Five Years, A Forgotten Name

He remembered my childhood pet' s name, our first meeting, and my obscure tea brand, but for five years, Braylon couldn't remember I was allergic to shrimp. It glistened in my pasta, a cruel reminder of how little of me registered in his mind, especially as he laughed with a familiar blonde across the room. My stomach churned, not from the allergy, but from a deeper sickness.

That night, at a sprawling rooftop party, Braylon handed Dallas Huff, a young blonde, a delicate bracelet-a replica of her grandmother's, a story he'd told me a hundred times. "Dallas, this reminded me of you," he said, his voice soft, intimate. She beamed, leaning into him, her eyes sparkling, then flickered to me with a triumphant, venomous gleam.

When Dallas purred about a gallery opening, Braylon chuckled, "Eliza will be coming with us. Our anniversary dinner is that night." He turned to me, a forced smile pleading for me to play along. But I was done. "It's over, Braylon," I whispered, "And my name is Eliza." He looked genuinely lost, unable to recall my actual name, while Dallas and his friends mocked his forgetfulness.

His eyes, wide and confused, searched my face. "Eliza? What are you talking about? Your name is... it's always been..." He trailed off, genuinely lost. A bitter taste filled my mouth. He remembered every trivial detail of Dallas' s life, but my actual name? It was a blank.

Later, he left me stranded on a dark, winding road after I refused to apologize to Dallas. My phone was dead, and I stumbled, breaking my ankle. As I lay there, alone and injured, I sobbed, "Why did I stay? Why did I waste five years on him?" Braylon, meanwhile, drove away, a gnawing unease simmering beneath his anger, only to return to a horrifying scene.

Chapter 1

He remembered her childhood pet' s name, the exact day they first met, and her favorite brand of obscure artisanal tea-but for five years, he couldn' t remember I was allergic to shrimp. It was right there, glistening pink in my pasta, a cruel reminder of how little of me truly registered in his mind. I looked at the plate, then at Braylon, the man I loved, the man who was currently laughing with a familiar blonde across the room. My stomach churned, not from the allergy, but from a deeper, more corrosive sickness.

"Eliza? Is everything alright?" Braylon' s voice cut through the restaurant's chatter.

He had finally looked my way. His eyes, usually so warm, now held a flicker of detached concern. He hadn't even noticed the shrimp until I pushed the plate away.

"Shrimp," I said, my voice flat. "You know I'm allergic."

His smile faltered. A flush crept up his neck. "Oh, God, Eliza, I'm so sorry. I completely forgot. Let me get you something else. Chef, a new pasta for my girlfriend, no shrimp, please! My mistake entirely!"

He was quick to act, always. Quick to apologize, quick