Chapter 4
Stanley's POV
The study was quiet, with only the sound of shuffling documents and the scratch of pen against paper. I sat in my leather chair, working through the company's quarterly reports, but my attention kept drifting to something on the corner of my desk.
It was a crayon drawing with wobbly lines depicting a family of three holding hands. A house, sun, little flowers... typical children's artwork. In the bottom right corner was a childish signature: Patty.
I reached out to touch the paper, and suddenly a blurred image flashed through my mind:
"Daddy, do you think I drew it well?"
A little girl holding up the drawing, her eyes full of expectant light...
Pain shot through my head like needles. I jerked my hand back, clutching my forehead in agony. Damn these aftereffects... Ever since that car accident eight months ago, whenever I tried to remember certain things, my head would throb unbearably.
The doctor said my traumatic brain injury had caused selective amnesia, that certain memory fragments were blocked. I remembered Freya was my wife, remembered Patty was her daughter, remembered we lived together... but how we got together, what feelings I had for them - those memories were shrouded in fog, impossible to recall.
"Why does seeing these things give me headaches?" I muttered to myself.
"Honey, what's wrong?"
Blondie pushed through the door, her golden curls shining in the afternoon sunlight. She wore a Chanel beige suit, elegant as a porcelain doll. Seeing the drawing in my hand, her expression shifted slightly.
"These things again." She hurried over, gently but firmly pulling the paper from my grasp. "Stanley, the doctor said these would trigger your post-traumatic symptoms. Freya deliberately got pregnant to marry into our family back then, causing you tremendous psychological trauma."
I remembered Blondie. She was my high school girlfriend who returned from Europe after my accident to take care of me. Those beautiful high school days, those youthful memories were crystal clear.
"Deliberately got pregnant?" I rubbed my temples, struggling to remember. I recalled the wedding, remembered Freya with her pregnant belly, but how we got involved, why I married her... those memories were completely blank.
Blondie gently massaged my shoulders from behind. "Before your accident, you often complained that Freya was just like her mother Helen, always using various schemes to get what she wanted. And that child... Patty, she's very likely not even your daughter. Think carefully - does she look like you?"
"Not my daughter?" The thought left me breathless with shock. I tried hard to recall Patty's appearance - indeed... she looked more like Freya.
"That's why you feel no attachment to them," Blondie said, putting the drawing away. "Even with amnesia, your subconscious is still protecting you."
I fell silent for a long time. I did remember being quite cold toward Freya and Patty, always feeling they were burdens. Blondie's explanation seemed to make sense of everything... but why did something still feel wrong?
"Don't think about it," Blondie kissed me lightly on the lips. "Forcing yourself to remember will only cause more pain."
I nodded, but still tossed and turned that night. Whenever I closed my eyes, those fragmented images would surface, keeping me awake.
At the next day's board meeting, the CFO was reporting on financial matters.
"Regarding the charity fund project... we transfer five hundred thousand dollars monthly to Ms. Freya's account for living expenses. This expenditure..."
"Stop." I interrupted coldly. "Cancel that payment immediately."
The conference room fell silent, all executives staring at me in shock.
"Mr. Stanley, this was personally approved by you..." the CFO reminded me carefully.
"That was a decision I made when I was still recovering from brain injury, when my thinking wasn't clear." My tone was ice-cold. "Now I'm lucid."
Blondie nodded with satisfaction. "Stanley has finally regained his senses. Freya approached him for the Everest family fortune from the beginning. Since they're divorced, why should she still take our money?"
"But she is Patty's mother after all..." an older executive tried to intervene.
"Patty is dead." My words were cruel as winter ice. "And she very likely wasn't my daughter anyway. I won't pay for someone else's child anymore."
After the meeting, Blondie took my arm. "Stanley, you should give me your bank cards and credit cards to keep safe, so Freya can't keep pestering you. Your memory is still recovering from the accident - it's safer for me to handle these matters."
