After losing my memory, I realized my wife didn’t love me.
She treated her ex like a treasure. When I was sick, she took food to him;
when people insulted me, she stood up for him and spoke on his behalf;
even when I was being resuscitated at the hospital, she was on her way to pick him up!
I was horrified listening to all this, and wondered if I had some kind of masochistic streak.
With only my eighteen-year-old memories, I picked up a pen and signed the divorce papers.
If she doesn’t love me, then let’s get divorced!
But my wife refused. She knelt before me, pleading desperately.
“Honey, I was wrong. Please forgive me!”
