Amnesiac, He Cried for Me

The first time I realized I might not matter that much to him was at our engagement party.

All around the hotel ballroom, people kept saying the same thing—

"You two grew up together. You're a perfect match."

I stood at the front in my evening gown as Ethan walked toward me from the other side of the room, dressed in an even sharper suit than the one he'd worn to our senior prom.

He had the ring box in his hand, and his steps were steady.

Until a sudden voice cut through the room.

"Ethan!"

A figure shoved through the crowd and stumbled onto the stage.

It was Leah.

Ethan's old high school desk mate.

She was wearing a soft pink dress that looked completely out of place for the occasion, her eyes red and swollen.

"I'm sorry—I'm sorry, I'm late..." she said between breaths as she rushed straight toward us.

Ethan instinctively shifted toward her.

"Leah," he said in a low voice. "This isn't the place."

"I know." She looked up, tears rolling down her face, yet somehow still forcing out a smile. "I know you're getting engaged today. I found out yesterday."

As she said it, she looked only at Ethan, as if I—the actual fiancée—didn't even exist.

"I just... I just had to say this before you put that ring on someone else's hand."

She took a deep breath.

"I love you, Ethan. I've loved you since freshman year."

A sharp gasp rippled through the ballroom. People started whispering, and a few openly murmured in shock.

Something inside me cracked.

Not because she said she loved him.

But because—

Ethan didn't say no.

He just froze for a second, brows tightening, the muscle in his jaw twitching faintly.

Leah must have expected it, because she shut her eyes and forced out the rest in one breath. "It's okay if you don't love me back. I know you're getting married. I'm not here to ruin your wedding."

Then she gave a strange little smile, bitter and aching at once. "I just... I couldn't go my whole life without saying it."

"Just think of it... think of it as me saying goodbye to the girl I used to be." Her voice caught. "I hope you'll be happy, Ethan. I really do."

Then she turned and stumbled off the stage.

The room immediately dissolved into chaos. People were whispering, some were already pulling out their phones to record. The choir's background music quietly died away, and the piano cut off mid-note.

Beside me, I could feel the person next to me suddenly losing control of his breathing.

"Ethan," I said. My voice came out calmer than I expected. "You don't have to—"

"She came here alone," he cut in, his eyes still fixed on the direction Leah had disappeared. He was speaking faster than usual. "She's upset. I'm worried she'll do something stupid."

He stepped forward.

Logically, what he said made no sense.

But I was his fiancée. Leah was the one who had just publicly confessed to someone else's future husband. No matter how you looked at it, I should have been the one he stayed with—the one he comforted.

When he said he was worried about her, his voice shook.

And that kind of warmth—the kind I hadn't heard from him in a long time when it came to anyone else—cut deeper than it should have.

"Ethan." I grabbed his wrist. "At least put the ring on me first."

We had stood side by side through too many moments in our lives to count—elementary school talent shows, high school graduation, college speech competitions. He had always been the one standing next to me. The one whose eyes found me first, no matter what happened.

Even just one look would have been enough. One look that said: Don't be scared. I'm here.

If he had given me that, I would have let him go after her.

But he didn't.

He looked down at me, and for a brief second there was hesitation in his eyes—before impatience swallowed it whole.

Then he jerked his arm hard and shook me off.

"We'll talk when I get back."

The next second, he jumped off the stage and ran straight for the ballroom exit.

His movement shoved me off balance.

My heels slipped against the polished floor, and my center of gravity lurched.

Someone screamed, "Watch out!"

At that exact moment, I heard the shriek of brakes from outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The hotel entrance had a semi-open drop-off lane running right along the glass wall of the ballroom. When Ethan shoved past me, I staggered sideways and slammed straight into a server carrying a tray of champagne.

The tray flipped.

Glass went flying everywhere.

I lost my footing completely.

Then came another scream of tires scraping pavement.

Something huge slammed into me.

It felt like every bone in my body was being ripped apart one by one. Right before my consciousness shattered, I heard someone shout with everything they had—

"Leah!"

Not "Lucy."

Leah.

That tiny difference, in that one instant, was more fatal than the car that hit me.

When I woke up again, all I saw was a blindingly white ceiling.

