If the Stars Remember

The day I was released from prison, the warden gave me one last cold warning to stay out of trouble and become a decent man.

I was still wearing the same worn-out shirt I'd had when I went in. The only thing I carried was a diary.

The sound of a car horn drew my attention. Parked by the roadside outside the prison gates was a luxury car that stood out from everything around it. A woman stepped out in high heels and strode toward me, giving me a thorough once-over before asking, "Where's your luggage?"

I looked up to meet her gaze, utterly confused. I couldn't remember this person at all.

Frowning, she glanced at her watch before reaching out to take my hand. "Let's go home. Mom's been waiting for you. Just like we agreed—once you get out of prison, we'll remarry."

Instinctively, I pulled my hand away and looked at her warily. "Who are you? I don't know you."

The corners of her lips twitched as though she'd just heard the world's funniest joke. "Nathaniel Stroud, what are you playing at this time? I know you're angry, but don't you think pretending to have amnesia is a little ridiculous?"

Her expression mixed impatience with something more complicated. In the end, she let out a sigh. "I'm Holly Jameson, your ex-wife. There, happy? Mom's waiting for you at home, so let's not waste any more time."

At least that name stirred a faint sense of familiarity—it appeared in every single diary entry. In the end, I stopped resisting and quietly followed her into the car.

Throughout the drive, Holly asked me countless questions, but I couldn't answer any of them. Before long, she gave up trying, and silence settled over the car.

Curled up in the corner of the back seat, I quietly opened my diary.

According to its pages, Holly and I had dated, married, and lived what seemed like a smooth, uneventful life together. We came from families of equal standing and had grown up together.

I knew she had never truly loved me. What she felt was less love than the comfort of years spent together. After all those years of marriage, it seemed I had been the only one who valued our relationship more than my own life.

I had even convinced myself that as long as she stayed by my side, it didn't matter if she never loved me.

But everything changed after my father died. My mother brought home the illegitimate son she'd kept hidden for years—Ian Stroud. From then on, Holly changed.

The woman who had always treated me with polite indifference listened attentively whenever Ian spoke. She even went out of her way to learn his preferences and cooked for him.

I admitted I was jealous, and we fought over it.

Again and again, I demanded that she keep her distance from Ian. Each time, she only laughed. "Nathaniel, maybe you should spend some time looking at yourself instead. What exactly has Ian done wrong? I'm his sister-in-law, and I'm only doing what any sister-in-law should. If even that makes you think I'm cheating on you, then I don't see any point in continuing this marriage."

I snapped the diary shut.

Holly looked at me through the rearview mirror. Her fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel as she spoke, her voice slightly hoarse. "You've lost so much weight. Did anyone give you a hard time there?"

It was an ordinary question, but hearing it from her made my stomach turn.

Keeping my head lowered, I answered flatly, "That's none of your business."

I caught the flicker of surprise in Holly's eyes. I imagined the man who had written those diary entries had never spoken to her so coldly.

The car gradually slowed before pulling into the garage of a sprawling villa. I pushed open the door and looked up at the unfamiliar house before me.

It turned out this was my home.