Let Her Forget What Was Never There

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Gianna Thorne had amnesia.

She'd forgotten every single part of me.

Her memory was frozen in the year she'd loved her ex-husband more than anything.

No matter how many people told her the truth, she remained convinced I was the homewrecker who'd ruined her relationship.

The neurologist said there was a chance her memory could be restored, and I clung to that hope, refusing to let go.

For three years, we divorced and remarried, over and over again.

We became the biggest joke in the Upper East Side, with private betting pools circulating among the elite.

They wagered on when I'd finally give up, and when Gianna would get her memory back.

Until the news of our eighth divorce hit the top of the trending page on X.

Paparazzi swarmed the Manhattan boutique law firm where I worked, shoving cameras and microphones in my face, their voices sharp with provocation.

"Mr. Voss, as a top divorce attorney, you've been divorced eight times yourself. What do you have to say to that?"

The firm's front sign had been smashed, and the client achievement plaques I'd earned over the years lay trampled on the floor.

Before I could respond, the firm's managing partner pulled me aside and fired me, citing irreparable damage to the firm's reputation.

"Ethan, do yourself a favor," he said, his voice cold.

"Have some self-respect. Stop chasing after Ms. Thorne."

My hands trembled at my sides, and a bone-deep weariness washed over me.

They were right.

This time, I really was done.

It was pouring rain when I left the firm, carrying a cardboard box with everything from my desk.

I walked in a daze back to the penthouse I'd once shared with Gianna.

The front door hung ajar, and Gianna's breathless laughter, mixed with Liam Hart's, drifted out to meet me.

I stepped inside, and my gaze swept over the chaos.

Clothes were strewn across the floor, the expensive rug was stained, and the flat screen on the wall looped news coverage of the chaos at the firm that morning.

Gianna's smile faded the second she saw me.

"You have some nerve coming back here," she said, her voice sharp with contempt.

Liam pressed a lazy kiss to the corner of her mouth, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Come on, Gianna. You two were together for seven years. Have a little decency," he said.

Then he lifted his head, raising an eyebrow at me, his smile lazy and provocative.

"It's Gianna's ovulation window today. She's been craving me. You don't mind, do you?"

Rain dripped from my hair onto the marble floor, one drop at a time.

Another wave of exhaustion hit me.

I didn't spare another glance at the two of them on the couch, turning instead toward the bedroom.

But when I pushed the bedroom door open, I froze in place.

"Oh, I almost forgot to tell you," Gianna said, sauntering up behind me, an oversized coat slung over her shoulders.

"This penthouse is part of my mother's family trust. It has nothing to do with you. I threw all your things out earlier."

"They're probably in the dumpster on the curb by now."

The corner of her mouth lifted in a cruel smirk as she leaned against the wall, watching me.

She looked delighted, like nothing brought her more joy than seeing me broken and humiliated.

A sharp, searing pain twisted in my chest.

My soaked shirt clung to my skin, sending a chill through my bones.

"You bought the trending tab today, didn't you?"

I said, my voice steady despite the ache in my chest.

"We're already divorced. Why did you have to take my career from me?"

At my question, Gianna stepped forward and swatted the cardboard box out of my hands.

Papers and case files spilled across the floor-seven years of my life's work, scattered and ruined.

"Three years of you pestering me isn't enough? Even if we had something once, I don't remember it," she snapped.

"The fact that I forgot you means you were never worth anything to me."

Her words sliced open the scar that had never fully healed.

Three years prior, she'd woken up with sudden amnesia, and every memory of me had vanished into thin air.

Only the day before the accident that caused her amnesia, she'd told me she was pregnant.

She'd dragged me around the nursery, giddy and bright, planning out every detail, wondering if we'd have a boy or a girl.

But she'd forgotten all of it.

The only person she remembered was Liam Hart.

She'd terminated our pregnancy, and erased every trace of her life with me to build a perfect future with him.

"You just forgot!"

I said, desperation and rage burning in my chest.

"You have no idea what Liam did to you, what he's capable of..."

Gianna's face turned cold with fury.

