"Are you really going to wear that to sign the papers?" Lincoln asked, adjusting his expensive silk tie. "You look like you're heading to a funeral."

"I am," I replied, keeping my eyes fixed on the path ahead. "The funeral of this marriage."

He scoffed, the sound sharp in the crisp morning air. "Don't flatter yourself, Iris. You're the one walking away because you couldn't handle a little competition."

"Competition implies we were playing a game. You cheated, Lincoln. For two years."

"Chloe offers me what you stopped giving me a long time ago," he sneered, pulling out his phone. He didn't even look at me, his thumbs flying across the screen. "Sign the papers today at the registry, take your pathetic settlement, and disappear. It’s what you’re best at anyway—quitting."

"I'm not quitting," I said, my voice dangerously even. "I'm taking out the trash."

He laughed, a harsh, grating sound that used to make my stomach flutter, but now only made my skin crawl. "You think you're so righteous. Without my money, you're nothing. You'll be begging to come back within a month."

We were walking down the wide marble steps outside our apartment building, heading toward the waiting town car. He remained glued to his screen, too busy texting his mistress to watch his footing.

"Watch your step," I warned flatly.

"Don't tell me what to—"

His leather shoe caught the edge of the granite stair.

He pitched forward, arms flailing too late to catch his balance. The sound of his skull cracking against the stone echoed through the empty courtyard. He tumbled down the remaining flight, a limp doll in a tailored suit, coming to a dead stop at the bottom.

Blood pooled instantly beneath his head, staining the pristine white marble.

I didn't scream. I didn't rush to his side. I simply pulled out my phone and dialed 911.

Three days later, the sterile smell of Mercy General Hospital replaced the metallic tang of blood in my memory.

I stood in the quiet hallway outside Room 302. Inside my purse, the divorce papers waited, slightly crinkled but fully drafted, lacking only his signature.

"His vitals are stabilizing," Dr. Evans told me, stepping out of the room and closing the door halfway. "But the brain trauma was severe. The swelling in his frontal lobe is significant. If he wakes up today, expect severe confusion."

I nodded, gripping the leather strap of my bag. "Understood."

Before the doctor could walk away, a blur of heavy floral perfume and designer fabrics shoved past me.

Chloe.

She wore a bright red dress, entirely inappropriate for an intensive care unit, her heels stomping aggressively against the linoleum. She glared at me, her eyes red-rimmed but furious.

"Are you here to finish him off?" she spat, blocking the door.

"I'm here to get a signature," I answered, unfazed by her theatrics.

"You're a monster," she hissed, spinning around and pushing the heavy wooden door open. She rushed inside, leaving the door ajar by a few inches.

I stayed in the corridor. I had no desire to watch them reunite. I just needed him awake enough to hold a pen.

"Lincoln? Baby, can you hear me?" Chloe's high-pitched voice filtered through the crack.

A low groan rumbled from the bed. Then, the rustle of stiff hospital sheets.

"Iris?" Lincoln's voice was raspy, weak, but frantic. "Iris!"

I froze. My fingers tightened around my purse strap.

"I'm right here, sweetie," Chloe cooed, her tone sickly sweet. "It's me."

"Who are you?" Lincoln demanded. The heart monitor beside his bed began to beep faster, the rhythm erratic. "Where is my wife? Where is Iris?"

Through the narrow gap in the door, I saw Chloe's hand hover over his chest and retract as if she had been burned. Her face contorted in shock.

"Lincoln, it's Chloe. Your... your Chloe."

"I don't know any Chloe!" he shouted, his voice cracking with panic. "I need Iris. We were just at the lake house. We were celebrating our anniversary. Where is she? Did she get hurt in the crash?"

*The lake house?*

My heart hammered against my ribs. That was four years ago. Before the lies. Before the late nights and the unfamiliar perfume on his collars.

"Calm down," Chloe urged, her tone shifting from sweet to desperate. She leaned over the bed rail, trying to grab his hand. "You fell. You hit your head on the stairs. Don't you remember? We were texting."

"Get your hands off me!" Lincoln growled, yanking his arm away. "I want my wife. Call the nurses. Call Iris!"

Silence hung heavy in the room, save for the frantic beeping of the monitor. I watched Chloe's manicured fingers curl into fists. The realization washed over her features, turning her fake tan a shade paler.

He had forgotten her entirely. He had forgotten the cheating, the brutal arguments, the impending divorce.

Chloe leaned closer to his bed, her voice dropping to a poisonous whisper.

"Iris isn't coming, Lincoln."

My jaw tightened.

"What do you mean?" he asked, terror lacing his words. "Is she hurt? Tell me right now!"

"She left you," Chloe lied smoothly, her eyes gleaming with sudden, dark calculation. "You've been in a coma for days. She never visited. Not once."

"You're lying."

