On the first day of my divorce cooling-off period, my husband was admitted to my emergency room.
After a car accident and a head impact, he looked at me after waking up, smiled and called "Yaoyao" - he hadn't called me that in three years.
The doctor's diagnosis was retrograde amnesia. His memory stopped at the age of 22: That year we rented a house worth 600 yuan and shared a bowl of Yangchun noodles. He worked three jobs and vowed to marry me if he saved enough money.
That year, he loved me the most.
And at the age of 32, I have a divorce agreement signed by both parties in my pocket. In 29 days we will be strangers.
The doctor's instructions were clearly written: forcibly awakening the memory would risk further bleeding. So I took him home, hid the traces of separation, put back his slippers, and played the role of a loving couple with him.
Acting, I am professional.
But there were some things in this house that couldn't be acted out - the locked door at the end of the corridor, the letters on the refrigerator, the name he suddenly hugged me and called out late at night.
The more he loves me like a 22-year-old, the less I dare to ask: How did we lose each other in the past three years.
Countdown to thirty days.
The day he remembered everything was the day we went to get the divorce certificate.
But later I discovered that he was not the only one who was deeply involved in this scene.
Purpose: What this work wants to explore is not "how to save a marriage", but "how to say goodbye to a marriage well". We are used to writing divorce as failure and reunion as reconciliation, but we rarely look directly at one thing: two people who have done nothing wrong can also be pushed to the end by fate and silence. The hero and heroine in the story, one uses hatred to support himself to survive, and the other keeps this hatred for the other without making excuses - it's not that they don't love each other anymore, but they are trapped on their own islands due to a loss that no one can hold accountable. Amnesia is a gentle hypothesis: If your lover returns to the year when you loved you most, would you still be reluctant to leave? The work uses this hypothesis to question the most scarce ability of modern people - the ability to say goodbye. Real dignity is not to get back together, but to clear up the three years of misunderstandings, pay off the tears and apologies owed to each other, and then stand in front of each other again as two complete people. Love may expire, but kindness will not; marriage will end, but the warmth of human nature will not. I hope everyone who has experienced loss can understand: letting go of hatred is not about forgiving anyone, but about finally being willing to let yourself go.
