Crash Wiped Away My Five Years Chasing Him

Introduction 12 days before my wedding, I was standing outside the fitting room in my wedding dress when I heard Julian Cross talking to a friend about our marriage. I'd chased him for five whole years. I moved from Boston to Seattle for him. I remembered his coffee order, his schedule, every single time he turned me down. Then he finally agreed to get engaged. But in the lounge, he said, "Nora's the right choice. "Camille's pregnant, but my family and the board will never accept her. If I marry Nora first, at least things stay stable for now." His friend asked, "Aren't you worried Nora will find out someday and go after Camille?" Julian was perfectly calm. "She's been chasing me for five years. She's a pushover. She won't." I didn't open the door. After I left the bridal shop, I was in a car accident. When I woke up, I remembered my parents, my friends, college, and my job. But the last five years were lost in a fog. I couldn't make out a thing. Sophie Cross, my best friend, handed me a thick scrapbook and said it documented the years I'd spent chasing Julian. I went through it cover to cover and asked her only one question. "How did I ever waste five whole years on a man who kept turning me down?" The doctor said my memories might come back. But it suddenly hit me: without the weight of the five years I'd spent chasing him, I could finally look at this man with fresh eyes. And this time, I wasn't sure I'd still choose him. I was standing outside the fitting room in my wedding dress when I heard my fiancé say I was nothing more than the board's safest option. Julian Cross was seven years older than me. He was also my best friend Sophie's uncle. I was 23 the first time I told him how I felt. He looked at the roses in my hand as if he were politely rejecting an application that didn't meet the requirements. "Nora, you're too young." The second time, he said we weren't right for each other. The third time, he said he had no plans to get married. I chased him for five whole years. I changed cities for work. I went to charity galas he didn't even enjoy. I memorized how he took his coffee. I tagged along with Sophie to every family event where I might run into him. He turned me down again and again. Then, six months ago, he suddenly agreed to get engaged. I thought five years of not giving up had finally paid off. The wedding was 12 days away. That afternoon, I went to the bridal studio for my final fitting. Julian was taking a call in the lounge next door. The door wasn't closed all the way. His friend laughed. "You're really going to marry Nora?" Julian didn't answer right away. I stood outside the door, one hand still resting on the skirt of my dress. A few seconds later, he said, "Yes. "Grandma Helen has never been happy about me and Camille, and the board thinks my private life is a mess. "Nora's the right choice." His friend asked, "What about Camille? Isn't she pregnant?" Julian's voice finally softened. "Camille will have the baby first. "The wedding's just a formality. "Nora's a pushover, and she's been chasing me for five years. Even if she finds out the truth later, she won't give Camille a hard time. "Besides, once Nora marries into the Cross family, she'll help keep my family off Camille's back." His friend was quiet for a while. "So you're marrying a woman who's loved you for five years just so another woman can have her baby in peace?" Julian said quietly, "I'll make it up to her." Standing outside that door, I suddenly felt how heavy the wedding dress was. It felt as if someone had stacked the last five years on my shoulders, one page at a time. I didn't go in and confront him. I just turned around and went downstairs. It was raining outside. My driver hadn't shown up, so I called a car myself. I was crossing the street when a delivery truck swerved to avoid a sedan that had cut into its lane, then slammed into the guardrail. All I remember is the scream of brakes. When I woke up again, I was staring at a hospital ceiling so white it felt cold. Sophie was slumped over the side of the bed, crying. "Nora, you're finally awake." I reached up and touched my forehead. "Why am I in the hospital?" She froze. A doctor came in quickly. I remembered my name, my parents, college, my job. I remembered Sophie, too. But when the doctor asked where I lived, I gave him the address of my Boston apartment from five years ago. Sophie's face grew paler and paler. She asked carefully, "Do you remember Julian?" Of course I did. "Your uncle? "What about him?" Sophie cried even harder. "You two are... about to get married." I stared at her for ten full seconds. Then I asked, "Have I lost my mind?"The accident hadn't caused any serious brain damage. The doctor said it seemed more like retrograde amnesia brought on by the trauma. The last five years of my life weren't completely gone. I remembered how to do my job and the people I'd met. I even remembered the locations of several restaurants I used to go to in Seattle. But everything tied to Julian—the feelings, the dates, the fights—was hidden behind a layer of fog. If someone told me something had happened, I could understand it. But none of it felt like my life. Sophie brought a thick scrapbook over from my place. It wasn't 999 love letters. It was a record of my life that I'd put together myself over those five years. It was stuffed with plane tickets, restaurant receipts, charity invitations, and hotel key card sleeves. There were also a lot of notes I'd written to myself after Julian turned me down. [Rejection number 17. He said not to wait for him.] [Number 23. He finally remembered I don't like my lattes sweet.] [He didn't show up for my birthday this year. That's okay. Work comes first.] [Moved to Seattle. Only 20 minutes from his office.] I turned the pages one by one. My chest felt tight. My body obviously remembered something. But reading those words felt like reading about some other woman. "Why was I so obsessed back then?" Sophie's eyes were red. "Because back then, you thought he was worth it." "Doesn't look like he was." She had no answer to that. My phone