"I'm not," she insisted, stroking his shoulder. This time, he was too exhausted to push her away. "She doesn't care about you anymore, Lincoln. She was cruel to you. She froze you out of your own marriage. When you fell, she just walked away and left you bleeding on the ground."

I pressed my hand against the cold wall of the corridor, steadying myself. The sheer audacity of her lies was staggering.

"No," Lincoln murmured, clutching his bandaged head. "Iris loves me. We love each other. We're going to start a family."

"She used to love you," Chloe whispered, playing the tragic heroine perfectly. She wiped a fake tear from her cheek. "But she changed. She became selfish. Cold. I'm the only one who stayed by your side. I've been here every single day, holding your hand, praying for you to wake up."

"Why would you do that?" he asked, confusion softening his anger.

"Because I'm your best friend," Chloe said softly. "And because she broke your heart. You were miserable with her, Lincoln. You were finally going to leave her."

He shook his head violently, wincing in pain as the movement jolted his injuries. "Leave her? I would never. I would die before I left Iris."

Chloe's face flushed with poorly concealed rage, but she forced a sad, pitying smile. "Your memory is playing tricks on you. The doctors said this might happen. You're remembering a fantasy. The reality is, your wife abandoned you when you needed her most."

"I need to see her," he demanded, struggling to sit up. "Call her. Now."

"She won't answer," Chloe replied, pulling her phone from her pocket and pretending to dial. She held it to her ear for a few seconds, then sighed heavily. "See? Voicemail. She doesn't want you anymore."

I looked down at my own phone. The screen was black. Silent.

"I'll prove it to you," Chloe continued, her voice thick with artificial sympathy. "I'll take care of you. I'll show you what real loyalty looks like. You don't need a woman who treats you like garbage."

Lincoln stared at the ceiling, tears pooling in his eyes. The man who had mocked me hours before his fall, who had told me I was nothing without his money, was now crying over a fabricated version of me.

I reached into my bag and pulled out the thick manila envelope.

I stepped forward and pushed the heavy wooden door wide open.

The hinges whined loudly in the quiet room.

Chloe whipped around, her eyes widening in sheer terror as she saw me standing in the doorway.

Lincoln turned his head. His pale, bruised face lit up instantly, the despair vanishing from his eyes.

"Iris," he breathed out, reaching a trembling hand toward me. "You're here."

"Iris," Lincoln breathed out, his hand trembling as he reached toward me. "You're here."

Chloe whipped her head back toward the bed, panic flashing across her heavily contoured face. She immediately stepped into his line of sight, blocking his view of the doorway.

"Don't look at her, Lincoln," Chloe ordered, her voice shrill. "I told you. She doesn't care about you. She's only here to hurt you."

Lincoln shoved Chloe's arm away with surprising force. "Move. I want to see my wife."

I stepped fully into the room and let the heavy wooden door shut behind me. The solid thud echoed off the sterile walls. I didn't rush to his bedside. I didn't offer a comforting smile. I simply stood at the foot of the mattress, gripping the manila envelope.

Chloe spun around to face me, her eyes narrowed into venomous slits. "Get out! Can't you see he's in a fragile state?"

"You seemed to be handling his fragile state just fine with your fairy tales," I replied, my tone flat.

"Tell him why you're really here," Chloe demanded, pointing a manicured finger at the envelope in my hand. She turned back to Lincoln, her tone shifting to desperate pleading. "She brought divorce papers, baby! Ask her! She wants to leave you to die and take everything you own. She's been plotting this for months."

Lincoln squinted through the bandages wrapped around his forehead. He stared at the thick envelope. "Iris? What is she talking about?"

I lifted the envelope slightly. "She's actually telling the truth for once."

Lincoln shook his head, wincing as the movement pulled at his stitches. "No. We just bought the lake house. We're happy. We're celebrating our anniversary."

Chloe jumped right back in, sensing an opening. "She hasn't been happy! She's been sneaking around behind your back. She never loved you, Lincoln. She used you for your money, and when you fell, she left you bleeding on the pavement! I'm the one who stayed. I'm the one who loves you!"

Lincoln glared at Chloe. The confusion in his eyes quickly morphed into pure rage. "I don't even know your name."

"It's Chloe!" she shrieked, tears ruining her mascara, leaving dark tracks down her cheeks. "We're together! You promised me a ring! You promised you were going to leave her for me!"

"You're insane," Lincoln growled. His chest heaved beneath the thin hospital gown. "I am married to Iris. I love Iris. Get out of my room before I call security."

Chloe lunged forward, trying to grab his hand. "Baby, please, the doctor said your memory is messed up. You're just confused—"

Lincoln yanked his hand back so hard he pulled his IV line taut. The heart monitor beside the bed began to beep wildly, a rapid, frantic rhythm.

"I said get out!" he roared.

Chloe flinched. She looked at me, expecting me to crumble, expecting me to intervene. I just stared back, my face entirely blank.

Realizing she had lost this battle, Chloe grabbed her designer purse from the visitor's chair. She stormed toward the exit, slamming her shoulder hard into mine as she passed.

"You'll pay for this," she hissed in my ear.

I didn't even blink. I opened the door for her, waited until she stomped out into the hallway, and let it click shut again.

Now it was just the two of us.

The frantic beeping of the monitor slowed as Lincoln caught his breath. He looked at me, his expression softening instantly. The anger vanished, replaced by the desperate, pleading look of a terrified child.

"Iris," he whispered. "Come closer. Please."

I walked to the side of the bed. I didn't reach for his outstretched hand. I kept my arms firmly at my sides.

"I was so scared," he said, his voice cracking. "I had this awful nightmare that I fell. And then that strange woman was here, screaming at me, telling me terrible lies about you."

I looked at his bruised face. This was the man I had spent six years with. The man who, just three days ago, had mocked me, cheated on me, and told me I was nothing without his wealth.

Now, he looked completely broken.

Instead of pity, a hot, venomous spike of hatred pierced my chest.

He gets to forget. He gets to erase the two years of late-night arguments, the blatant disrespect, the smell of Chloe's perfume lingering on his shirts. He gets to retreat to a safe, happy memory from four years ago, leaving me to carry the weight of his betrayal alone.

"Her name is Chloe," I said.

"I don't care what her name is," Lincoln replied, straining forward to brush his fingers against my sleeve.

I took a step back, out of his reach.

"You should care," I told him. "You bought her a diamond tennis bracelet last month. You pay the rent for her downtown apartment."

Lincoln's eyes widened in horror. "What? No. That's impossible. I wouldn't do that. I would never do that to you."

"You did."

"Iris, look at me. I love you. We're going to have a baby."

My stomach turned. "I miscarried two years ago, Lincoln. While you were in a hotel with her."

The color drained from his face entirely. He stared at me, his mouth opening and closing silently.

"No," he finally choked out. "No, you're lying. You're just upset about the accident. You're trying to punish me."

I tossed the manila envelope onto his lap. It landed with a heavy slap against the thin hospital blanket.

"Sign them."

He stared at the paperwork like it was a venomous snake. "I won't." He shoved the envelope away, sending it sliding toward the edge of the bed. "I am your husband."

"You were my husband," I corrected him, my voice sharp. "Then you became her ATM. Now, you're just an obstacle."

"The doctors said my brain is swollen," he pleaded, tears pooling in his eyes. "I'm confused. Give me time, Iris. Just let me remember. We can fix this."

"I don't want you to remember," I replied. "I want you to sign."

"Why are you doing this?!" he shouted, frustration finally breaking through his panic. "I almost died!"

"And I called the ambulance," I shot back. "That was my final act of charity as your wife."

Lincoln stared at me, a tear spilling over his bruised cheek, tracking through the iodine smeared near his jaw. "You're so cold."

I laughed. A dry, hollow sound that scraped against my own throat. "You taught me how."

I turned my back on him and walked toward the door.

"If you walk out that door, I'll never sign them!" he threatened, his voice echoing loudly in the small room. "I'll drag this out in court for years!"

I paused with my hand on the cold metal doorknob.

"Keep your money, Lincoln. Keep your mistress. I just want my freedom."

I twisted the knob and pulled the door open, ready to leave him and his shattered memory behind forever.

But my exit was blocked.

Standing in the hallway, flanked by two men in dark suits, was Julian. Lincoln's older brother.

Julian looked down at me, his expression entirely unreadable, before his gaze flicked to the divorce papers resting on Lincoln's bed.

"Nobody is signing anything today, Iris," Julian said softly.

The jarring ring of my cell phone broke the morning silence.

I stared at the screen. LINCOLN.

Yesterday, I had shoved past his brother Julian and walked out of Mercy General without a backward glance. Now, my soon-to-be ex-husband was calling me.

I swiped the green icon and brought the device to my ear.

"Iris?" His voice sounded hollow, scraping against the receiver.

I didn't answer immediately. I poured my black coffee, the dark liquid filling the ceramic mug.

"Iris, are you there?" Panic edged into his tone.

"I'm here."

"Why haven't you visited me?" he demanded, the words tumbling out in a rushed, desperate mess. "I woke up in this miserable room, and you aren't here. Where are you?"

Dr. Evans had warned me about the brain swelling. The severe confusion. Lincoln had completely erased my visit from his fractured memory. He forgot the divorce papers sitting on his lap. He forgot the confrontation.

"I'm at home," I stated flatly.

"Then come to the hospital! I need you." The rustle of stiff hospital sheets transmitted through the speaker. "My head is killing me. I'm so confused. You need to be here with me."

"I'm not coming, Lincoln."

Silence stretched over the line, broken only by the faint, rhythmic beeping of his heart monitor.

"What do you mean you aren't coming?" His voice dropped, trembling. "I'm your husband. I fell. I almost died."

"And you survived," I replied, taking a sip of my coffee. The bitter taste coated my tongue. "Congratulations. Now we can proceed with the divorce."

"Divorce?" He choked on the word. "No. No, we aren't doing that. I love you!"

"We are done, Lincoln. There is no marriage left to save. There is only paperwork."

"Stop saying that!" he yelled. The sudden spike in volume forced me to pull the phone an inch away from my ear. "I love you deeply! I would never leave you. We are going to build a family. We are going to be happy!"

I set my mug down on the granite counter. A sharp, ugly laugh escaped my throat.

"Happy?" I asked, my grip tightening on the phone. "You think we're happy?"

"We are!" he insisted, his breathing turning ragged. "I don't know why you're acting like this. I don't know why you're punishing me. I love you, Iris."

"Your love is disgusting."

He gasped as if I had reached through the phone and struck him. "Iris..."

"Don't say my name," I cut him off, my voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Your love is dirty, Lincoln. It's filthy. It reeks of cheap hotel soap and another woman's perfume."

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"You dragged our vows through the mud for two years," I continued, refusing to let him interrupt. "You smiled at me across the dinner table while texting her under it. You touched me with the same hands you used on her. Your love makes my skin crawl."

"No!" he sobbed. Actual tears choked his words. "I wouldn't do that. I'm a good husband. I'm a good man!"

"You bought her jewelry with our joint account, Lincoln," I pushed forward, my tone completely devoid of warmth. "You took her to the exact same restaurant where we had our rehearsal dinner. You didn't just cheat. You humiliated me."

"I don't remember that!" he pleaded. "I wouldn't do that!"

"Your amnesia doesn't erase my trauma."

"You're making this up!" Every word he spoke was laced with denial. "You're just angry about the accident."

"You're a parasite." Every word I spoke was a calculated strike. "You fed on my patience. You drained my youth. You thought your bank account gave you a free pass to treat me like garbage. You are nothing to me now."

"Please," he begged, his voice cracking entirely. "Please, Iris. My brain is broken. I can't remember. I just want my wife."

"Your wife is dead."

"Lincoln, who are you talking to?"

A new voice filtered through the background. High-pitched. Needy.

Chloe.

She was still there. Still hovering around his bed like a vulture waiting for the carcass to cool.

"Get away from me!" Lincoln roared, the sound tearing through the phone.

"Baby, you're pulling your IV!" Chloe shrieked. "Give me the phone. She's just upsetting you!"

"Don't touch me!"

A loud crash echoed through the receiver. A plastic tray hitting the linoleum floor. Glass shattering.

"Get out of my room!" Lincoln screamed at her. His voice was raw, tearing at his vocal cords. "Get out! I don't want you here! I want my wife!"

"Lincoln, please!" Chloe cried. "She hates you! I'm the one who loves you!"

"Get out!" he bellowed again.

Footsteps retreated rapidly. A heavy wooden door slammed shut.

Heavy, erratic breathing filled the line. The heart monitor in the background was screaming, a frantic, rapid alarm.

"Iris?" Lincoln panted, crying openly now. "Iris, she's gone. I kicked her out. It's just me. Just us."

I stared out my kitchen window, ignoring the dull gray sky.

"There is no us," I said.

"Why are you doing this?" he wailed, completely losing control. "I don't understand your hatred! I don't understand why you look at me like I'm a monster! What did I do to deserve this?"

He genuinely didn't know. The trauma had wiped his guilt clean, leaving him a victim in his own twisted narrative. He got to experience the heartbreak without carrying the blame.

It wasn't fair.

"You'll sign the papers, Lincoln. Or I will take this to court, and I will drag your pristine reputation through the gutter. I have the bank statements. I have the hotel receipts. I have every single text message you sent her."

"I don't care about the money!" he cried. "I just want you!"

"Then you'll die wanting."

I ended the call.

The silence in my apartment rushed back in, heavy and suffocating.

I tossed the phone onto the counter and pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes. My chest heaved. I had won the argument, but the victory tasted like ash.

My phone buzzed against the granite.

I ignored it.

It buzzed again. And again.

I dropped my hands and glared at the screen, expecting Lincoln's name to flash across the glass.

It wasn't Lincoln.

It was an unknown number.

I picked it up and swiped to accept the call.

"Stop calling me, Julian," I snapped, assuming his brother was trying a new tactic.

"I'm afraid you have the wrong man, Iris," a smooth, deep voice replied.

I froze. The voice was unfamiliar. Rich, calm, and entirely too confident.

"Who is this?" I demanded.

"Someone who knows exactly what your husband has been hiding," the stranger said. "And someone who can ensure you get a lot more than just a divorce."