He Only Remembered Me When I Was Gone

I was detained in the county jail for three days, and once I was released, I got my phone back and switched it on. There wasn't a single message or missed call from Cassian Allen, my husband. He hadn't tried to contact me at all.

There was a message from the delivery guy, though. He had sent me a message on Thanksgiving night because he couldn't reach me to drop off the artisanal Thanksgiving mini pie set I had reserved a month in advance.

I dragged myself home, feeling completely exhausted. I noticed that no one was home. I spotted the open box of artisanal Thanksgiving mini pies on the coffee table, a sign that Cassian had been home.

He had even brought Nadine Fisher, his childhood sweetheart, with him. Her personal plate and fork were left on the coffee table, along with a partially eaten black truffle pie on the plate.

They must have enjoyed the meal I'd spent all afternoon preparing and admired the home I'd painstakingly decorated for Thanksgiving. They probably walked toward the window after that, taking in the nightscape outside while eating the artisanal Thanksgiving mini pie set I had ordered ahead of time.

What was I even doing when Cassian and Nadine were having their Thanksgiving feast? I seemed to be sitting in a dim, cold holding cell, facing the wall and cursing Cassian out. Or perhaps I was curled up on the narrow bed, crying uncontrollably.

I had no way of checking the time, so everything felt agonizingly slow—even letting out my grief came with a lag.

Just then, a sound came from the doorway. Cassian walked in carrying a few bags. He changed out of his shoes at the entryway and asked, "Where have you been in the past few days, Maeve?"

Cassian put on quite a convincing act, as if he had truly suffered an amnesiac episode a few days earlier.

I didn't expose his act, asking him instead, "Why didn't you call to check on me, then?"

Cassian walked over, put the bags on the coffee table, and sat beside me. "I just wanted to give you some space. I mean, we're married, but that doesn't mean we have to be joined at the hip. We don't need to be around each other every day, nor do we need to check in with each other about everything."

I knew exactly what he was getting at. I said, my smile faint, "I guess having our own space is pretty good, too."

Cassian looked taken aback, as if he hadn't expected me to say that; after all, I usually spent most of my time with him or messaged him to stay in touch when we weren't together.

I wanted to spend all my time with him when we first got married because I loved him and was attached to him.

Yet, after Cassian started suffering from intermittent amnesia, I had more to worry about than just staying close to him. I was afraid he'd forget how to get home, forget me altogether, or get pushed around when he was out with no one to back him up.

Cassian, however, always treated my concern and constant need to stay in contact as some sort of burden.

I asked, "You had Nadine over for Thanksgiving, right? How was it, Cassian?"

Cassian was staring down at his phone, completely tuning me out. He finally looked up once I repeated myself, looking dazed. "What did you just ask, Maeve?"

I gestured toward the pink plate on the coffee table with my chin. "It's such a shame. There were 12 mini pies in the box, and every single one was tossed aside after just a few bites."

There were partially eaten mini pies scattered inside the box—some had barely been touched, their filling smeared across the inside of the lid.

I had waited a month for these mini pies, only for Nadine to wreck them all in one night.

"You shouldn't have bought so many weird flavors in the first place," Cassian said, then looked back at his phone screen, tapping away as he messaged someone. "Nadine didn't know which ones she liked, so she tasted a bit of each."

I stated flatly, "I bought those for myself. I had been waiting for them for a whole month."

Cassian frowned slightly and glanced at me. "You're not seriously mad, are you? It's just a box of mini pies; they aren't worth much. If you want them so badly, I'll just buy you new ones."

It was true that they weren't that expensive, but Cassian seemed to have forgotten that these were the mini pies we shared up on the roof on Thanksgiving during our first year of marriage.

That bakery had been closed for six whole years after that. I put so much effort into getting a pre-order when they reopened this year, thinking it would be a meaningful surprise for Cassian. It turned out he didn't care at all.

"I can't talk right now. I have something to take care of," Cassian said as he rose to his feet and briefly turned his screen toward me. It was his chat history with Nadine, a wall of messages filling the screen. He only ever showed that kind of enthusiasm with her. "I bought these plushies for Nadine. I have to take them to her."

He picked up the large bags from the coffee table. He took a few steps before turning back and pulling a rabbit plushie out of the bag. "Here you go. That should make up for the mini pies."

Cassian hurried out the door after that.

I held my breath while stuffing the plushie into a plastic bag, tied it tight, and threw it out the front door. I had to swallow two allergy pills just to ease the irritation on my skin. How could someone who had once taken such good care of me have forgotten that I was allergic to that fur and plushies?

I could only come to one conclusion—Cassian had fallen out of love with me a long time ago.