She grabbed my wrist, yanking me toward the front door and shoving me out into the pouring rain.

"I don't care what Liam did," she yelled.

"I only remember that I love him. That's all that matters."

I opened my mouth to speak, but all the questions, all the rage, all the heartbreak died on my lips.

It was all pointless.

Gianna looked away from me, annoyed, and ripped the wedding band off her finger.

The sharp edge of the diamond sliced into her skin, drawing blood.

She threw the ring at my feet, slamming the door shut in my face.

"Stop begging me to remarry you like a pathetic fool," she shouted through the wood.

I stood in the rain for a long time, before finally kneeling down and picking up the wedding ring.

Gianna had designed it herself, before we'd gotten married.

She'd worn it every day for seven years, never once taking it off.

By the curb, the dumpster held the shattered remains of our wedding portraits, the hand-knit scarf she'd made me for our first Christmas together, and every photo album that held the memories of our life together.

My phone rang suddenly.

I stared at the caller ID, and answered the call.

Eleanor Thorne's voice came through the line, bright with excitement.

"Ethan, I just got Gianna's latest scan results from the neurologist. He said her memory is showing signs of unlocking," she said.

"If we keep up with the treatments, there's an eighty percent chance she'll make a full recovery!"

My fingers tightened around the phone until my knuckles turned white.

I'd opened my mouth to say yes a hundred times before.

But this time, I only whispered four quiet words.

"Stop the treatments, Eleanor. Let her forget."

The next morning, I drove out to the Thorne Family Manor in the Hamptons.

I laid the eight divorce decrees out on the marble table in front of Eleanor Thorne.

"Eleanor, Gianna and I are divorced again," I said.

She looked at me with a deep, aching pity in her eyes, and sighed heavily.

"Gianna is the one who wronged you, Ethan. You two were so happy once," she said.

"But this time is different. I've consulted with three leading neurologists, all of them say the odds of a full recovery are higher than ever."

She slid a stack of specialist business cards across the table to me, her eyes bright with desperate hope.

"I'm getting old, Ethan. All I want is for the two of you to be happy, to build the life you were supposed to have."

"She's even started remembering little things from the past few months..."

Her gentle plea trailed off as I spoke, cutting her off softly.

"But she's never remembered a single thing about me," I said.

I dropped my gaze, unable to meet the pity in her eyes.

The room fell silent, until she spoke again, her voice quiet.

"If you leave now, and she remembers you one day and you're not here... it will break her, Ethan."

For three years, every time we divorced, Eleanor had said those exact words to me.

And for three years, those words had made me soften, had made me turn back, had made me remarry her, over and over again.

Before I could respond, the front door slammed open.

Gianna strode into the room on sharp stiletto heels, her arms loaded with designer shopping bags.

Her jaw tightened the second she saw me.

"Ethan? Are you here to whine to my mother about me again?" she snapped.

"I already threw you out. Why are you still pestering me? Can you not live without me?"

Eleanor's chest heaved with rage.

She shot to her feet, and her hand cracked across Gianna's face with a sharp slap.

"Have you lost your mind?" she yelled.

"How much more are you going to put this man through?"

"Without him, you would have died seven years ago!"

I sat frozen on the couch, my fists clenched tight at my sides.

My mind flashed back to seven years prior.

Her marriage to Liam had been a living hell.

He'd taken her love for granted, and had been cheating on her with half a dozen women behind her back.

When his infidelity was exposed, she'd become the laughingstock of the Upper East Side social scene.

She'd gone to confront him, and he'd leaked her private photos to a celebrity tabloid auction, and embezzled one and a half million dollars from the Thorne family trust before vanishing without a trace.

After that, Gianna had fallen into a deep, crippling depression.

The night she'd climbed over the rail of the Brooklyn Bridge, ready to end her life, I'd been the one to pull her back.

"So what? All he ever wanted was money," Gianna said, stubborn and unyielding, glaring at her mother.

"I don't care what Liam did in the past. I love him, and I will never love anyone else. I won't regret a single thing."

All the fight left Eleanor in an instant.

She turned to me, her eyes filled with apology and regret.

