The acute phase of my illness passed, and I was cleared to return home.

The man moved to guide me toward the exit. I pulled back, my instincts flaring. "I don't know who you are."

He looked winded, as if the air had been sucked out of the room. "I’m Desmond Knight. I’m your husband."

I didn't buy it. "How can you prove that? Where are the papers?"

Desmond hesitated, a flicker of raw exhaustion crossing his face. "We hit a rough patch. We’re legally divorced." He paused, his voice dropping an octave. "But we had agreed to reconcile."

I studied him, stone-faced. "If we hit the point of divorce, it couldn't have been just a 'rough patch.' I don't take marriage lightly."

Desmond’s eyes turned glassy, a sharp red creeping into the rims. He forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Serenity, you’re much harder to charm than you used to be."

Shadows bruised the skin under his eyes, and his jaw was darkened by a patchy, neglected beard. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. My resolve wavered, and I let him lead me out to the car.

The house felt like a museum dedicated to a life I didn't recognize. Photos of Desmond and me were plastered across every wall, capturing candid smiles that felt like someone else’s memories. But the proof that finally anchored me was the cat, Seven.

Seven—a Devon Rex with no sense of boundaries—didn't play the aloof feline. She trotted right up to me, winding through my ankles with urgent, rhythmic meows.

Desmond let out a sharp breath, like a man whose lungs had finally opened. He pulled a navy velvet box from his pocket and clicked it open. Inside sat a pear-cut diamond, flashing cold, brilliant light.

He slid it onto my ring finger. "Do you believe me now? I’ve had this ready for our remarriage."

"Believe what you want," he added, his voice tight. "But we didn't divorce because I wanted to."

...

Desmond moved his entire office into the living room, hovering over me like a shadow. He spun our history for me—childhood friends, a natural progression into a marriage that felt like fate.

His tone was honeyed but carried an undercurrent of desperate, unyielding certainty. "You used to say you couldn't imagine standing next to anyone else. I felt the same."

"So, the arguments, the divorce—it was all temporary. I never intended to walk away from you."

"Did you love me?" I asked, looking up at him.

Desmond leaned in close, his gaze heavy. "I loved you deeply."

He cupped the back of my head, his touch lingering, then pressed his lips to mine. The kiss was warm, drawn-out, even tinged with a slight, desperate tremble.

But my mind remained a static void.

No spark. No ghost of a memory. No instinctual hum in my blood responding to his touch. It was as if we’d never kissed like this before.

"Do you remember anything?" he rasped.

I hung my head, heavy with shame. "I'm sorry. Nothing."

Desmond stiffened, almost imperceptibly. His mouth still held that ghost of a smile, but the hope in his eyes had curdled into a jagged, hollow pain.

Business finally demanded his presence; he’d pushed off several meetings, but a high-stakes client had flown in from overseas. He couldn't dodge this one. He lingered at the front door, repeating his instructions like a prayer. "Three hours. No more. I’ll be back in three hours."

He hadn't been gone for more than sixty seconds when someone knocked at the door.