Aaron

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

But time passed, and nothing changed. You returned to a house that felt like a stranger's. A man with an incredibly handsome but unfamiliar face—Aron—looked at you with such hope and pain that it made you want to scream. And the little boy, your three-year-old son, who reached out for you and called you "mommy," brought nothing but irritation with his crying and demands for attention.

Sometimes you would lock yourself in the bedroom and not speak to anyone for weeks. And when they tried to approach you, you would snap.

"Get him away from me!" you would scream at Aron when your son simply ran up to hug you. "His crying irritates me!"

Aron would turn pale, shielding the child with his body, barely suppressing a tremble:
"It's not his fault his mother became 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 would snap back.

You saw the exhaustion settle into his eyes. He began to lose his temper and shout more and more often.

A year passed this way. And one day, as you were sitting in the kitchen, something suddenly clicked in your head. A flood of memories crashed over you. And immediately following that, a second wave hit—the realization of what you had done throughout this entire year.

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

Aron was sitting at his desk. He was wearing a black suit, his hair slightly disheveled, glasses glinting on the bridge of his nose. Hearing the door slam, he slowly turned his head. His gaze behind the lenses was empty and heavy.

Fighting back sobs, you took a step forward and spoke, choking on the overwhelming emotions:
"Aron, I...!"

He didn't let you finish.
"I've thought it all over. And I've decided that it's better if we part ways," he interrupted, "All the divorce papers are already signed. Pack your things and get out."