If He Doesn’t Know Me, We’re Strangers

1 After a severe car crash three years ago, Tristan developed a bizarre condition. Every seven days, his memory would reset, wiping away every trace of his past.

For three long years, I exhausted every resource, spent every penny, and begged every specialist to help him recover.

But then, my best friend Brooke and I were involved in another terrible car accident. We were rushed to the same emergency room, side by side.

As I lay semiconscious on a cold, metal gurney, my vision blurred by blood, I heard Tristan’s voice.

He was speaking to the attending trauma surgeon, smoothly and flawlessly reciting every single detail of Brooke’s medical history, from her blood type to her childhood allergies.

Brooke, gasping for air from the gurney next to mine, stared up at him in shock. "Tristan... wweren't you supposed to have amnesia?" Tristan didn’t even look up from holding her hand. "I just faked it to keep Hazel quiet.

Every time some stupid anniversary came up, she demanded some grand romantic gesture.

It was exhausting." The ambient noise of the emergency room seemed to vanish, leaving a ringing silence. I let out a weak, pathetic chuckle.

A nurse finally noticed me lying right beside Brooke, my clothes soaked in far more blood, my breathing ragged. She tapped Tristan on the shoulder. "Sir, what about this patient?

Do you know her?" Tristan cast a brief, indifferent glance at my mangled body. "No.

I don't know her." I closed my eyes, and a single, hot tear sliced through the grime and blood on my cheek.

If that was how he wanted it, then we would never know each other again. … I was wheeled rapidly into the trauma bay.

The nurse gripped my hand, her voice urgent. "Sweetie, we need to take you into surgery immediately.

Is there anyone here who can sign the consent form for you?" I looked past her shoulder toward the corridor. Tristan was standing there.

He quickly averted his eyes when our gazes met, but I saw him take two hesitant steps toward the double doors. He didn't make it any further.

Brooke let out a sharp cry of pain, grabbing his arm, and he instantly turned back to comfort her.

Suppressing the whitehot agony radiating through my body, I reached up and clutched the nurse’s scrubs. "I don't have any family here.

I'll sign it myself." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the flash of shock on Tristan’s face. What a sad, pitiful display.

He was the one who had abandoned me, so why play the part of a worried spectator now? Did he want to make me believe, even for a second, that he actually cared?

My hand was slick with my own blood, making the pen slip repeatedly against the paper. In the end, the nurse had to steady my wrist so I could scribble my name.

The surgery was a success. When I finally opened my eyes in the sterile recovery room, the space was entirely empty.

I reached for my phone on the bedside table and sent a text to my father. "I give up, Dad.

Please come take me home." My father replied almost instantly. "Remember our agreement." I instinctively placed a hand over my lower abdomen.

There was a tiny, fragile life growing inside me. But the moment I had discovered its existence, I knew I had to let it go.

The door clicked open, and the doctor walked in, catching the gentle way I was holding my stomach.

She offered a warm, reassuring smile. "Don't worry, the baby is incredibly resilient. The heartbeat is strong." I didn't say anything.

My eyes were fixed on the notification that had just popped up on my phone.

It was an Instagram post from Brooke. "Some men will cancel their most important board meetings just to make sure you get discharged safely." The photo showed Brooke cradling a massive bouquet of red roses, with Tristan standing close behind her, his arm wrapped securely around her waist.

After a long moment of silence, I looked up at the doctor. "Could you please schedule a termination for me?" The doctor froze, her smile faltering. "You just survived a massive car crash, and your baby survived with you.

Are you absolutely sure about this?" I looked back at the screen, at the two of them looking like a perfect couple. "Yes.

I'm sure." There was no room for me in Tristan’s life anymore. I refused to humiliate myself any longer. When I refreshed my feed, the post was gone.

Brooke had blocked me from seeing her updates. I let out a quiet, empty laugh, a dull numbness spreading from my chest down to my fingertips.

It was late afternoon when Tristan finally walked into my room. He sat on the edge of my bed, reaching out to clasp my hand.

His eyes were filled with the exact same tender warmth that had kept me captive for years. "I checked my journal when I got home last night, Hazel. I remember now.

You're the love of my life." I still remembered the first time he had said those words to me.

He had held me so tight I could barely breathe, weeping into my shoulder. "Why do I have to have this terrible disease?

Why does my mind keep erasing the most important person in the world?" Back then, I had gently stroked his hair, whispering comfort. "It's okay, Tristan.

Every time you forget me, I'll just hold your hand and lead you back down our path." Now, looking at him, I realized how incredibly foolish I must have looked.

He must have been laughing at how easily I swallowed his pathetic excuses. I pulled my hand out of his grip and asked in a quiet voice, "Who are you?" Tristan went rigid.

He stood up abruptly, his voice rising. "What kind of nonsense is that?

