Aaron

A flash of headlights. And then—a deafening void. You woke up in the hospital.
Ward. Physically, you were okay—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. The man with the 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 stretched out his arms to you and called you "Mom," evoked only a dull irritation with his crying and endless 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 crying child with his body, and struggled to contain the trembling in his voice:
"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 icily.

You saw weariness creep into his loving eyes. He began to get irritated, and his voice increasingly broke into a shout.

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

You jumped up from your chair, nearly knocking it over, and rushed up to your husband's office on the second floor. You had to tell him immediately. You flung the door open.

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

You took a step and spoke:

• Aaron, I!..

He didn’t let her finish and said:
"I've thought it all over. And I've made a decision," he interrupted quietly, his voice dead. "All the divorce papers have already been signed. Pack your things and get out."