Gianna rubbed her temple, then lifted her chin, a bitter, mocking smirk on her face.

"Fine, Ethan. You want to remarry? Go ahead. We'll just get divorced again anyway. You're the one who'll be humiliated, not me," she said.

"If you're that desperate to be with me, let's go to City Hall right now. This is your eighth divorce, after all."

I stared at her, a bitter, empty smile tugging at my lips.

I couldn't match the woman in front of me to the Gianna I'd loved, the woman who'd loved me back.

"I'm not here to beg for another marriage, Eleanor," I said, my voice steady and calm.

"You're free, Gianna. I'm letting you go."

Gianna froze.

Her hand, hanging at her side, trembled almost imperceptibly.

She stared at me, stunned, before her face hardened back into that cold, familiar mask.

"Playing hard to get? It won't work on me," she sneered.

"Fine. Those are your words. Don't come crawling back to me, begging for another chance."

She spat the words through gritted teeth, ignoring her mother's shouts of protest.

She threw her shopping bags to the floor, and stormed out of the manor without a single backward glance.

Eleanor doubled over, her face white with rage and exhaustion, yelling after Gianna's retreating figure.

"You will regret this, Gianna Thorne! You will regret this for the rest of your life!"

Whether Gianna would ever regret her actions didn't matter to me anymore.

The second I'd called off the memory treatments, the tight, fraying thread I'd been clinging to for three years finally snapped.

I felt the tension I'd carried for so long ease from my shoulders.

I left the Thorne manor, and headed back into the city, ready to ask Gianna for my passport and driver's license.

She'd held onto all my personal documents for the past three years.

I'd barely rounded the street corner when a searing pain exploded across my forehead.

Hot, thick blood poured down my face from the wound, and the world spun around me.

Before I could process what was happening, hands grabbed me, yanking me forward, and fists and boots slammed into my body.

"It's him! He's the homewrecker!" someone yelled.

"Gianna and Liam belong together! Stop forcing yourself on her!"

"Disgrace to the legal profession! You handle other people's divorces, and you can't even fix your own mess!"

A crowd gathered quickly, but no one stepped in to help.

They just pulled out their phones, filming the attack, whispering and pointing.

I lost too much blood to fight back.

When the attackers saw I wasn't resisting, they lost interest, spitting on me before they left.

"We'll beat you within an inch of your life every time we see you!" they shouted over their shoulders.

My vision blurred, and through the haze, I saw Gianna standing a few feet away.

Her hand was laced through Liam's, and she was smiling, bright and happy, like she had everything she'd ever wanted.

Our eyes met, and the smile slipped from her face.

She froze, then took an unconscious step toward me.

"What... what happened to you?" she said, her voice shaky.

The blood wouldn't stop, soaking through my shirt, and Gianna's face went white.

She looked panicked, fumbling in her bag for her phone to call an ambulance.

Liam grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

"Don't bother. He's probably just faking it to get your sympathy," he said, his voice lazy and cold.

"It looks worse than it is. He's fine. You said you wanted to pick out my birthday present, remember?"

He pulled her away, and after a moment's hesitation, Gianna shut her phone off.

She didn't look back at me again.

I slid down the brick wall, gasping for breath, the blood still pouring from my wounds.

I called an ambulance myself, but I blacked out before it arrived.

When I woke up, a week had passed.

The doctor told me if I'd arrived even ten minutes later, I would have died from blood loss.

Eleanor came to visit me in the hospital, and paid all my medical bills.

"Ethan, I've handled the men who did this. They'll never come near you again," she said, her voice soft with regret.

"Gianna she... she just forgot. She forgot you have hemophilia. She forgot how dangerous even a small bleed is for you."

She tried to plead Gianna's case, but when she saw how pale and empty I looked, the words died on her lips.

I gave her a thin, empty smile.

"Eleanor, Gianna and I are divorced. I'm leaving New York. I won't be coming back," I said.

Her eyes filled with tears when she heard the change in how I addressed her, no longer calling her Mom like I had for seven years.

She just nodded, her voice thick with emotion.

"Whatever you want to do, Ethan, I'll help you. Anything."