I'm your boyfriend, Hazel!" Then, as if realizing he was being too harsh, he sat back down, softening his tone. "Are you still angry because I said I didn't know you in the ER?

You know about my condition. Sometimes my mind just scrambles things." I knew.

It was because I knew, and because I had trusted him blindly, that I had let him play me like a fool for three years.

Remembering my father’s words, I forced a small, compliant smile. "I was just teasing. When did the doctor say I could leave?" "Tomorrow morning," he said.

I did the math in my head. That would give me more than enough time to pack my life away. In three days, Tristan, I will disappear from your life forever.

On the day of my discharge, Brooke and Tristan arrived together. The air between them was thick with an intimacy that left no room for anyone else, least of all me.

The pain in my chest felt like a physical blade twisting in my ribs. I pressed a hand over my heart, trying to breathe.

Brooke sat beside me, looking at my pale face with faux concern. "Hazel, you still look so weak. Maybe you should stay another night?

You can always check out this afternoon instead." I looked over at Tristan. He knew today was a special day.

He knew I had personally designed a custom cake and ordered it to celebrate my recovery.

Tristan avoided my gaze, gently grabbing Brooke’s elbow and pulling her out into the hallway.

Ignoring the throbbing pain in my abdomen, I dragged myself out of bed and crept to the door, listening to their hushed voices. "Why are you rushing her to leave this afternoon?" Tristan asked.

Brooke let out a playful, sweet whine. "I told you yesterday, Tristan! The appointment at the courthouse is today.

They are waiting to issue our marriage license!" I froze, the breath catching in my throat. The marriage registry?

Even now, I had tried to convince myself that their closeness was just some sick joke. We had been together for three years. How could he marry my only best friend?

How could they betray me like this? Tristan let out a long sigh. "There's no need to rush. She hasn't fully recovered yet." I couldn't bear to hear another word.

My legs trembling violently, I dragged myself back to the bed and buried my face in the pillow, my tears quickly soaking the fabric.

When the heart breaks completely, it doesn't scream. It just goes numb. I heard the door open, and Tristan’s voice drifted over me. "Brooke has a point, Hazel.

You should rest a bit longer. I'll come back to get you this afternoon." "I asked the house keeper to bring you some lunch.

I don't want you eating hospital food." Then, the sound of the door clicking shut. I pressed the call button, summoning the nurse. "I want to proceed with the termination.

Right now." The doctor arrived shortly after, looking concerned. "In your current physical state..." "I will take full responsibility for any complications," I interrupted, my voice dead.

My heart was completely cold. As I lay on the operating table for the second time in a week, tears poured silently down my temples.

I felt the physical sensation of a life leaving my body. This was the child I had dreamed of having.

I used to think that once we had a baby, Tristan would finally have no excuse not to marry me.

Every time I had brought up marriage in the past, he would look at me with sorrowful eyes. "I'm terrified my condition will become a burden to you, Hazel.

Let's just love each other like this forever, okay?" "I can sign over all my assets to you.

In private, you will always be my wife." At the time, I thought it was the ultimate act of devotion, a man willing to give me everything he owned.

But their conversation in the hallway was a brutal slap to my face. It wasn't that he didn't want to get married. He just didn't want to marry me.

After the procedure, the nurse showed me the tiny, undeveloped sac. It was only two months old. But the phantom pain in my womb was excruciating.

I had made the choice to deny this child a chance to see the world, all because of his father's sins.

Back in my room, I pulled up Brooke’s Instagram page. "From this day forward, he is my husband." The post featured a photo of two marriage certificates resting on a velvet ring box.

By the time Tristan finally returned to the hospital, the sun had long set. He looked flushed and sweaty, checking his watch. "I had some urgent business to take care of, Hazel.

Sorry I'm late. Let's go home." I didn't argue. I just nodded. I didn't want to waste another breath on him.

I couldn't even tell which of his words were real and which were lies anymore. When we stepped into the apartment, Brooke was already sitting at our dining table.

The custom cake I had designed sat in the center, halfdemolished. She gave me a sweet, apologetic smile. "Hazel, I hope you're not mad.

I couldn't help myself and took a slice." Tristan let go of my hand, stepping toward her. "Of course she isn't mad. You're her best friend." My best friend.

The girl who had stood by me when we were teenagers.

Back then, my parents only cared about my brother, and whenever I came home crying from being bullied at school, they told me to look at my own faults.

It was Brooke who had fought them off for me.

She had thrown her jacket over my head to shield me from the rain, laughing as she said, "From now on, we walk this path together." A young girl's loyalty is worth gold.

She had walked with me for so long, only to lead me to the edge of a cliff.

I slowly slid my engagement ring off my finger and set it on the table. "Actually, I am mad," I said, my voice steady. "And Tristan, we're done.

