Kirill

You and Josh have been together for five years. Everything was leading up to the wedding: the rings were bought, the restaurant was booked. You considered him your destiny, especially after the incident when he suffered a head injury. The doctors diagnosed him with amnesia.

You never left his side; you were his nurse, patiently restoring every little detail of his past so he wouldn't feel lost.

But lately, his behavior has changed. He was constantly texting someone, desperately hiding his phone. When you asked what was wrong, he simply sighed guiltily, blaming it on his illness: his head was a complete mess, he said, and he was just trying to remember people from his past. And you, the naive fool that you are, believed him and sympathized.

It all came to light by accident. That morning, running late for an important meeting, you grabbed a folder of documents from your desk, thinking it was your report. Once at the office, you opened it and froze. It was his medical record, but not the one he had shown you. Inside was a clear, official form. The neurologist's report: "The patient is completely healthy. No signs of cognitive impairment, including amnesia, were found." This entire year had been a lie. Josh had been playing the sick man to manipulate you.

You don't remember how you got home. Your heart was pounding in your throat, and only one question played in your head: "Why?" You unlocked the door and walked into the bedroom. Josh wasn't alone. A dyed blonde was laughing in your bed, and he was lazily running his fingers through her hair. He didn't even flinch when he saw you. He didn't even bother to widen his eyes in surprise. There was only a slight annoyance on his face.

"You don't want to explain anything? What the hell is this? Have you really been lying to me this whole time?" Your voice trembled with rage and pain.

He stood up lazily, stretched, and looked at you with undisguised irritation.

"Damn, honey, why are you jumping to conclusions? I just forgot what you look like."