Only After I Was Gone

Melissa Jones, the so-called 'fake' heiress, lost her memory trying to save me. Her memory was stuck at the time she was 18, back when our lives had not yet been set right.

Everyone told me to be the bigger person. In the new family portrait, I was the only one missing. My biological mother tried to comfort me, "Shirley, be reasonable. It's just a photo. We will make it up to you later."

I applied for the vice president position year after year, only to be rejected five times in a row. Then, when Melissa said she wanted to learn the business, my brother, Maverick Jones, approved it immediately.

Afterward, he turned to me and said, "You should give way to Melissa. You're the reason she lost her memory. I'm helping you make up for it."

When I went into labor and needed my husband, Charles Smith, to sign the consent for a C-section, he was one floor above me, accompanying Melissa to a follow-up appointment.

I called him seven times. He declined every call. In the end, my seven-month-old baby suffocated.

Even in a wheelchair, I went to demand an explanation. However, outside the hospital room, I heard Melissa crying.

"Back then, you all agreed I should pretend to have amnesia. I'll never randomly decline calls for Charles again. I just want to stay by your side for three more months."

There was a moment of silence. Then, Charles and the others agreed.

At that moment, I was not angry. I just felt something inside me turn completely empty. I turned around and accepted my adoptive parents' request to return to Nebula City. This time, I would give these people what they wanted.

Charles Smith's phone rang. It was the special ringtone he had set just for Melissa Jones. He picked up instantly, a bright smile tugging at his lips.

"Melissa, just cooperate with the checkup, okay? I'll be right back to keep you company."

When it came to my calls for help, he had declined them again and again. The life-and-death struggle in the delivery room had already drained me of any strength to argue or cry. All I felt then was numb.

Charles turned to me and said, "I'll have the housekeeper come over to take care of you. I only asked Melissa for half an hour off, using work as an excuse."

To visit me, his wife who had just lost our child, he still needed to ask Melissa for permission. His attitude cut into my heart like shards of glass. I could not even find the words to comfort myself anymore.

When his hand brushed against my pale face, he seemed to hesitate. He sat back down beside me and spoke softly, "I'll wait until you fall asleep before I go. I picked your favorite strawberries. You can eat them when you wake up."

His phone rang again. After answering, he looked distracted.

While he wavered, I said first, "If you're busy, you should