Never Forget Again

For seven whole years, I believed I was suffering from severe amnesia.

I was grateful to my fiancé Vance for never leaving my side, and felt guilty for my sister Daphne's endless tolerance.

Until the eve of the wedding, when I opened a private group chat on Vance's computer named "Remaking Nora."

The over three hundred pages of chat logs were a cruel game that ate me alive:

"That idiot Nora 'forgot' her Stanford acceptance letter again today. Daphne, the spot is yours."

"Hide her wedding ring at the bachelorette party tomorrow night. Watching her frantically look for it like a dog will be absolutely hilarious."

Messages kept popping up in the group. They couldn't wait to see me break down in tears and self-loathing again because of my "amnesia."

I calmly took off the ring on my ring finger, preparing to pack my bags.

Since they wanted a Nora who couldn't remember anything so badly, I would grant their wish—

I would forget this wedding, along with the two of them, completely, and permanently clear them out of my life.

......

Vance's MacBook Pro screen cast a faint blue glow.

The cursor hovered over a hidden desktop folder named "Wedding Prep."

If it weren't for looking for the draft of the vows for tomorrow's meeting with the pastor, I would never have opened it. And I would never have known that my life over the past seven years was just a sick game called "Operation Remake Nora."

There were no vows in the folder, only a shortcut linking to a private cloud-based group chat.

The group name was sickeningly glaring: [Operation Remake Nora (99% Complete)].

There were five members in the group: my fiancé Vance, my own sister Daphne, two of Vance's best friends, and my attending doctor.

I thought this was just a code name for some wedding surprise, until I opened the pinned Excel spreadsheet.

The spreadsheet was titled "Nora's Memory Alteration Log."

The first entry was from the winter seven years ago.

"Dec 4: Car crash concussion. Bribed the doctor to diagnose her with traumatic retrograde amnesia. Plan initiated."

"Following March: Told her she voluntarily gave up the Stanford Psychology program spot because her brain was broken and she couldn't handle it. Spot successfully transferred to Daphne. Check."

"Following August: Told her she lost the sapphire necklace left by her grandmother. Actually in Daphne's safe. Check."

"January this year: Persuaded her to quit her job at the consulting firm and stay home as a full-time fiancée. Told her her memory can no longer handle any professional work. Check."

My fingers stiffly scrolled down. Hundreds of pages of chat logs were like rusty, blunt knives, slowly and cruelly slicing my retinas.

In that car crash seven years ago, I did hit my head, and woke up with some mild memory blanks.

It was Vance and Daphne who repeated in my ear day after day: "Nora, you are very sick, you don't remember anything."

When I tried to recall something, they would silently agree to fabricate a completely different version, until I broke down and doubted my own brain.

I thought I was a useless burden. I thought they were the people who loved and tolerated me the most in this world.

Turns out, I was just a captive joke for their amusement.

The latest messages in the synced group chat on Vance's computer were jumping.

Daphne: [Is the plan ready?]

Vance: [Don't worry, a high-quality fake ring is ready. After the party, we'll hide the real ring and tell her she lost it herself.]

Daphne: [I can already imagine her kneeling on the floor crying over the ring, frantically slapping herself and saying 'I forgot again'! Vance, this move is brilliant, breaking her down one more time before the wedding, making sure she stays dead set on you.]

Vance's friend: [You two are so toxic, but I love it. I'll record it tomorrow. This is definitely the perfect finale for 'Remaking Nora'.]

Every character jumping on the screen was like a poisoned needle, densely piercing my eyes. Tears uncontrollably smashed onto the keyboard. My chest felt like it was being ripped open; even taking a breath brought piercing pain.

For seven years, I lived in daily fear that I would forget them. I felt deeply guilty towards them every day because of my "illness," treating them as the only driftwood in my shattered world.

But it turned out my brain wasn't sick at all.

I had been played like a mental patient by the people I loved most for seven years.

The sound of a key turning came from the door. I quickly closed the folder, cleared the browsing history, restored the computer to its original state, then turned toward the kitchen and picked up a glass of water.

"Nora, we're home!" Daphne's voice rang out in the entryway.

Vance walked over and habitually wrapped his arms around my waist from behind.

He brought with him the cold wind from outside, along with a faint trace of men's cologne. The scent that used to make me feel incredibly safe now made my stomach churn.

"Darling, how do you feel today? Does your head still hurt?"

Daphne leaned in and affectionately took my arm. "Sis, I brought you your favorite macarons. Were you a good girl and took your meds today?"

I stiffly turned around and looked at their faces through a layer of tears that were about to burst out.

Only at this moment did I truly see clearly: the undertone of Vance's disguised doting look was clearly arrogant charity; and on the edge of Daphne's seemingly caring smile hung an undisguised mockery.

Looking at these two people I had spent half my life loving and trusting, my heart felt like it had been thrown into a meat grinder, hurting so much that my whole body trembled.

"I'm fine." I lowered my eyelashes and pinched my palms, using the pain of my nails piercing my flesh to force back the choke in my throat.

But even so, my voice still trembled uncontrollably, "Just... a little too tired."

"You always get tired so easily. The doctor said your brain needs more rest." Vance rubbed my hair, his tone carrying a hint of reproachful spoiling. "For the bachelorette party, you just need to show your face; leave the rest to Daphne and me."

"Yeah, Sis, you often lose your own things. With so many people tomorrow, make sure you don't lose anything important." Daphne blinked, heavily implying.

"Don't worry," I looked at them, my voice extremely light, yet extremely steady, "from now on, I will never lose anything again."

Because I already had nothing left to lose.

The moment I closed the bedroom door, listening to the casual laughter faintly coming from outside, my held-back tears finally burst like a broken dam.

After the pain, my heart instead quietly settled down bit by bit.

I raised my hand and wiped my eyes hard. I am a living, breathing human being, and I should never be a joke for their amusement.

This game, I choose to quit.