1 Amy had lost her memory, every trace of me erased. Her mind was stuck in the year she loved her ex-husband most. No matter how much everyone around her pleaded, she remained convinced that I was the one who had come between them. The doctors offered a glimmer of hope for her memory, and I clung to it, refusing to let go. Three years. We divorced, then remarried. It became a well-known joke throughout the whole of New York society, people even placing bets. They wagered on when I'd finally give up, and when Amy would finally remember. Until the news of our eighth divorce hit the tabloids again. Reporters, cameras poised, stormed into my law firm. They shoved microphones in my face, their voices laced with provocation. "Mr. Covington, as a divorce attorney, you've been divorced eight times yourself. Any thoughts on that?" My firm's nameplate had been vandalized, and the commendation plaques I’d earned were trampled underfoot. Before I could even respond, my boss fired me, citing damage to the firm's reputation. "Larry, take some advice. Have some self-respect. Stop hounding Ms. Amy Vance." My hand trembled as I clenched it, and a sudden wave of exhaustion washed over me. They were right. This time, I really should give up. … It was pouring rain when I left the firm. Clutching a box from my desk, I walked home in a daze. The front door hadn't been fully shut, and I could hear Amy and Julian’s laughter drifting out occasionally. I glanced around. The living room was a mess, clothes scattered everywhere, the rug stained… The TV news still played the day’s firm drama on a loop. Amy’s smile faded a little when she saw me. "Still have the nerve to come back?" Her sarcastic words cut through the air, clear and sharp. Julian chuckled, kissing the corner of Amy’s lips. "Alright, you two were together for seven years. Let's keep some decorum." He then looked up, raising an eyebrow at me, his smile suggestive. "It's Amy's ovulation day today. She really wanted me. You don't mind, do you?" Rainwater dripped from my hair, landing on the floor, one drop at a time. A surge of weariness washed over me. I didn't look at the two undressed figures on the couch, turning instead towards the bedroom. But when I pushed the door open, I froze. "Oh, right, I forgot to tell you." Amy’s voice was casual. "This house is also registered under my mother's name. It has nothing to do with you. I threw all your stuff out." She paused, then added, "Probably still in the trash can by the street." Amy’s lips curved upwards, a jacket loosely draped over her. She leaned against the wall, watching me. It was as if seeing me in such a state brought her immense joy. A sharp pain shot through my chest. My soaked shirt made me shiver with cold. "You bought today's trending topic too, didn't you?" I demanded, my voice raw. "We're already divorced. Why did you have to make me lose my job?" In response to my question, Amy simply raised her hand and swiped, knocking the box out of my hands. Documents and papers scattered across the floor. They were the fruits of nearly seven years of my work. "Three years of pestering me isn't enough? Even if I really did have something with you before, I have amnesia now." Her voice was cold, dismissive. "I've forgotten you, which means you mean absolutely nothing to me!" Those words, undoubtedly, ripped open old wounds. Three years ago, her sudden amnesia had erased everything about me. Just the day before she lost her memory, she’d told me she was pregnant. She’d dragged me excitedly to decorate the nursery, dreaming of whether it would be a boy or a girl. But then she forgot. She only remembered Julian. She’d terminated our child, and even undergone a hymen repair for Julian. "You just forgot! You have no idea what Julian did back then…" Anguish and fury threatened to consume me. Amy’s face turned ashen. She grabbed my arm fiercely and shoved me out the door. The heavy rain instantly drenched me again. "I don't care what Julian did," she declared, her voice ringing with finality. "I only remember that I love him, and that's all that matters." I opened my mouth, but all my questions and grievances suddenly felt meaningless. Amy irritably avoided my gaze, then reached up and tugged off her wedding ring. The edge of the diamond scratched her finger. She threw the ring at my feet, slamming the door shut as she yelled, "Don't be so pathetic, begging me to remarry you!" I stood there for a long time, then finally crouched down and picked up the wedding ring. Amy had designed it herself before we got married. She’d worn it for seven years, never taking it off. By the roadside trash can, I saw our shattered wedding photos, the scarf she had knitted for me with her own hands, and all the photo albums filled with our memories. My phone suddenly rang. I looked at the caller ID and answered. Amy’s mother’s excited voice came through. "Larry, I just got Amy's medical report! The doctor said her memory is starting to loosen up. If she continues treatment, there's an eighty percent chance she'll recover!" My knuckles turned white as I gripped the phone. The "good" I wanted to say died in my throat. Finally, I whispered, "Mom, no more treatment. Let her forget. It’s better that way." The next day, I went to the Vance family estate. I laid the eight divorce certificates before Amy’s mother. "Mom, Amy and I are divorced again." Amy’s mother looked at me with pity, then sighed deeply. "Amy has truly wronged you. You two were so happy back then." She pushed a business card towards me, her eyes filled with hope. "But this time it's really different. I've contacted several doctors, and they all say the chances of recovery are high." She pleaded, "I'm getting old, Mom just wants you two to have a good life together. She's also been remembering a lot of things from before…" Her persuasion was cut short by my interruption. "But she's never remembered anything about me." I lowered my head, avoiding her pitying gaze. The atmosphere grew silent until she spoke again. "If you leave, and Amy remembers you but can't find you, she'll go mad." For three years, every time we divorced, Amy’s mother would say those exact words. And every time, because of those words, I would soften, remarrying again and again. Before I could reply, there was a commotion at the entrance. Amy strode in, high heels clacking, carrying several shopping bags. Her brows immediately furrowed when she saw me. "Larry, are you here to complain to my mother again?" she sneered. "I already kicked you out. Why are you still haunting me? Can't you really live without me?" Amy’s mother's chest heaved with anger. She abruptly stood up, raised her hand, and slapped Amy hard across the face. "Have you caused enough trouble? How much more do you intend to push Larry? If it weren't for him, you wouldn't be alive right now!" I sat on the sofa, my hands clenched into fists. My mind drifted back seven years. Her marriage to Julian had been a nightmare. Julian had reveled in all her love, but secretly, he had other women. His infidelity had turned her into a laughingstock among the socialites overnight. When she'd gone to confront him, Julian had sold her private photos at an auction, absconded with ten million dollars, and vanished. After that, Amy fell into a deep depression. I was the one who saved her when she tried to jump into the river. "So what? All he wanted was money." Amy stubbornly looked at her mother. "I don't care what Julian did back then. I just love him, and I can't love anyone else." She added with defiant conviction, "And I won't regret it." Amy’s mother instantly looked as if all the strength had been drained from her. She turned back to me, her eyes filled with apology. Amy rubbed her temples, then finally looked up, as if in reluctant compromise. "Okay, Arthur. If you want to remarry, fine. We'll just divorce again later, and you'll be the one who looks foolish, not me." Her voice dripped with disdain. "If you can't live without me, let's go to the registry office now." She added, a cruel smile playing on her lips, "This would be your eighth divorce, wouldn’t it?" I forced a faint smile. I couldn't reconcile the woman before me with the Amy I remembered. "I came here to clarify things with Mom, that's all." I looked directly at Amy. "You're free, Amy." Amy froze, her hand, hanging at her side, trembled imperceptibly. She stared at me, astonished, then quickly regained her composure. "Playing hard to get, huh? Too bad it won't work on me." She scoffed, "Fine. You said it. Just don't come crawling back to me again." Amy bit out the words, almost snarling. Ignoring her mother's protests, she threw her bags to the floor and stormed out. Amy’s mother’s eyes went dark with fury. She yelled after Amy’s retreating figure, "You'll regret this, I promise you!"
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