The Memories I Erased

"Mr. Robertson, I need to remind you one last time. Once we start the hypnosis, the past eight years of your life will be completely wiped. Beyond that, everyone's brain reacts differently. You could face severe memory confusion or even permanent brain damage. Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?"

I froze. It took me a few seconds to process her words as my mind drifted back over those eight years.

I spent the first three years desperately chasing Phoebe Shaw, piecing her back together after her first heartbreak. Then, for the next five years, I hid in the shadows as her secret boyfriend.

Eight years of my life, stripped down to four painful words: One-sided, pathetic love.

I had built my entire world around her, but she never gave me genuine affection in return.

At the company, I was just her obedient employee. At home, I was a glorified housekeeper. In public, I was merely her best friend’s little brother. And around her friends? I was just a trophy to prove how desirable she was.

She never respected me, not even once. So why was I clinging to these memories?

I took a breath, ready to tell the doctor to start, when my phone suddenly buzzed in my pocket.

The custom ringtone I’d set only for Phoebe blasted through the quiet room, my favorite song. It rang once, twice, three times, each buzz feeling more urgent than the last.

A sudden hope flared in my chest. Was she calling to stop me? Did she somehow know?

I swiped to answer, but before I could speak, her icy voice cut straight through the line.

"Something came up at the office, so I'm not coming home tonight. Hurry up and make dinner, then have it delivered. Make extra chicken wings and steak with red wine sauce."

Anger flared in my chest, quickly giving way to cold realization.

Because I loved her, I couldn't bear the thought of her eating cheap takeout or cold meals. As a wealthy heir born into luxury, I had willingly traded my pride to play her personal chef, slaving over a stove just to keep her cared for. And yet here she was, ordering me around like a servant.

More importantly, Phoebe hated red wine. There was only one person who could make her compromise her own tastes—her ex, David Reed, who had been living abroad.

Right on cue, a man's excited voice echoed from her end of the call.

"Phoebe! I told you that you didn't need to come pick me up at the airport!"

Then she hung up without another word.

Of course, it was David. Only he could make Phoebe abandon her work and drop everything.

When they broke up years ago, Phoebe fell into a deep depression that lasted three whole years, convinced she wasn't good enough. I stayed by her side through every tearful night, reassuring and encouraging her until she finally found the confidence to launch her own business.

The day her company was officially incorporated, she finally agreed to be with me.

"Because of you, I get a second chance," she had whispered. "Will you always stay by my side? The business is just starting out, though, so I can't go public with our relationship yet. Are you still willing to be with me?"

I had agreed without hesitation. For five straight years, I helped her build that company from the ground up, watching it thrive.