Chapter 4

Lauren POV

When I woke up the next day, I found myself lying on the floor. That diagnosis page had somehow fallen beside my hand.

According to the doctor, starting today, I had only nine days of memory left.

I hadn't died. I'd just been unconscious all night.

But why was last night's scene still branded in my mind, so painfully clear, as if I'd never forget it?

I didn't dare open the door, didn't dare verify whether any traces of last night remained in the living room.

Just then, Richard pushed the door open. I hastily shoved the diagnosis under the bed.

"Lauren, why are you sitting on the floor?" He spoke while bending down to lift me up and place me back on the bed.

He took my hand and lowered his head to kiss the back of it, his new stubble scratching my skin with a slight itch. "I'm sorry, I pulled an all-nighter on the project yesterday. Did you sleep well? What did the doctor say? Is there anything you want to eat? I'll have the housekeeper prepare..."

A string of concerns rushed at me. For a moment I felt dazed.

Through the door that wasn't fully closed, I saw the living room was as tidy as usual, as if everything last night had been nothing but an absurd delusion from my illness.

"The doctor said I'm doing well." I lowered my eyes, my voice as soft as a murmur. "Today... I want to eat breakfast you've made."

Richard ruffled my hair, his tone carrying some helpless reproach. "Lauren, look-you forgot again... I'll have the housekeeper make it for you, okay?"

"Never mind." I pushed away his hand, but the motion froze mid-air.

Below the collar of his shirt, a vivid lipstick mark stabbed at my eyes.

"What's this?" My finger trembled as I pointed at it.

"It's nothing." Richard's tone was casual. "Yesterday, Erica, that graduate student I'm always talking about, we were celebrating the project's progress and she accidentally smudged it during a group hug. She even insisted on washing it for me, but she's still paying off her student loans. How could she afford dry cleaning? I'll introduce you to her sometime. You might like her."

"What if I don't like her?" I heard my voice turn cold as ice.

Richard first froze, then pulled me into a tight embrace, his chin resting on top of my head, his voice muffled with deliberate reassurance. "If you don't like her, you don't like her. She's really... just my student anyway. You just need to like me."

"Richard," I said calmly, leaning against him, "let's break up."

Richard's brow furrowed, as if he couldn't process how the topic had shifted so quickly. "Why? Because of that lipstick mark? That was a misunderstanding."

I turned my face away, avoiding his scrutinizing gaze, my voice dropping. "Last night I... dreamed you were cheating on me."

Richard's whole body suddenly stiffened, as if instantly frozen. But the rigidity lasted only the briefest instant. Then he let out a breath, his tense shoulders sagging slightly. Next, he released me, his eyes rapidly reddening, his voice tinged with panic and pain. "How could that be? Lauren, it was just a nightmare. I told you I'd love you forever, only you... Don't say things like that anymore, okay? You know I can't bear it..."

"But I've forgotten." I lifted my head, looking into his eyes, enunciating each word. "Richard, someday I'll completely forget that you love me, even forget that I love you. While I still remember, let's part on good terms."

What I actually wanted to say was: while I haven't yet caught the lie in person, while I haven't yet shredded this last bit of dignity, let's part on good terms.

I didn't want my final memories to be filled entirely with pain and degradation.

"Don't..." Richard's voice trembled uncontrollably. He pulled me tight again, his arms straining with force, almost as if trying to meld me into his bones and blood, as if that could somehow keep me.

"We've been together so long. I can't live without you, and you can't live without me, right? If you forget, I'll just stay by your side to remind you, a thousand times, ten thousand times..."

His embrace was so forceful, his voice so choked. It sounded deeply devoted.

But the faint, sweet vanilla-fruit scent clinging to the shirt pressed against my cheek, thread by thread, pervasive and inescapable, seemed to silently remind me: last night was not a delusion, not a nightmare.

It was evidence that he'd embraced someone else.

Perhaps Richard still loved me, but he'd also fallen in love with someone else.