Diary Langit

Ashton Smith checked his watch as he left the County Clerk's Office, the divorce papers still warm in his hand.

"In two minutes, the pill will kick in. You'll lose every memory of loving me for the next three days. Once you pop the antidote, you won't remember a thing that happened while we were apart—no pain, no heartache.

"This split? It's just a break. We'll get married again once the dust settles. You're the only one for me, Macie. Always."

I watched him as a silent storm brewed inside me.

I knew too well the power of the pill I created. It did not wipe memories in a snap but washed them away slowly until the love I knew vanished into thin air.

The worst part was that there was no antidote. Not yet, at least.

Ashton, however, did not have a clue.

"Are you sure about this?" I whispered.

He grinned, running his fingers through my hair with a lover's touch.

"Lydia's been crazy about me for ages. Her wish is to have a big, fat wedding. I couldn't say no. No regrets, not when it comes to love.

"Macie, you're the understanding type. There's no need to pick fights with a sick woman. We'll get back to bliss soon enough."

I forced a smile, the acid of unshed tears spreading through me. I stayed quiet.

Once, in our golden year, I battled for his projects, drank until my stomach rebelled, and he pulled all-nighters for my research until his heart skipped beats.

I teased him once, asking what he would do if I got old and forgot him.

His eyes turned glassy as they welled up with tears, and he kissed me hard.

"Macie, I love you. Don't forget me, or I'll lose my mind."

When he found out his first love, Lydia Sharp, was battling cancer, he blindsided me with divorce papers, insisting I take pills to wipe our history from my mind.

I bet he wanted to give her three perfect days of love with no flaws and no inconvenient wife in the picture—just his undivided affection.

If he was bold enough to fall out of love in broad daylight and make me swallow those pills, why bother remarrying me?

It was all so pointless.

I could not help but let out a bitter laugh, my lips twisting into a sardonic grin.

Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through my head, my balance faltered, and I leaned forward.

Ashton's quick hands steadied me, his eyes a deep well of worry.

"Feeling off? If you're that scared I won't come back, I can leave the divorce papers and everything else with you."

I straightened up, giving Ashton a puzzled look as I asked, "What divorce papers?"

He hesitated, then probed cautiously, "Macie, you're divorced, remember?"

"Divorced?"

The confusion on my face sparked a flash of joy in his eyes that he could not quite hide.

I glanced down at the divorce papers I was clutching and it hit me.

The drug was kicking in, scrubbing the first memory it was designed to erase—our divorce.

Ashton snatched the papers from my hand, his voice gentle, maybe too gentle.