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."

Murphy still coldly refused and even the young nurse couldn't bear it and slammed the pen down hard on the marble table.

The dean frowned and stood at the door, glancing at the unsigned surgery confirmation form. After a moment of hesitation, he stepped forward and signed his name. The red words on the operating room monitor lit up, confirming that the surgery could proceed.

I watched this farce with a cold detachment. My heart was remarkably calm despite the gravity of the situation. My life and death hung in the balance, yet Murphy, my legally recognized husband, refused to take responsibility for my surgery. The depth of his disdain for me was a revelation I had never anticipated. It was beyond anything I had imagined. Even a stranger would show more concern in the face of life and death.

The operation stretched on for more than three hours, ending with a straight line on the heart rate monitor—a sign that my life had ebbed away. The dean himself had performed the surgery, but despite his best efforts, he was unable to save me. At the age of thirty-three, my time in this world was abruptly cut short.

"Can I leave?" Murphy asked, his voice devoid of emotion as he looked at my lifeless body covered with a white sheet.

The nurse beside him offered no response, her face a mask of professional detachment that barely masked her own sorrow.

Murphy let out a disdainful snort and strode out of the hospital, his long legs carrying him away from the scene with a determined, almost impatient stride.

I had no family, no one to take care of my final arrangements. My husband, who had so callously abandoned me, was certainly not going to handle these responsibilities. It was a grim reality I had accepted, though I had hoped—perhaps vainly—that he might show some compassion.

Seeing Murphy walk away from the hospital felt like an invisible torment, an emotional torture that I wished I had never had to endure. I would have been better off not knowing him at all. But it was too late for such regrets now.

In the blink of an eye, I found myself transported from the sterile confines of the hospital to the opulent top floor of the most luxurious hotel in the capital. It was as if time had jumped forward and I was forced to witness the contrast between my demise and Murphy’s continuing life.

The scene before me was a stark reminder of what I had lost. Brianna was dressed in an eye-catching gown, a striking vision of elegance and allure. Men around her cast lingering glances, captivated by her presence. She seemed to bask in the attention, her demeanor that of a proud little peacock indifferent to the gazes that followed her.

"Murphy, why are you so late? I thought you had forgotten our date," Brianna said, her voice tinged with playful reproach.