When I Let You Go

Tristan pulled me out of the hospital room, his expression sharp with disbelief. "Why did you lie to her?"

"Because I know you're the one she loves," I answered evenly. He hesitated, clearly conflicted. So, I added, "Don't worry. We haven't registered our marriage."

Hearing that, he pressed on, "You stayed with her through thick and thin for seven years. You're really willing to give her up to me?"

I nodded, steady and unruffled. "There's nothing to be unwilling about."

In fact, I should have been thanking him.

The moment Naomi had been thrown into the air by the car, something had flashed through my mind—fragments of a future that had not happened yet.

I saw Naomi and Tristan trapped in endless arguments. Even after losing her memory, she still loved him somewhere deep in her subconscious. And when her memories returned, she would finally realize that the one she truly loved was Tristan.

To make it up to him, she would personally send me—the obstacle standing in the way of their reunion—into a psychiatric hospital. In the end, I would die in a strange fire, leaving nothing behind.

After seeing how it all ended, I suddenly had no desire to keep entangling myself any further.

A flicker of barely concealed elation flashed across Tristan's eyes, though he quickly suppressed the curve of his lips. Biting down on them, he put on a reluctant expression. "Naomi has amnesia right now. She does need someone to take care of her. Since you insist, I'll look after her for now. But if she regains her memory and blames me—"

"I'll deal with the consequences," I cut him off. "It has nothing to do with you."

Only then did Tristan finally relax. He straightened his collar and turned back toward the hospital room.

I followed behind him, the payment receipt still in my hand. Watching him walk toward Naomi, I felt no bitterness at all, only a strange lightness, like setting down a burden that had weighed on me for years.

On the hospital bed, Naomi lay with thick bandages wrapped around her head. The moment Tristan walked in, her eyes lit up.

That kind of look could not be faked. Even if her mind had forgotten, her heart still chose for her. Just like in the split second of the accident when she had instinctively shielded Tristan.

And me? I had been sitting in the back seat, watching the airbags deploy, watching her collapse into his arms, covered in blood.

I should have understood it then. Seven years of devotion could not compare to a single tear from her childhood sweetheart.

"Honey?" Naomi called out tentatively, her gaze locked tightly onto Tristan.

He froze, instinctively turning back to look at me. My face remained blank. I even gave him a slight nod, mouthing two silent words, "Answer her."

Tristan took a deep breath. In an instant, his face softened into a look full of tenderness and concern. He strode over and took Naomi's hand. "I'm here, Naomi. I'm right here."

She let out a breath of relief and tightened her grip around his hand. "You scared me. I thought I lost you. My head hurts so much… Did I sleep for a long time?"

Watching the two of them fall so naturally into each other's world, I felt like an unwanted presence.

Back when Naomi had even the slightest headache or fever, I stayed by her bedside day and night—feeding her, giving her medicine, wiping her down, massaging her.

She had taken it all for granted.

Now, her entire world was filled with another man.

"Ms. Alder."

I spoke in a strictly professional tone, breaking the intimate atmosphere.

Naomi turned to look at me, her brows knitting slightly. "You seem… familiar. You are…"

Tristan suddenly panicked, his gaze darting toward me.