Forgot My Wife, Found My Standards

"Ms. Sinclair, your husband tried to kill himself!"

***

I opened my eyes to a blinding white ceiling.

Then pain ripped through my wrist.

As my head cleared, I heard a woman speaking anxiously nearby.

She stood with her back to me, phone pressed to her ear.

"Ms. Sinclair, Mr. Carter's in the hospital. Are you coming?"

The call was on speaker.

A woman's icy voice answered.

"Is he dead? If not, don't bother me."

The call ended.

The woman sighed and turned around.

The second she saw me awake, she froze.

Then she came over.

"You're awake?"

"...Who are you?" I stared at her. "Were you talking to me?"

"You don't recognize me?" Her face tightened. "I'm Monica Reed. Ms. Sinclair's assistant."

"...Who's Ms. Sinclair?"

Monica frowned, already annoyed. "Ms. Sinclair's busy. Faking a suicide attempt didn't work, so now you're pretending to have amnesia?

"Give it up. She's not coming."

I got even more confused.

I had no clue what she was talking about.

When I didn't respond, Monica stepped closer.

"Mr. Carter, you've been married to Ms. Sinclair for five years. And you've spent all five causing scenes.

"She still doesn't love you. Maybe it's time to stop making her life harder and take a look at yourself."

I still had no idea what was going on.

But something about the way she talked rubbed me the wrong way.

Just looking at her got on my nerves.

Wait...

"You said... FIVE YEARS?"

I rushed into the hospital bathroom and stared at my reflection.

It was me.

Same face.

Just older. Sharper. Worn down by a sadness that wouldn't leave.

Was Monica telling the truth?

Had that much time really passed?

Was I actually... married?

...

It was true.

I was married.

And I'd been married for five years.

I hadn't time-traveled.

I wasn't dreaming.

I'd just lost my memory.

Everything after I was eighteen was gone. And now I was twenty-seven.

The last thing I remembered was starting college and crushing on an upperclassman named Suri Sinclair.

She was beautiful, distant, and had everything—looks, money, and talent.

She'd skipped grades, so even though she was an upperclassman, she was actually a few years younger than me.

And now...

She was my wife.

According to Monica, I married Suri at twenty-two.

It happened fast, with barely any real feelings between us.

I hadn't even finished college.

We signed papers at the courthouse. No wedding. No ceremony.

Afterward, I realized Suri's heart was somewhere else.

With her so-called best friend, Julian Everett.

Apparently, he was the guy she'd always loved but could never have.

As the husband she never loved, I spent our whole marriage making one scene after another.

I tried every dumb trick imaginable to get Suri's attention.

All I did was make her hate me more.

Her friends treated me like a joke, counting down to our divorce.

Julian didn't take me seriously either. He was one of the rich kids in their circle.

And every time I lost it, I just gave them more to laugh at.

In the end, I threatened to kill myself unless Suri cut Julian off.

She refused.

Then she told me to go die.

So...

I did.

That was everything leading up to the moment I woke up.

It didn't feel real.

Killing myself over love?

No way I'd ever do that.

I hated people who bent over backward for others.

There was no chance I'd turn into some girl's simp.

By the time I made sense of everything, I was back in the master bedroom Suri and I shared.

The doctor said I was fine, so Monica drove me straight home.

Before she left, she practically threatened me not to cause another scene.

I looked around the massive mansion.

Yeah. Any urge to act out disappeared fast.

My wife was insanely rich.

Even the walk-in closet was bigger than my old apartment.

I was still taking in the bedroom when I heard movement by the door.

I turned.

And met Suri's cold, unreadable stare.