The Love He Erased Chapter 03

The Love He Erased Chapter 03

Three months later, Grant came to bring me home.

I was in the clinic garden trimming lavender when Paula found me. The plants had been half-dead when I arrived. I had asked for scissors one afternoon because I needed something to do with my hands. By June, the lavender had come back full and silver-green.

“Your husband is here,” Paula said.

I wiped soil from my fingers. “All right.”

She watched me for a moment. “Do you want me to walk with you?”

“No. Thank you.”

Grant stood near the lobby fountain holding white roses.

Of course he did.

9:41 Wed, Jun 10

The Love He Erased

I had used white roses at our wedding.

“Elise,” he said.

He looked thinner. His coat hung loose on his shoulders. There were lines around his mouth I did not

remember.

“Hello, Grant.”

His smile faltered.

“I brought these.” He held out the roses.

I looked at them. “They’re nice.”

He waited.

I did not take them.

Dr. Lawson came out with a tablet. “Mrs. Whitaker completed the program. Her memory tests are normal.

There is no cognitive impairment.”

Grant’s shoulders dropped. “Good. That’s good.”

“There is one result we need to discuss.”

Grant turned. “What result?”

“She remembers the marriage, the airport, the miscarriage, your daughter, and the consent process. Her

factual recall is clear.”

Grant looked at me with relief already rising.

Dr. Lawson continued, “But her emotional response to you and Harper is absent.”

The roses lowered slightly in Grant’s hand.

“What does that mean?”

“It means she remembers loving you. She does not appear to feel that attachment now.”

Grant gave a short laugh. “No. That can’t be right.”

No one answered.

He turned to me. “Elise, tell him.”

“Tell him what?”

“That you love me.”

I thought about it because it seemed cruel not to be accurate.

“I remember loving you,” I said.

His face went pale.

“I remember staying awake when you worked late. I remember selling my studio because you said Northlake was our future. I remember Harper’s fever when she was six and how scared I was. I remember all of it.”

His eyes reddened.

¡

“But when I look at you, it feels like I’m remembering someone else’s life.”

Grant stared at me as if I had started speaking another language.

“Maybe she needs more time,” he said to Dr. Lawson.

“She may. But I can’t promise the attachment will return.”

“You said temporary.”

“The reduction in distress is intended to be temporary.”

“You said she’d be better.”

Dr. Lawson’s face changed. “Mr. Whitaker, I did not say that.”

Grant looked back at me. “You’re angry.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You have to be. This is anger.”

I almost felt sorry for him. Anger would have made sense to him. Anger would have meant there was still a

string to pull.

“I’d like to go home,” I said. “I need to get some things.”

He heard the first half and missed the second.

On the drive back, he talked too much.

Harper was with his mother. Zurich had helped her. Vanessa had gone back to work. He had been thinking.

He had missed me.

At a red light, he put his hand over mine.

His wedding ring touched my skin.

I looked down.

Nothing happened.

No rush of warmth. No old ache. No habit of turning my palm up so he could hold it.

I moved my hand away.

Grant stopped talking.

The light turned green. Someone honked behind us.

“Grant,” I said.

He flinched and drove.

That evening, he made the pasta he used to cook when we were young and broke. He played the song from

our first dance. He left our wedding album open on the kitchen island.

I turned the pages while he stood in the doorway.

“You cried when that song played,” he said.

“I remember.”

“You said the room disappeared.”

“That sounds like me.”

“It was you.”

I looked at the photo. A younger version of me smiled up at him, bright and certain.

“She was happy,” I said.

Grant set his mug down too hard. Coffee spilled over the counter.

“She is you.”

I got a towel and placed it beside the mug.

He stared at me. “That’s it?”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Care.”

I looked at him then.

He looked exhausted. Frightened. Almost young.

“I’m going to sleep in the guest room,” I said.

His mouth tightened. “Our room is upstairs.”

“I know.”

“I’m your husband.”

“I know that too.”

He looked as if I had hit him.

But I had not.

I had only agreed.