After a car accident, my memory ended ten years ago, on the night I got down on one knee and proposed to Adrian Halloway.

I tore through every app on my phone, desperate to find proof that Adrian was my husband, but in my contacts, there was only one number. My message threads were completely blank.

Helpless, I called my best friend, Hannah Price, to ask if my proposal that night had actually worked. She exploded at me like a firecracker, "Juliana Rowe, have you completely lost your mind? Worked? You’ve been trying to divorce the man!"

The first thing that flashed through my head when I hung up was, 'Damn, I’m impressive. I actually managed to land the untouchable Adrian Halloway.'

The second thing was staring at the handwritten divorce agreement on my nightstand with total confusion.

'Who’s getting divorced? Me? I’m the one who wants this? What the hell is wrong with me?'

The day Adrian Halloway came to take me home from the hospital—with another woman at his side—I tucked the divorce agreement out of sight.

Even though I'd lost ten years of memories, I recognized the handwriting on that paper. It was mine. The date at the bottom was yesterday.

"Juliana Rowe, do you ever go a single day without making trouble?" Adrian leaned against the car window, his voice like cold steel. "If this happens again, I won't lift a finger to help you."

Ten years had carved lines into his face, but the one thing that hadn't changed was the disdain in his eyes.

The woman beside him was beautiful, with an unsettling trace of familiarity.

"Adrian, don't talk to her like that," she said softly. "She just had a car accident and suffers from amnesia. She needs rest."

Adrian gave a sharp, derisive laugh, contempt flashing in his gaze. "Amnesia? Sounds like just another one of her tricks. After all these years, and she still hasn't grown up."

He pulled open the back door. "Well? Don't just stand there. Get in."

Those cutting words would have made anyone else turn on their heel, their pride intact. Nevertheless, with a grin, I yanked open the front passenger door and slid right in. "Don't rush me. I want to sit here."

Adrian's brows drew together, irritation darkening his face. He opened his mouth to argue, but I grabbed his hand, tugging playfully.

"If you don't let me sit up here, I'll cry. And then we'll both be embarrassed, but it won't be me who looks bad."

Ten years ago, this was exactly how I clung to him.

When he told me to stay away, I'd start by holding his hand, then loop my arm through his.

When he said not to follow him, I'd conveniently bump into him everywhere he went.

I always went against what he wanted.

I chased him for so long. And didn't I win in the end? Ten years later, Adrian was my husband.

I snuck a glance at the hint of wood-brown peeking from his cuff, and my heart warmed with satisfaction.

Capricorns were quiet and slow to open up. I'd looked it up.

Sure enough, Adrian's expression shifted, his eyes clouded as he stared at me. His expression changed and changed again before he finally tore his gaze away and looked at the woman beside him.

"Sorry, Vanessa. You'll have to take the backseat."

A flicker of hurt crossed her face, but she smiled graciously. "It's fine."

Once it was settled, I buckled my seatbelt and patted my stomach. "Adrian, let's get something to eat. The hospital food was awful. I'm starving."

He rattled off excuse after excuse, but in the end, he gave in to my persistence and drove us to a restaurant.

Daniel Brooks, the restaurant owner's eyes lit up the second he saw us. He knew me. Before I turned twenty, I often brought Adrian here to eat. "Jules? Adrian? My God, it's been nearly ten years! You're all grown up now."

I ignored the part about "ten years", slid past Vanessa, and wrapped myself around Adrian's arm, pride gleaming in my smile.

"Daniel, I'm not just grown up now. I'm Mrs. Halloway, too."

I smiled as I placed our order, just like I always used to. "The same dishes as before. No cilantro, no spice." I knew Adrian's favorites by heart, down to what he couldn't stand.

However, just as the owner nodded, Adrian cut in, "No. Medium spice. And with cilantro."

He turned his gaze on me, puzzlement flickering there before hardening into certainty. "Jules, my tastes changed a long time ago."

My smile froze, but I quickly soothed myself. It was fine. I'd lost ten years of memories. In ten years, people's tastes were bound to change.

I brushed it off, unwrapped his silverware, and handed it to him. "Even better. I like cilantro and spice. Now we can finally share the same dishes."

Instead of taking them, Adrian passed the tableware to the woman who'd been silent until now.

"Van. Here."

Van.

The name made me falter. In that instant, I understood why she'd looked so familiar.

Vanessa Grant was Adrian's first love, his elusive, untouchable, precious sweetheart from when we were twenty.

So some tastes didn't change, not even after ten years.

Was that why, a decade later, I'd decided to divorce the man I'd loved for fifteen years? Because I saw her again?

A sour ache spread through my chest. My fingers brushed the strap of the crossbody bag at my side. Inside was the handwritten divorce agreement and a journal.

