When the Obsessiveness Leaves Me

After a car accident, my memory ended ten years ago, on the night I got down on one knee and proposed to Adrian Halloway.

I tore through every app on my phone, desperate to find proof that Adrian was my husband, but in my contacts, there was only one number. My message threads were completely blank.

Helpless, I called my best friend, Hannah Price, to ask if my proposal that night had actually worked. She exploded at me like a firecracker, "Juliana Rowe, have you completely lost your mind? Worked? You’ve been trying to divorce the man!"

The first thing that flashed through my head when I hung up was, 'Damn, I’m impressive. I actually managed to land the untouchable Adrian Halloway.'

The second thing was staring at the handwritten divorce agreement on my nightstand with total confusion.

'Who’s getting divorced? Me? I’m the one who wants this? What the hell is wrong with me?'

The day Adrian Halloway came to take me home from the hospital—with another woman at his side—I tucked the divorce agreement out of sight.

Even though I'd lost ten years of memories, I recognized the handwriting on that paper. It was mine. The date at the bottom was yesterday.

"Juliana Rowe, do you ever go a single day without making trouble?" Adrian leaned against the car window, his voice like cold steel. "If this happens again, I won't lift a finger to help you."

Ten years had carved lines into his face, but the one thing that hadn't changed was the disdain in his eyes.

The woman beside him was beautiful, with an unsettling trace of familiarity.

"Adrian, don't talk to her like that," she said softly. "She just had a car accident and suffers from amnesia. She needs rest."

Adrian gave a sharp, derisive laugh, contempt flashing in his gaze. "Amnesia? Sounds like just another one of her tricks. After all these years, and she still hasn't grown up."

He pulled open the back door. "Well? Don't just stand there. Get in."

Those cutting words would have made anyone else turn on their heel, their pride intact. Nevertheless, with a grin, I yanked open the front passenger door and slid right in. "Don't rush me. I want to sit here."

Adrian's brows drew together, irritation darkening his face. He opened his mouth to argue, but I grabbed his hand, tugging playfully.

"If you don't let me sit up here, I'll cry. And then we'll both be embarrassed, but it won't be me who looks bad."

Ten years ago, this was exactly how I clung to him.

When he told me to stay away, I'd start by holding his hand, then loop my arm through his.

When he said not to follow him, I'd conveniently bump into him everywhere he went.

I always went against what he wanted.

I chased him for so long. And didn't I win in the end? Ten years later, Adrian was my husband.

I snuck a glance at the hint