The ninth time I asked Fred for a divorce, he finally gave in. On the way to the clerk's office, a speeding car came at us. Fred wrenched the wheel to the right and shielded me. In that crash, I got off with a few scrapes. Fred hit his head, and his memory stopped at 22, at the age when he had eyes for no one but me. After I found out, I said nothing. I checked myself out of the hospital alone and didn't go to see him. My phone was bombarded nonstop. Fred's parents said he would starve himself if he couldn't see me. My parents said he refused treatment if I didn't come to the hospital. Shey, my best friend of ten years, called me in tears. "Mia, please come to the hospital. Fred is on the roof. If you don't come, he'll jump. You know he'd do anything for you." I rushed to the hospital. Fred ran over joyfully and pulled me into his arms. "Mia, you're finally here. I have so much to tell you. You've lost weight, and you look pale. Are you unwell?" When he noticed my coldness, he looked hurt. "Mia, why aren't you happy? Did I do something wrong?" I lowered my head, finished a text, confirmed the offer abroad and the flight three days later, then looked at Fred. "What exactly did you want to tell me?" Fred's smile lit up again. "Mom and Dad say I lost my memory and forgot I'm already 29, but I still want to do what I'd planned to do for you on my 22nd birthday. Mia, will you marry me? I love you." The devotion in his eyes was warm as the rising sun, but I felt no warmth at all. I rubbed the deep scar on my wrist, lifted my chin slightly, and pointed at Fred and Shey. "But you two already have a two-year-old child."