After Losing My Memory Don Begins A Good Husband. Chapter 10
“Yes. I remember.”
I looked at his terror-stricken face and spoke as calmly as if discussing someone else’s life.
“I remember how you pushed me toward the abyss, again and again, for Valentina.”
“I remember how your entire family conspired to deceive me—to make me the laughingstock standing outside looking in.”
Ricardo lunged forward like a man possessed and tore the agreement to shreds.
“I won’t sign it! I’ll die before I sign it!”
“Elina, I know I was wrong—haven’t I spent this entire year trying to make up for it?”
“I got rid of all of them. You’re the only one in my heart now. Can’t we start over?”
He dropped to his knees before me with a heavy thud, wrapped his arms around my legs, and sobbed like a child.
“Please… don’t leave me…”
I looked down at this man who’d once stood so far above me, now reduced to dust.
I felt no thrill of revenge.
Only an endless, hollow sorrow.
“Ricardo, do you know the worst thing about trying to piece a broken mirror back together?”
“The cracks are still there. No matter how carefully you mend it, they never go away.”
“Every time I look at you, I see my dead child. And my cat—the one you people killed.”
I pried his fingers away, one by one.
“Your so-called atonement was never about me. It was about easing your own guilt.”
“You never once asked whether I wanted any of it.”
Ricardo stared up at me in despair, his face the color of ash.
He finally understood: no matter what he did, I would never love him again.
That coldness emanating from the marrow of my bones was more devastating to him than any hysterical act of vengeance could ever be.
I wheeled my already-packed suitcase to the door.
“I’ve filed for divorce with the family court.”
“This is my bottom line. Don’t push me to the point where even hating you feels like a waste of energy.”
The door closed heavily in his face, sealing off the sound of his muffled, broken weeping.
The day after I left that city, I flew to a small seaside town in Tuscany.
There, I opened a tiny handmade crafts shop and adopted a bad-tempered orange tabby.
Later, through old university friends, I caught fragments of news about Ricardo.
I heard he’d severed ties with his family completely.
Giada’s online smear campaign had led investigators to uncover other illegal activities. She went to prison.
Valentina, stripped of every safety net and her reputation in ruins, slunk out of the city with her tail between her legs.
As for Ricardo—they said he resigned from the family business and liquidated every asset he owned, donating it all to a stray animal rescue organization.
He moved back into the apartment we’d once shared and drank himself into oblivion, day after day.
A walking corpse.
He was trying to punish himself. To atone.
But I no longer cared.
Some wrongs, once committed, are beyond redemption.
Some wounds, once inflicted, can never be erased.
Today the sun is warm. A faintly salt breeze drifts through the shop door.
The orange tabby lounges on the windowsill, soaking up the light.
I hang a wind chime I just finished crafting above the entrance.
Its clear, bright notes ring out in the breeze.
I finally understand: the most devastating punishment isn’t a screaming, frenzied revenge.
It’s complete indifference—and the quiet brilliance of a life reclaimed.
My new life has only just begun.