"Alright." I agreed without hesitation. "You handle these things. I trust you."
But as I walked out of the conference room, a voice inside questioned: Did I really hate Freya that much? Why, when I first saw her after the accident, did I feel such complex, indescribable emotions?
I shook my head, telling myself not to overthink. Blondie said those confused feelings were just aftereffects of the brain injury.
Three days later, I went to the downtown hospital for a follow-up on my brain injury. Coming out of the neurology office, the doctor said my recovery was progressing well, but still advised against forcing myself to recall those blocked memory fragments. I was walking toward the pharmacy with my new prescription when a middle-aged doctor in a white coat passed by. Hearing a nurse call me "Mr. Everest," he stopped.
"Everest?" He looked at me puzzledly. "Are you Freya's family member?"
I frowned. "I'm her ex-husband. Is there a problem?"
Sympathy crossed the doctor's face. "My God, how tragic. Family members of late-stage lung cancer patients should spend more time with them. Going through chemotherapy alone is so painful... there really isn't much time left."
"Wait!" I grabbed his arm in shock. "What did you say? Late-stage lung cancer?"
This was impossible... I remembered Freya being healthy. Though I'd been cold to her after the accident, I'd never heard about her being sick.
The doctor realized he'd said too much and waved his hands frantically. "Sorry, I thought you knew... I shouldn't have disclosed patient privacy..."
"When did she get sick? How serious is it?" My voice was trembling.
"I... I really can't say more. If you want details, please contact her attending physician." The doctor hurried away.
I stood in the hallway, thunderstruck.
Back home, I immediately stormed into the living room to confront Blondie. "Freya is sick. Did you know?"
Blondie was on the sofa painting her nails. At my words, her hand paused slightly. "Sick? What kind of sick?"
"Late-stage lung cancer." I watched her reaction closely. "The doctor said she doesn't have much time left."
Blondie laughed lightly, completely unconcerned. "Stanley, do you really believe such nonsense? This is obviously a pity ploy. With your memory damaged after the accident, she wants to gain sympathy."
"A pity ploy?"
"She sees we're getting married, so she makes up having a terminal illness." Blondie put down her nail polish, mockery flashing in her eyes. "With enough money, what doctor can't be bought? If Freya could scheme a pregnancy, faking an illness is nothing."
I hesitated. "But she did look haggard at the funeral..."
"That's because her daughter died, plus the shock of divorce." Blondie came over and hugged me. "Stanley, you've been too soft-hearted since your accident. She's taking advantage of exactly that."
I closed my eyes, my heart in fierce conflict. The accident had stolen too many memories, making me view my own life like an outsider. I could only rely on Blondie to tell me the truth...
"Maybe you're right." I finally gave in.
But that night, I couldn't sleep. Standing by the floor-to-ceiling window looking at the darkness, my mind kept flashing fragmented images:
A woman's gentle smile...
"Stanley, I love you..."
A little girl's silvery laughter...
"Daddy, I made the most beautiful night light for you..."
These images made my head throb while filling my heart with inexplicable pain and regret. But whenever I tried to grasp these memories, they slipped through my fingers like sand.
Blondie hugged me from behind, whispering in my ear, "Don't think about it, honey. The doctor said forcing memories would only worsen your brain injury. The past is past - we need to look forward."
But for the first time, I questioned her words.
If Freya was really so money-hungry, why did she initiate the divorce? If she was really acting, why did she refuse treatment? Why did my heart ache inexplicably whenever I saw things related to her and Patty?
These doubts took root in my heart like seeds.
I made my decision - I would secretly investigate Freya's real situation. The accident stole my memories, but it couldn't steal my ability to seek the truth.
Looking at the starry sky outside, I suddenly remembered a distant, vague voice:
"Stanley, promise me, if you remember everything one day, don't hate me..."
Whose voice was this? Why did it sound so familiar yet so strange? Why did these words make my heart feel like it was being cut with a knife?