The smell of disinfectant filled my nose. My throat was so dry it felt like I had swallowed sand. Every breath tore through my chest like a blade.

"Lucy?"

Someone bent over me, and I looked into a face I knew too well.

This should have been familiar. For fifteen years, we had played out scenes like this over and over—him sitting by my bed when I had a fever, him staying overnight in the hospital when I broke my arm.

But in that moment, he felt like a stranger.

"Does it still hurt?" he asked, taking my hand in his. His palm was as warm as ever. "There's a hairline fracture in your leg, and just a mild concussion. The doctor said you'll be okay."

My throat was too raw to say much. I barely managed to force out a few words. "What about... the engagement?"

"The engagement?" He frowned. "You almost died."

He tightened his hold on my hand, lowering his voice, and there was even a hint of blame in it.

"Why did you suddenly run toward the entrance?"

I blinked.

It was almost funny.

He was the one who shoved me.

My memory came back like a puzzle thrown into the air—stage lights, Leah's confession, him pulling free from me, his back as he ran, the name he shouted.

"I want to call off the engagement." My voice was weak, but every word was clear.

Ethan froze. "Lucy, what are you talking about?"

"I'm not marrying you." I turned my face away. "Go after her."

The room went silent for a second. The steady beeping of the heart monitor suddenly sounded unbearably loud.

"What kind of nonsense is that?" he snapped at last, anger tightly restrained in his voice. "There's nothing going on between me and Leah. I've always treated her like a sister."

A sister.

The second those words hit my ears, I almost laughed.

When we were kids, that was what he used to call me too. "Lucy's like my little sister. Nobody gets to bully her." Later, he changed it to: "She's not my sister. She's my girlfriend."

So that was all the word was worth.

"You called her name," I said, staring at the ceiling. "You pushed me away to run after her."

Ethan went silent for a moment, like he was scrambling to find the right explanation. "I was just afraid she'd do something reckless. She ran out there alone—"

"What about me?" I cut in. "I almost died too."

The words startled even me.

Maybe it was because the anesthesia had only just worn off. Maybe there were still drugs moving through my system. But I had never sounded calmer—not in any fight we'd ever had.

A familiar sound of muffled sobbing came from outside the room.

"Ethan..." Leah's soft voice drifted through the door. "This is all my fault... it's all my fault..."

He stood up immediately. He didn't even say wait for me and just walked out.

The door shut behind him, and the room fell silent again.

Through the glass panel, the hallway lights slanted in at an angle. I could see him standing outside with his head lowered, talking to Leah.

He handed her a tissue, then reached out and wiped away her tears himself. His shoulders bent toward her, gentle and patient—the exact same way he used to comfort me when we were younger.

Except now, those eyes that had once looked only at me were fixed on someone else.

Suddenly, a flood of memories hit me.

When I was eight, after my family moved into that red brick house in the suburbs, Ethan came knocking on our door the very next day and dragged me into the backyard to build a treehouse. That maple tree was probably still there, its leaves turning the whole yard red every fall.

When I was sixteen, some boy in our class slipped a love letter into my backpack. Ethan cornered him by the fence in the parking lot and punched him. Then he yelled at me, "When are you going to grow up? You can only be mine."

In college, he told me, "After graduation, we're getting married, Lucy. I've already picked out your ring."

I used to think that kind of possessive, almost obsessive love meant security.

Then Leah showed up.

She transferred in during freshman year and ended up sitting next to him. When the professor introduced her, she smiled like the sun.

She would leave two coffees on our study table in the library—black coffee for him, a latte for "Lucy, the upperclassman."

Whenever the three of us studied together, she would unconsciously lean a little closer to him.

Whenever everyone got drunk, she would drape herself over his shoulder and murmur, "You're so nice."

At first, I didn't dislike her.

Back then, Ethan still gave all his time and attention to me.

He brought me late-night food when I stayed up studying.

He walked ten laps around the track with me before every major exam.

At the freshman welcome ceremony, he held my hand in plain sight of everyone.

"You can have lots of friends," he told me with a grin back then, "but you only get one boyfriend."

That was always his tone—bossy, certain.

And I loved him that way.

But somewhere along the line, Leah became a presence between us that I could no longer ignore.

He started canceling on me now and then.

