesia" act, I caught him talking trash with his buddies.

Yeah, he said he loved me—but apparently I was "boring in bed."

He flat-out admitted the memory loss was fake. Just a cover so he could move out, mess around with his shiny new secretaries, Katy and Perry.

One of the guys laughed and asked why he didn't just get a divorce. After all, Oliver swore off kids when he proposed—said he'd even gotten a vasectomy.

Oliver had sounded so chill back then. "I'm not like you guys. I really do love Cecelia. But I can't go my whole life without kids, right? Gotta think about the family line."

Then his voice dipped, all warning. "If any of you say a word to Cecelia, don't blame me for cutting you off."

It felt like someone reached in and squeezed my heart until it cracked.

That's when it hit me—this love I thought was unshakable? It was paper-thin. Useless.

And Oliver? He was the one who swore he never wanted kids.

Back at dinner, Oliver slid some food onto my plate. "Cecelia, your favorite—spicy wings."

I barely looked at them before picking them out. "I can't handle spicy anymore."

He blinked, confused, then gently asked if he'd messed up somehow. Kept saying he'd get his memory back soon.

I shrugged. "Tastes change, Oliver."

His smile cracked. "No, Cecelia. I won't change. I'll love you forever. I promise."

Right. Internally, I scoffed. He'd promised that before—meanwhile, Katy and Perry were basically his shadows now.

When I said yes to his proposal, I told him I didn't need much. Just one thing: I couldn't be one of many.

I'd said, "If I'm not the only one in your heart, I'll forget you. I'll forget everything."

He'd sworn that day would never come.

He thought I was asking for a promise. I was giving him a warning.

After Oliver dropped me off that night, he didn't even try to pretend—just drove off.

I knew exactly where he was headed: straight to Katy and Perry.

Ever since her little begging act, Katy had been sending me videos of her and Oliver playing the happy couple.

I never watched a single one. Just dumped them all onto a USB.

Next morning, Oliver showed up bright and early, freshly showered, dressed like he was heading to a date, holding a bag of my favorite pierogi.

But that love bite on his neck? Felt like someone stabbed me clean through.

I swallowed it down and forced a smile. "Thanks, Oliver. I've got something for you too."

Then I handed him the file folder.

His eyes lit up.

But just as he started to open it, I stopped him. "That's for five days from now. You'll have to wait."

His smile twitched—probably remembering his fake wedding to Katy and Perry in five days.

"Why five days?" he asked.

I met his eyes. "Because it's a weekend gift."

He exhaled, like that somehow made everything okay, and gently placed the folder in the cabinet like it was a love letter.

Watching that almost made me excited for the reveal.

Oliver—if you knew what was in that folder: the baby you've been begging for, proof of your little flings, and the divorce papers...

Would you still be smiling like that?

Maybe sensing I wasn't feeling it, Oliver ditched all his plans just to cheer me up.

He'd always been like that—reading my moods like a book.

I said, "Let's go to Hawira."

The place he proposed. Seemed fitting it'd also be where we ended.

He went all out—rented a private island, played the perfect husband.

Every morning, my toothpaste was prepped, my favorite breakfast waiting.

We watched the waves, the sunsets, went diving—checked off every romantic cliché in the book.

But I knew better. I knew the truth.

Every night, he was with someone else.

The island was big enough to hide a lot of women—young, curvy, flirty. But not big enough to hide the aftermath.

I'd wake up to moaning echoing through the walls.

One night, it was the study—just one door between us.

"Oliver, you're amazing."

I padded over barefoot and peeked through the crack.

There he was—Perry bent over the desk in some tacky Playboy bunny getup. Katy knelt nearby, fox tail swinging, all breathy like, "Master, don't give all your love to Perry. I want your..."

Lewd whispers and Oliver's laugh just kept creeping in.

My stomach flipped. I bolted to the bathroom and puked.

"Cecelia, are you okay?"

He was suddenly behind me, rubbing my back.

He looked concerned—but his fly was open, shirt half-on, and there was lipstick smeared across his chest.

I gagged and threw up again.

Oliver panicked, reaching for his phone to call a doctor. I waved him off. "Let's just go home."

I'd seen everything I needed. No more unfinished business.

"Okay." He never said no. He pulled me in, soft. "But I've got one last gift. Just a little more time, yeah?"

He tied a blindfold over my eyes and led me out, our fingers laced.

But as we got closer, the scent of cheap perfume hit me—I sneezed.

Oliver shrugged off his jacket, trying to cover me.

I stepped back. "Don't bother."

A moment later, I pulled off the blindfold. Oliver was grinning like a kid.

Then his arms lifted—and behind him, dolphins burst from the waves, all sparkles and fairytale vibes.

I'd sworn I was over him, but my eyes still stung.

Memories I thought were gone started crawling back.

The night I fainted from a fever—he felt something was off, climbed three stories, and broke in to save me.

When I got jumped for turning down some popular guy, Oliver had my back, no questions asked.

But those sweet memories crumbled fast—replaced by the image of him slouched in a chair, breathless, while two women crawled all over him.

My tears blurred everything as Oliver dropped to one knee, eyes locked on me.

"Cecelia Cervini, will you marry me?"

I looked at him, trying to figure out how someone could be so split. Who was the real Oliver?

He kept pushing. "Cecelia, don't you like it? I trained these dolphins for you. You said you loved the ocean, loved dolphins. I don't remember saying it, but I found my old journal—pages full of stuff you like.

"I promised I'd give you everything you ever wanted. I meant that."

I kept my voice steady. "Does it mention the part where I said—if you gave it to someone else, I'd never want it again?"

He didn't miss a beat. "Obviously. Who else would I go this far for?"

I shut my eyes, gave a cold laugh. "Really?"

Oliver opened his mouth to say something else—then fireworks burst behind him, lighting up the sky.

I locked eyes with him and, under all that sparkle, said flatly, "No, I don't."

He wrapped me in a tight hug. "I'll love you forever."

The fireworks drowned everything out. He thought I'd said yes.

I wasn't about to correct him. He'd find out soon enough—once he opened my gift tomorrow.

***

On the flight back, a new video popped up from Katy.

I opened it without thinking.

Oliver was out there training the dolphins. Katy's voice cut through the breeze. "Baby, you're amazing. You rented the whole island just for Perry and me, and now this? I love you so much!"

My grip tightened around the phone.

So I wasn't his only. Wasn't even the first to see the dolphins.

Back home, I started packing.

Turns out Oliver wasn't the only one with journals—I had stacks of them, filled with our memories.

I dumped them into the fireplace and lit a match.

The flames flickered. Our past went up in smoke.

Then I grabbed my suitcase, walked out, and didn't look back.

Once I was on the plane, I sent Oliver one last text.

[Oliver, congratulations on your wedding.]