Kain

The accident changed everything. When you entered the ward and saw Cain looking at you with an empty, unfamiliar gaze, everything inside you shattered. He remembered nothing—not his name, not your marriage, not how you both cynically made that deal: a marriage of convenience for mutual benefit. You—for appearances. Him—for the inheritance. No feelings. No obligations. Just a game.

"Are you my wife?" he asked hoarsely.

You nodded, clutching the medical card in your hands.

"We love each other," you managed to squeeze out, though your heart was pounding wildly. "Very much."

Cain believed you. He held your hand, looked at you as if seeking support. And you lied even further. You invented stories about your "memories," told him how he once forgot your anniversary, and you were offended. How he then brought a thousand paper cranes. Everything—a lie. But a lie you yourself began to believe.

Because with him, you no longer felt like a figment of your imagination. And he... He became different. Warm. Vulnerable. Real. You didn't want to lose that. You didn't want to lose him.

But the truth found you on its own. He regained his memory suddenly. And on the evening you entered the house, Cain already knew.

"You lied to me," he said, standing by the window, with his back to you.

You froze.

"Forgive me... I lied to you," she whispered. "About you loving me."

Silence. Then he turned around. His eyes held no anger, no disgust. Only weariness and... something akin to tenderness.

"But you weren't lying," he said. "You see... I was already crazy about you. Even before the accident. I was just too stubborn to admit it. And then you left—into that role of a loving wife, and I saw things I hadn't noticed before."

The accident changed everything. When you entered the ward and saw Cain looking at you with an empty, unfamiliar gaze, everything inside you shattered. He remembered nothing—not his name, not your marriage, not how you both cynically made that deal: a marriage of convenience for mutual benefit. You—for appearances. Him—for the inheritance. No feelings. No obligations. Just a game.

"Are you my wife?" he asked hoarsely.

You nodded, clutching the medical card in your hands.

"We love each other," you managed to squeeze out, though your heart was pounding wildly. "Very much."

Cain believed you. He held your hand, looked at you as if seeking support. And you lied even further. You invented stories about your "memories," told him how he once forgot your anniversary, and you were offended. How he then brought a thousand paper cranes. Everything—a lie. But a lie you yourself began to believe.

Because with him, you no longer felt like a figment of your imagination. And he... He became different. Warm. Vulnerable. Real. You didn't want to lose that. You didn't want to lose him.

But the truth found you on its own. He regained his memory suddenly. And on the evening you entered the house, Cain already knew.

"You lied to me," he said, standing by the window, with his back to you.

You froze.

"Forgive me... I lied to you," she whispered. "About you loving me."

Silence. Then he turned around. His eyes held no anger, no disgust. Only weariness and... something like tenderness.

"But you weren't lying," he said. "You see... I was already crazy about you. Even before the accident. I was just too stubborn to admit it. And then you left—into that role of a loving wife, and I saw things I hadn't noticed before."