Something whispered that if I opened that journal, I'd find the reason I wanted to leave Adrian, but I only clutched the strap tighter, refusing to look.

I loved him.

The twenty-year-old me still loved Adrian with everything I had.

At the table, Adrian and Vanessa talked to each other like no one else was there, as if I didn't exist.

Jealousy burned hot in my eyes. I slammed my plate down just to make a din, to force his attention, but Adrian didn't so much as glance my way.

Maybe the thirty-year-old me could've offered a polite "excuse me" and walked out with her pride.

But twenty-year-old me? I didn't know how to play gracious.

I smacked my cutlery down and snapped, "Adrian, I'm pissed! Really pissed! And nothing you say is going to fix it this time!"

Snatching up my bag, I stormed out of the restaurant.

I loved him. That didn't mean I wouldn't get angry.

I sat on a park bench, waiting for him to come after me, to apologize. However, three hours passed, and he never showed up.

Surrounded by a world that felt foreign and a head gone blank, I somehow managed to cheer myself up again.

It was fine. I'd long since gotten used to Adrian's cold, indifferent ways. Otherwise, I never would've ended up marrying him.

Crossing my legs, I pulled out my phone and messaged him: "Babe, where's our home? You know I've forgotten."

Almost instantly, his reply appeared. It was a pin dropped for a villa named Halloway Villa, and one cutting line: "If your brain's broken, stop wandering. Stop stirring trouble for me."

I ignored that last part, sent him a string of kiss emojis, and added a playful "Thanks, honey!".

When I finally walked into the house, the emptiness hit me like a wall.

Home was a cavernous space, silent and bare. There was only one pair of slippers and one toothbrush. Even the bed had a single pillow.

It didn't feel like a home for two. It felt like a single woman's apartment.

So I went down to the basement, found our dusty old wedding portrait, and hung it back on the wall.

Then I went online, ordered piles of matching couple sets, and placed them carefully in every corner of the house.

I couldn't wait to see Adrian's face when he came home and found the house transformed.

When he finally returned, he froze at the doorway, his brows immediately furrowing.

"Juliana, I don't care if this amnesia is real or fake. You're thirty years old. Can you stop acting like you're still twenty? How childish."

He didn't even step inside. He slammed the door and left.

One of the porcelain figurines I'd carefully picked out toppled from the cabinet and shattered across the floor. I knelt, gathering the pieces, fitting them back together. The jagged cracks looked like badly sewn scars.

Stroking its tiny head, I whispered, "Little porcelain man, you know Adrian's always like this. Don't cry. Don't cry…"

Once again, I comforted myself.

In the days that followed, I tried every trick in the book to cross paths with him.

When it rained, I showed up under his office with an umbrella. Unfortunately, he drove off in his luxury car with Vanessa by his side. When they passed me, he didn't even lower the window, and the splash from the wheels soaked me through.

When I heard he'd be at the golf course, I went early and even crammed in a quick lesson with a coach just to impress him.

The second he spotted me, he turned without a word and headed for another green, leaving me stranded and humiliated.

Still, I brushed it off. I would keep trying. Alas, Adrian never spared me a real glance.

On the sixth day, he finally came home. I'd been working in the kitchen all morning, my hands blistered, just to put a feast together.

He rubbed his temple, then swept the plates straight into the trash. "Juliana, could you stop with these little acts of self-pity? It's exhausting."

I hadn't meant to cry, but the weariness in his voice cut deep. His dark eyes fixed on me dismissively, like everything I'd poured out was worthless.

Tears spilled fast, hitting the floor one by one like broken pearls.

Adrian went quiet, then let out a sharp laugh. "What are you pretending for? Haven't you been used to this for years?"

On one's own lips, those words tasted like bitter humor. On someone else’s, they stripped you of all dignity.

After he left, I sat staring at the food in the trash, staring at the emptiness of this house filled with nothing but loneliness.

I thought, 'Do I really not understand why my thirty-year-old self wanted a divorce? Or do I just refuse to understand?'

That night, I sat at my desk, staring at the journal and the unsigned divorce agreement.

My best friend, Hannah Price, had once asked me on the phone, "What exactly is so special about Adrian Halloway? What's made you love him for fifteen years straight?"

I could never put it into words.

When we first met, I could list a hundred things I admired about him, but the more I loved him, the less I could explain why.

Isn't that what a teenage crush was? No rhyme or reason, just hurling every ounce of love at someone until you hit a wall and can't turn back.

I closed the journal again.

Maybe the thirty-year-old me had been too proud, too unsure of how to act, so she left it to the version of me with only twenty years of memories to choose for her.

Even if it was the last chance.

I sent Adrian a message: "Adrian, today was my fault. I'm sorry. Will you come home tomorrow? Please."