Chapter 26
My calm facade instantly shattered. I looked into Jim’s eyes. “Don’t tell him…” My sincerity seemed to surprise him; he merely stared in confusion. “Why not? Before, you’d have been eager to tell him.” I pursed my lips. “Maybe I’ve changed. Is that forbidden?” He shook his head. “That’s unlike you. The old you wouldn't have missed a chance to elicit his pity.” He chuckled meaningfully. “You’ve used that ‘woe-is-me’ ploy often enough.” I clenched my jaw. “Is that so?” “It is,” he replied casually. “But those tactics wear thin; eventually, he’ll stop caring.” I nodded. “Then don’t tell him. He wouldn’t believe it anyway.”
Jim’s gaze was intense, scrutinizing. “You really are different. A drastic change.” “Really?” I glanced at my wrist, deliberately avoiding the deep cut I’d inflicted days ago. The wound’s severity indicated a genuine suicide attempt. I couldn't recall my married years, but my twenty-five-year-old self must have been in despair to consider ending her life. Jim’s eyes narrowed. “The biggest change? You’ve forgotten a lot.” I shuddered, my composure failing. I didn’t want him to know that. After a moment, I said nonchalantly, “Really? Well, they weren’t happy memories. I wanted to forget and start over.”
He didn’t press, merely tapping his finger on the desk. “Starting over isn’t bad. Make a good life with Jonathan; stop the tantrums. I’ll keep your secret, but be honest with him, talk things through.” I frowned. “There’s nothing to talk about. It’s personal, none of your concern. But thank you for keeping my secret.” He said nothing more. “You can leave. My assistant will change your dressings.” “Alright. Thank you.”
Reaching the car, Jonathan was waiting, having collected my medication. His gaze swept over me as I entered. He instructed the driver, “To the Ford Manor.” “Yes, sir.” I frowned. “I don’t want to go. That’s not my home. We’re getting divorced; why should I go?” He looked at me coldly. “How many times must I tell you—throw tantrums if you must, but stop mentioning divorce.” “And how many times must I tell you I’m not throwing a tantrum!”
Clearly irritated, Jonathan interrupted. “No need for the hospital. Jim said you’re stressed, just need rest at home.” I exhaled, sensing Jim had intuited something. I had no idea why I’d lost my memories—nothing made sense. But Jim was a doctor; he must know something. He and Jonathan were close friends, so I hadn’t expected him to keep my secret. My dislike for him lessened slightly—only slightly—upon realizing this.
After speaking, Jonathan returned to work, reading documents silently. I glanced at him; he was focused. Though he didn’t look up, he seemed aware. “Stop staring,” he said flatly. I quickly averted my gaze, annoyed with myself.