rang. It was Julian. Sophie looked at me nervously. I answered. His voice was cool. He seemed to take me completely for granted. "You're awake?" "Yeah." "The wedding planners are waiting for you to approve the place cards. Stop by this afternoon after you're discharged." I frowned. "I was just in a car accident." There was a pause on the other end. "The doctor said there's nothing seriously wrong with you. "Nora, don't use amnesia as an excuse." I'd never heard anyone talk about amnesia as if it were no more serious than being late on purpose. "That's not what the doctor said. "He said I need to be monitored." Julian obviously didn't like being corrected. "Is Sophie with you?" "Yes." "Tell her to stop going along with this nonsense." I hung up on him. Sophie's jaw dropped. "You've never hung up on my uncle before." "Then the old me must have had the patience of a saint." That night, my mother, Margaret Whitmore, video-called me from Boston. She knew about the accident and my memory loss. When I answered, she didn't say a single word about the wedding. All she said was, "Come home." I didn't answer. Five years ago, my parents had wanted me back in Boston to work on the family's hotel redevelopment project. I'd said no. According to Sophie, that was the same year I moved to Seattle to chase Julian. "The museum-hotel project in the Old Harbor District is back on," my mother said. "If you want it, you can come home and lead the spatial and exhibition design. "Not because you got your heart broken, but because you've always been qualified." "When?" I asked. "The sooner the better." I looked at the thick scrapbook beside my bed, a record of those five years. "Then I'm coming home."Julian came to the hospital himself the next day. He was in a charcoal suit, holding a bouquet of white tulips. He frowned the second he walked in. "Why aren't you dressed?" I looked down at my hospital gown. "This is a hospital." He acted like he hadn't caught the sarcasm. "The Whitmore Museum Foundation is holding a fundraising gala tonight. "As the future Mrs. Cross, you need to be there." Suddenly I understood why he'd sounded so entitled on the phone yesterday. That was probably how the last five years had gone. He made the plans. I went along with them. "I'm not going." Julian finally looked at me. "Just because you lost your memory?" "Because I was just in a car accident." "The doctor says you can go home." "Being able to go home doesn't mean I have to go to a gala." He set the flowers down. "Nora, the wedding is ten days away. "If you act like this, everyone's going to think something's wrong between us." "Isn't something wrong?" His expression darkened. I didn't argue with him. Instead, I asked, "Is Camille going?" Julian stopped short. "Who told you about her?" I just looked at him. In that moment, a few fragments of what I'd heard outside the fitting room flashed through my mind. The wedding dress. "Nora's the right choice." "Camille will have the baby first." My head started to hurt. I pressed my fingers to my temples. Julian came over to steady me. I flinched away without thinking. His hand stopped in midair. "Don't touch me." His expression turned ice-cold. "You never used to be like this." I gave a short laugh. "So what exactly did you like about the old me? "That I did what I was told?" He didn't answer. In the end, I went to the gala anyway. Not for him. The fundraiser happened to be connected to the Old Harbor District preservation work my parents were about to restart. I wanted to meet a few fund managers. Julian, though, clearly thought my showing up meant I'd given in. In the car, Camille Hart was sitting in the passenger seat. She was 34, wearing a long cream-colored dress, and her belly was already starting to show. When she saw me, she gave me a sweet smile. "Nora, I heard you lost your memory. "You poor thing." I sat in the back. "Thanks for your concern." Julian kept glancing at me in the rearview mirror. The old me would probably have been upset about who got the front seat. I just thought the back was quieter. The gala was held at the Seattle Museum of Modern Art. Julian was one of the major donors. After I arrived, people from the host committee kept coming over to greet "the future Mrs. Cross." Camille, meanwhile, was introduced as a special advisor at Julian's company. A very respectable title. Yet she stood closer to him than I did. When the auction started, artworks and project naming rights came up for bid one after another. Camille liked a set of 19th-century glassware. Julian raised his paddle. Then she said the harbor district's arts program for mothers and children sounded wonderful. Julian pledged five hundred thousand dollars on the spot and asked for an annual scholarship in Camille's name. Everyone around us applauded. Someone asked me quietly, "Doesn't that bother you?" "It's his money," I said. "He can spend it however he likes." They gave me a slightly odd look. They probably thought I was putting up with way too much. Actually, my mind was on something else. How much funding did my parents' project still need? I even took out my phone and saved the contact details for two fund managers. The seventh time Julian looked my way, he finally couldn't take it anymore and came over. "You're very quiet tonight." "What do you want me to do?" "At least don't act like you don't know me." "I really don't have any memory of us." His jaw tightened. "Your memory will come back." "That doesn't mean our feelings will come back with it." The look in his eyes changed instantly. Just then, Camille called him from the backstage prep area. Julian went straight to her. I didn't follow. 20 minutes later, I went to get some materials from the organizers and walked past the backstage dressing room. The door was half open. Camille was standing in front of the mirror. She'd already changed out of her gown. A pale, flesh-colored fake belly lay on the table. Next to it was an appointment slip from a medical center. I only meant to glance at it. But I saw the date. The slip was dated six weeks earlier. The visit type was listed as [Follow-up after pregnancy loss]. I stopped. