On our wedding anniversary, my husband had a car accident on the way to pick up Bianca at the airport. As his surgeon, I did my best to save him. But he had selective amnesia. He could remember everything except me. He wanted to divorce me as soon as he opened his eyes.
When I wanted to keep him, I had a car accident. My husband refused to sign the surgery confirmation form and didn't care about my death. He even turned around and had a hot affair with Bianca. A few months later, his memory recovered and he started looking for me like crazy...
***
I am Marisca, a neurosurgeon at Capital Hospital.
It was my turn to work the night shift today. At 8:30, I had just finished my ward check and the phone in my pocket kept vibrating.
When I walked out of the ward, I glanced at my phone and smiled sweetly. It was my husband Murphy, the chairman of the country's leading pharmaceutical company and my college classmate. For me, he was once an unattainable star. And a year ago, I finally took off the star and walked into the palace of marriage with him.
Today was our first wedding anniversary. We had agreed to have dinner downstairs in the hospital after I finished my rounds, but he couldn't come because of work. After hanging up the phone, I stared at the snow-white walls in the hospital in a trance, feeling uneasy for no reason. The nights on duty are always extra long.
What I never expected was that I would see Murphy again not at home, but on the operating table. When the ambulance stopped outside the emergency passage of the hospital with a roar, I was waiting at the entrance with my assistants and nurses.
I saw a man covered in blood lying on a stretcher from a distance and I felt that the figure was very familiar. I ran to the stretcher and at a glance, I felt cold all over, the strings in my head seemed to be broken and my ears were buzzing.
Someone pulled me back and the stretcher passed quickly in front of me, but I was still unable to move. The deputy chief physician next to me held my arm, looked at me deeply and asked me if I needed to apply for recusation.
I was stunned for a few seconds, restarted my brain and shook my head to indicate that I didn't need it. With a deep breath, I donned my surgical gloves and followed the stretcher into the operating room, determined to save him, regardless of the emotional turmoil raging inside me.
This operation was the longest one I had ever experienced in my career. Murphy's internal organs were not seriously damaged. There was a rupture point in his spleen, which the attending physician of internal medicine sutured immediately.
The most critical issue was the large bleeding point in his brain. If not treated in time, he might become a vegetative state or suffer even more severe consequences. I dared not think about it.
The five-hour operation left me completely exhausted. After stepping off the operating table, my vision darkened from the excessive mental and physical strain. Watching Murphy being sent to the intensive care unit, I removed my blood-stained surgical gown and was about to walk out.
"Marisca, the operation was quite successful. You... you did your best," the dean said, patting my shoulder outside the operating room.
I nodded silently, barely registering his words. The adrenaline that had kept me focused throughout the surgery was now draining away, leaving me feeling hollow and numb.
Murphy's parents and several aunts took turns caring for him. Whenever I had a free moment, I would sit by his bed and talk to him, hoping that my voice would reach him somehow. In addition to the company's management, many of Murphy's friends came to visit, including his first love, Brianna.
Five years ago, Brianna went abroad to study piano and the spark that had just sprouted between them ended without success. It was only after Brianna left that I had the opportunity to get close to Murphy. It was said that it was easy for a girl to get close to someone, but I didn't expect that there would be three years between us. In those three years, after my persistent efforts, he finally agreed to my request for dating.
Now, seeing Brianna visiting him, I realized she had returned to Virginia three days ago and Murphy had an accident on the way to the airport three days ago. As soon as Brianna arrived at the bedside, she burst into tears. But I felt cold in my heart. She held his hand, tears streaming down her face and whispered things I couldn't hear. I stood at the back of the room, feeling like an outsider in my own life.
Since that day, Brianna had been visiting Murphy without fail. Murphy's parents also knew about their past relationship and chose to keep it a secret. They would glance at me with a mixture of pity and discomfort, as if unsure where I stood in this tangled web of relationships.
More than a month later, one afternoon, I was leaning against the bed, writing a work summary. The steady beeping of the machines was almost comforting, a reminder that Murphy was still with us, even if he was unconscious. Then, without any warning, he woke up.
When he saw me for the first time, he frowned. His voice was a little hoarse as he questioned his mother. "Why is she here?"
This "she" naturally referred to me. Both his mother and I were stunned. My heart sank, the room spinning slightly.
"My dear husband, what's wrong with you? Are you uncomfortable somewhere? Let me check for you," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, stepping closer to his bed.
Murphy was taken aback and asked, "Who is your husband? Marisca, can you have some shame?"
My steps froze instantly, my outstretched hand falling limply to my side.
"Murphy, this is your wife, Marisca," his mother said softly, glancing between us with a look of concern and confusion.
Murphy's eyes narrowed as he looked at me, his expression filled with a mixture of confusion and irritation. "I don't know who you are," he said coldly. "Why are you pretending to be my wife?"
His words hit me like a physical blow and I had to grip the side of the bed to steady myself.
"Mom! Don't talk nonsense, how can Marisca be my wife? I haven't married yet. Even if I get married, my wife can only be Brianna."
The words pierced through the room, leaving an uncomfortable silence in their wake. Murphy’s mother looked at me helplessly, her eyes filled with confusion and sorrow. I felt a sharp pain in my chest, like a knife twisting deeper with every word he spoke.
"What... amnesia?" I whispered, my voice trembling as I tried to process what was happening.
In the expert consultation room, the atmosphere was tense. I had been a doctor for decades and had encountered patients who had lost their memory after severe injuries, but the number was not large. I never expected this condition to affect Murphy.
"But he still remembers me, his family, his company and everyone else," I said, hoping for some logical explanation.
"It's called selective amnesia," one of the senior neurologists explained, his tone measured and clinical. "After the patient is severely injured, the brain can automatically turn on a sort of 'saving mode' to protect the information it deems important. Some memories, especially those considered unimportant or those the patient subconsciously wants to escape from, can be forgotten."
I sat there, absorbing his words. The reality of our situation began to sink in. Murphy had erased me from his life, his brain selectively forgetting the woman he married. I felt tears prickling at the corners of my eyes but fought to keep my composure.
"Is there a chance he will recover his memory?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, fearing the answer.
"It's possible," the senior neurologist replied, "but there are no guarantees. The brain is complex and recovery depends on many factors, including the severity of the injury and the emotional significance of the memories."
The room fell silent again. I nodded, though the words felt hollow. The man I loved, the man I had married, no longer knew who I was.
I pushed open the door of the ward weakly. Brianna was sitting by the bed, peeling apples for Murphy. The intimate scene hurt my eyes, like a dagger to my heart. Murphy's mother saw me coming in and nodded at me awkwardly.
"Mom, I just completed the discharge procedures for Murphy," I said, trying to maintain my composure.
"Marisca, look at this..." Murphy's mother glanced at her son, who was lost in his amnesia, hesitant to speak further.
***
Back at our home, my wedding photo with Murphy was still hanging in the living room, a stark reminder of what we once had. Yet now, he stood there with his first love, Brianna.
"Murphy, you are really married," Brianna said, biting her lower lip, as if she was trying her best to endure something. She huddled beside Murphy, seeking his reassurance.
Murphy stared at the wedding photo with a gloomy face and did not answer. His silence was deafening.
"Brianna, I'll ask the driver to take you home first," he finally said.
After sending Brianna away, Murphy leaned back on the sofa, exhausted. "I don't remember what you said, but I trust my intuition. Whether I have amnesia or not, I will never fall in love with you, let alone marry you."
"Murphy, we were truly in love," I said, my voice trembling. "There were no other factors. Look at the photos of our trips together." I anxiously opened my phone, wanting to show him the photos, but he pushed me away angrily.
"Stay away from me!" he shouted.
I fell to the ground, my phone rolling away, its screen shattering into pieces. "Murphy, what do you want to do to believe me? My parents can testify."
"Who knows what despicable means you used? Brianna and I were about to confirm our relationship. How could she suddenly go abroad to study?" His voice was filled with anger and suspicion.
Everyone in our small circle knew that Brianna had left him to go abroad. I couldn't understand why he didn't remember or question it. Did Murphy really hate me so much? Was the love we shared all my wishful thinking?
"How could I use any means on you? I just love you sincerely!" I cried out, my voice breaking.
Accompanied by the deafening sound of the door closing, I closed my eyes in pain. Since that last unpleasant parting, Murphy had not returned home. I called and texted him, but each attempt was rejected one by one. Eventually, he blocked me entirely.
***
I was absent-minded in the hospital, thinking about the bits and pieces of Murphy in the past few years and looking through old photos from time to time. I couldn't help but cry. Remembering that I couldn't just sit and wait for things to improve on their own, I decided to take action.
Murphy's condition might suddenly improve one day, I told myself.
So, I took a day off and cooked a table of his favorite dishes at home.
When I arrived at his office, I was met with an awkward reception. "I'm sorry, Miss Marisca, Mr. Murphy said... if you come, just say he's not in the company." The receptionist, someone I knew, looked uncomfortable.
I shook my head silently. "Then I'll wait for him here."
I sat in the lobby on the first floor. Many senior executives who knew me came in and out. They met my eyes but didn't dare to say hello, quickly moving on.
Finally, as the workday ended, the crowd dispersed and Murphy strode out of the elevator, followed by the ever-smiling Brianna. Brianna seemed to be talking to him about something happy, her face animated and youthful. Compared to her vibrant energy, I felt even more inferior and worn out.
Murphy looked better than I had seen him in a while. His complexion had improved and after shaving his head for the surgery, his hair had grown back into a neat crew cut, making him look colder and more distant. He only smiled when Brianna was talking to him.
I didn't want to miss this opportunity to see him, so I ran over. "Murphy!"
"What are you doing here?" Murphy and Brianna saw me, their smiles freezing instantly. I felt like an unwelcome intruder, the third party breaking them up.
"I'm on leave today and I made your favorite dishes. Can you go home tonight?" My tone was almost humble as I carefully observed Murphy's reaction.
"Murphy, didn't we agree to have French food tonight?" Brianna blinked her big eyes, pulling his sleeve and whispering to him.
Murphy gave her a gentle and doting look, a look I had never seen before. Even though we were married, he had never treated me like this. It hurt to realize that he had never shown me that kind of affection.
"If you show up at my company again in the future, don't blame me for arranging someone to throw you out. I will never go back to your so-called home. The divorce agreement is being drafted and someone will contact you after it's finished."
"Divorce agreement?" The words felt like a punch to the gut. I stared at him, disbelief and pain washing over me.
Hearing these words, I felt that the whole world was collapsing in front of me. I had given up a higher career in other cities for Murphy, choosing instead to stay in the hospital as an ordinary doctor, thinking that my sincerity had moved him. But after saving his life with everything I had, he ended up treating me like this.
"I'm not getting a divorce, Murphy. You just can't remember our past now, but it doesn't mean that it never happened. There is rehabilitation treatment in the hospital. As long as you do it regularly, it will be effective."
I couldn't help crying and Murphy looked at me with disgust. Through his eyes, I saw myself—haggard and humble, like an insignificant speck.
"Rehabilitation treatment? I don't need it. Amnesia is good. At least I don't have to think about the disgusting time when I was with you."
Every word he uttered was so cold. Until he left my sight with Brianna, I stood there, lost and heartbroken. I couldn't understand where things had gone wrong. I had happiness, but it had slipped away quietly between my fingers.
When I got home, I had no appetite for the food on the table. There was a missed call on my phone from Murphy's mother, so I quickly called back.
Murphy's mother was a typical housewife—gentle, indecisive and not good at expressing herself. We didn't contact each other much. After the call connected, she tactfully expressed her thoughts. She and Murphy's father were very grateful to me for saving Murphy's life, but they also understood that a forced marriage was not good.
"Murphy had been in love with Brianna for many years before dating and marrying you. If Brianna had not left suddenly, they would have been married and had children. Now they don't want to stimulate Murphy, who has just recovered from a serious illness and hope that he and I can solve the marriage problem peacefully," she said.
I sniffed, my sobs breaking through. "Mom, I know that I am an orphan and I am not a good match for the Murphy family, but I have always been sincere to Murphy. We used to live happily. Don't you think this is cruel to me?"
On the phone, Murphy's mother couldn't help sobbing and kept apologizing to me. They all wanted me to help Murphy and Brianna.
Then what am I in Murphy's life? Was I just a key to saving him? Or merely a passerby in his long life?
I felt a deep sense of despair, questioning my place in Murphy's world. The love and dedication I had poured into our relationship seemed meaningless now. It was as if I was an outsider, a temporary fixture in a life that had moved on without me.
The next few days passed in a blur. I threw myself into my work, trying to distract myself from the pain. But every time I saw a happy couple, it reminded me of what I had lost. The hospital corridors, once a place of purpose and healing, now felt like a maze of sorrow and regret.
Murphy's words haunted me. The love we had shared, the life we had built—it was all slipping away, erased by a cruel twist of fate. And Brianna, the woman who had once been a distant memory, was now at the center of his world.
***
When the divorce agreement was sent to the hospital, I had just stepped off the operating table. Looking at the familiar words on the white paper, I tightly grasped the agreement, feeling a wave of despair wash over me.
I borrowed a cell phone from a colleague and called Murphy, wanting to talk to him face to face. There was a long silence on the other end before he reluctantly agreed after I assured him repeatedly that this would be the last time.
I changed out of my surgical gown, said hello to my colleagues and left the hospital early. The traffic on the road in the afternoon was terrible. We had agreed to meet at a nearby cafe and I rushed there, afraid of being late. Just as I was walking absent-mindedly, a large bus that ran a red light rushed straight towards me.
The screams of people around me echoed in my ears as I was knocked several meters away. My body fell heavily beside an electric pole on the side of the road. My consciousness began to slip away. My body felt very light, as if floating in the air or on water.
I watched as my body lay surrounded by a group of passers-by, face down, limbs twisted in a strange posture and blood pooling around me. Not long after, an ambulance arrived and took me away. I wanted to follow my body, but I felt a great force pulling me towards an unknown place.
In just a few seconds, I found myself at the coffee shop where I was supposed to meet Murphy. I stood next to him as he impatiently checked the time, sipping a glass of water. He couldn't see me; the person he was waiting for was standing right beside him.
"Murphy! Murphy!" I called out, my voice trembling, but he couldn't hear me. The pain of being hit by the car no longer lingered, but the memory of it was etched deeply in my mind.
I wondered if I could return to my body. Suddenly, Murphy's phone rang. His expression changed slightly after a moment and he hurriedly left the coffee shop. I followed him back to the hospital. The call must had been from one of my colleagues.
Back at the hospital, more than a month later, I saw myself lying on the operating table. Murphy was arguing with my colleague.
"I'm not her family member. We're getting divorced soon."
The words stung, but I was determined to see this through.
The scene was chaotic. Doctors and nurses were moving frantically, trying to save me. I floated above, watching the scene with a surreal detachment. The world seemed so different from this vantage point, but my love for Murphy tethered me to my past life.
Murphy's expression was conflicted. I could see the turmoil in his eyes, the struggle between his memories and his current feelings. I wanted to reach out, to touch him, to remind him of our love, but I was powerless in this state.
"Murphy, please," I whispered, even though I knew he couldn't hear me. "Remember us. Remember what we had."
