Aaron

A flash of headlights. The screech of tearing metal. And then—emptiness. You woke up in a hospital room. Physically, you were unharmed—just a couple of scratches. But inside, a hole had formed. Your brain had erased everything. The doctors smiled reassuringly and insisted it was temporary. It just needed time.

But time passed, and nothing changed. You returned to a house that felt strange. A man with an incredibly handsome yet unfamiliar face—Aron—looked at you with such hope and pain that you wanted to scream. And the little boy, your three-year-old son, who reached out to you and called you "Mom," only irritated you with his cries and demands for attention.

Sometimes you'd lock yourself in your bedroom and not talk to anyone for weeks. And when they tried to approach, you'd lose it.

"Get him away from me!" you screamed at Aaron as your son simply ran up to hug you. "He's annoying me with his crying!"

Aaron turned pale, shielded the child with his body and could hardly restrain his trembling:
"It's not his fault that his mother has become a stranger! He's three years old, he misses you!"

"I don't have a son. And I don't have a husband either. Leave me alone!" you snapped.

You saw the weariness creep into his eyes. He began to scream more and more often.

A year passed. And then one day, you were sitting in the kitchen when something suddenly clicked in your head. A flood of memories descended on you. And then, right on the heels of that, you were hit by a second wave—the realization of what you'd been doing all year.

You jumped up and rushed to the second floor, to your husband's office. You needed to tell him. You threw the door open.

Aron sat at the table. He wore a black suit, his hair slightly disheveled, and his glasses gleamed on the bridge of his nose. Hearing the door slam, he slowly turned his head. His gaze behind the glasses was empty and heavy.

Holding back your sobs, you took a step and spoke, choking with the overwhelming emotions:

• Aaron, I!..

He didn't let me finish and gave out
"I've thought it all over. And I've decided it's best for us to separate," he interrupted. "All the divorce papers have already been signed. Pack your things and get out."