Let's break up." Tristan froze, staring at the ring, then at me with utter disbelief. "A breakup?

You're ending our relationship over a piece of cake?" He paused, his eyes narrowing. "Or is this just your excuse because you're tired of taking care of a sick man?" I shook my head. "Neither.

I'm twentyeight years old, Tristan. It's time for me to find someone who actually wants to marry me." Tristan’s calm facade shattered.

His eyes flushed red, and he roared at me, "You're going to throw away years of history over this?" "What does our time together even mean to you?

I don't accept this breakup!" He grabbed Brooke's hand, pulling her toward the front door. "Everyone in Boston knows you belong to me. Who else would even dare touch you?

Stay here and clear your head." The heavy mahogany door slammed shut, the sound vibrating in my chest. I didn't need to look at my phone to know Brooke had already posted about it.

A sharp, pulling pain flared in my lower abdomen, a brutal reminder of the choice I had made. There was no going back.

I went upstairs, pulled out my two suitcases, and began packing my clothes. Every shirt, every book brought back a memory of the beautiful lie we had lived.

When I was finally done, I realized just how much of Brooke’s stuff was scattered throughout my home. I hauled my suitcases down to the lobby and walked out of the complex.

But before I could reach the street, a group of men blocked my path. They wore dark masks, and the stench of cheap alcohol and cigarettes made me stumble back.

Before I could scream, they grabbed my wrists, dragging me toward an unmarked van. I bit down on one man's hand with everything I had.

He swore, releasing his grip, and I bolted back toward the gates, my hands shaking violently as I dialed Tristan's number.

The call connected, and I could hear the loud, thumping bass of a party in the background. I screamed into the receiver. "Tristan! Call the police!

Someone is trying to kidnap me!" There was a long, terrible silence on the other end. "Hazel, if you want to make amends, do it properly.

Don't invent cheap lies to get my attention." "Clearly, you still haven't reflected on your behavior." The line went dead.

I dialed again and again, my fingers slick with cold sweat. No one answered. On the fourth try, the call went straight to voicemail. He had blocked me. The men caught up to me.

No matter how hard I kicked and screamed, I was tossed into the back of the van, and a dark cloth was pulled over my head.

When I finally regained consciousness, the air was freezing, thick with the heavy, salty smell of the ocean. Nearby, I could hear Brooke’s hysterical sobbing.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I screamed into the darkness, "What do you want? Money? My father will pay you whatever you want!

Just let us go!" The cold metal of a blade slid down my cheek. A man's gravelly voice whispered near my ear. "I don't want money, sweetie.

I just want to see who Tristan chooses when his back is against the wall." A cold dread settled in my stomach.

A few minutes later, the heavy metal doors of the warehouse creaked open, and Tristan’s frantic voice cut through the damp air. "Let them go!" "Well, look who finally showed up," the gravelly voice mocked. "A few more minutes, and I was going to throw them both to the sharks." I let out a shaky breath. "Tristan!

I'm here!" I heard the sound of rushing footsteps, then a sudden, deafening gunshot that made the warehouse ring. "Who told you to move!" the kidnapper barked.

The blindfold was ripped from my eyes. Tears flooded my vision, and I looked at Tristan, silently begging him to save me.

Tristan took a deep breath, his hands trembling. "What is it going to take to let them go?" The kidnapper smirked, playing with his knife. "Simple.

You choose one to take home, and the other one gets thrown into the harbor." My entire body went numb.

I stared at Tristan, seeing the calculations running behind his eyes. "Tristan, please..." I whispered, my voice cracking. "I choose her," Tristan said, pointing directly at Brooke without a single second of hesitation.

Brooke gasped, her voice trembling with false nobility. "Tristan... but what about Hazel?" "Hazel will be fine," Tristan said quickly, his voice tight. "Her family is incredibly powerful.

These guys wouldn't dare touch her." The moment those words left his mouth, Tristan froze. He had forgotten.

A year ago, he had claimed his amnesia had wiped out all memory of my family's wealthy background.

Whenever I had asked him to accompany me to my family's estate, he had told me to go alone, claiming he had no idea who my parents even were. "Hazel...

I..." He stammered, his face turning a sickly shade of gray, but he couldn't find a single lie to save himself.

The kidnapper sliced Brooke's ropes, pushing her roughshod into Tristan’s waiting arms. "You've made your choice.

Now get out of here!" Tristan looked down at Brooke clinging to his chest, then looked back at me, his eyes pleading. "Hazel... don't worry.

As soon as I get Brooke to a safe place, I'll come back for you." "Please, believe me..." I watched their retreating figures as they hurried toward the exit, a bitter, hollow smile forming on my lips.

Tristan, you lied to me for three consecutive years. How could I ever believe you again? Their figures dissolved into the shadows, leaving me alone in the dark.