When Love Runs Out

When my wife, also the president of a company, learned that I had voluntarily donated part of my brainstem tissue to awaken her long-cherished love, who had been lying in a coma, she finally left the abbey where she had been praying for his recovery for the first time in seven years. She came to the company and asked what compensation I wanted.

Everyone assumed I would seize the chance to ask her for a child to secure our marriage.

Instead, I handed her a divorce agreement.

For a moment, the entire office thought I was simply playing hard to get.

My wife’s expression turned icy. She stripped me of every position I held, then immediately promoted her beloved man and raised his salary, telling me to reflect on my mistakes.

Little did she know…

The surgery had cost me my memory.

The man standing before her now was no longer the husband who had swallowed every grievance.

He was now the spirited young man from seven years ago.

And this time, he would never sacrifice himself again.

Claudia Yates had just finished ordering my suspension when Isaac Spencer stepped forward to defend me.

“Claudia, the doctor said Jayden temporarily lost the last seven years of his memory because of the surgery. What he did just now was just a moment of impulse. Please don’t be angry.”

Isaac and I, Jayden Clement, had been friends since childhood. I once saved his life when we were kids. Ours was the kind of friendship forged through life and death.

After I woke up and realized I had lost my memory, he was also the one who helped me leave the hospital and brought me straight to the company.

But what he didn’t know was that my decision to divorce wasn’t impulsive at all.

When I first woke up, I noticed I looked older than I remembered, and the timeline didn’t add up.

I consulted the doctor and learned that, as a side effect of having my brainstem tissue removed, I’d lost about seven years of memories, and my mind was stuck in the year I had graduated from university.

The doctor contacted my family on my behalf.

I had to admit, when I saw that my wife was Claudia, the legendary campus belle everyone knew back in school, I felt quite lucky to have married the woman everyone admired.

However, in less than a single morning it took to process my discharge, that illusion was shattered as I could already tell Claudia didn’t love me.

She didn’t know I was allergic to peaches, and the clothes and shoes she brought me were all the wrong sizes. Even when filling out my discharge papers, she didn’t know my birthdate.

Before the doctor could tell her about my amnesia, she hurriedly signed the forms, tossed me the company address, and then ran off to another ward to take care of another man.

I had no idea who that man was, but the difference in