At first it was, "Something came up with a project meeting—I'll be late."

Then it became, "Leah's not doing well. I need to take her home."

Eventually, he just started bringing her along on all our dates.

Even our graduation trip.

That trip, he told me he wanted to take me to Tuscany. He said it had the vineyards I loved, the long dirt roads, and that he wanted to kiss me under the grapevines at sunset.

I had imagined so many romantic moments. I'd even picked out my dresses.

Then two days before we left, he texted me: [Leah's been in a bad place lately. I want to bring her with us. You don't mind, do you?]

I was still too naive then.

I thought, what difference could one extra person make? We had a lifetime of memories. What could some deskmate possibly threaten?

Until the day he abandoned me in the ocean for her.

The wind was strong that day. We were at a surfing club called Blue Cove. The instructor was a sunburned Australian guy named Jack, tossing surfboards into the water one after another and making us take turns.

Ethan stood behind me with one hand at my waist, helping me keep my balance.

"Don't be scared," he said. "I've got you."

I laughed and teased him. "Do you say that to every girl?"

He lowered his head to my ear and said, "No. Only you."

The warmth of his hand came through my wetsuit, and for that one moment, I truly thought the world was still the way it used to be.

Then the wave came in.

"Ethan!"

Leah stood not far away, waving at us. Her voice turned sharp in the wind.

"Look—this shell is so ugly. I want one with pink edges. Can you find me one?"

She pouted.

Ethan looked back at her, and in that instant, his grip loosened.

Then, unbelievably, he actually let go of me and started walking toward her, smiling as he said, "Hang on. I'll find you one."

At that exact moment, the wave crashed over me.

The board flipped under my feet, and I was dragged under. My ears filled with roaring water.

I couldn't swim.

He had known that since we were children.

Panic hit hard and fast. My body kicked and clawed on instinct, saltwater flooding down my throat. For one terrible second, I really thought I was going to die in that sea.

By the time a lifeguard hauled me back up, I was sprawled over the board, choking and gasping.

Not far away, Ethan and Leah were standing in the shallows, both of them looking down at the shell in his palm.

She was smiling brightly.

And his eyes held a kind of tenderness I hadn't seen directed at me in a long time.

That was the first time I thought: Maybe once there's a deskmate, there's no room left for me.

Later, in the hotel room, we had the worst fight we'd ever had.

"What the hell were you thinking?" I stood by the bed in my robe, my hair still dripping. "You know I can't swim, and you still let go of me?"

"I thought you'd be fine—"

"You thought." I cut him off. "How many things on this trip have you just assumed? You assumed I wouldn't care. You assumed I wouldn't mind you bringing her. You assumed I wouldn't get angry."

"She's just a friend." He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "When she first transferred, the whole class isolated her. My family helped her. She's always relied on me."

"What about me?" I stared at him. "What am I, then? The person who's been relying on you since I was eight?"

The room went silent for a long time.

Then I said the cruel thing I had always been too afraid to say: "If you still want her around, then stop calling me."

Back then, Ethan's face darkened, but in the end he still walked over and wrapped his arms around me from behind.

"Fine. I won't have anything to do with her anymore," he whispered in my ear. "I swear."

Once you get used to someone's promises, you forget how worthless promises can be.

Because after that, every night he was "working late."

Only his "late nights" always seemed to end after two in the morning. Sometimes there would be another woman's perfume on his tie. And on his phone, a chat thread pinned to the top under the name "L."

Until the day of our engagement.

I lay in my hospital bed, watching everything unfold outside my door—watching him lower his head to comfort another woman—and all at once, I remembered something he had said to me a long time ago.

"Lucy, don't worry. As long as I'm alive, I won't let anything happen to you."

Back then, his eyes had shone like stars.

And now he stood outside my hospital room with his back to me, leaving me completely unprotected when the hurt came.

Later, when he finally walked in, there was weary guilt on his face, and someone else's tears still clung to his fingertips.

"Lucy." He sat down beside my bed and reached out to touch my hair. "Don't talk about calling off the engagement. It was just a misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding?" I repeated the words, almost laughing at how ridiculous they sounded. "Then let's just call everything between us—all those years we grew up together—one big misunderstanding too."

I closed my eyes.

I didn't want to look at him anymore.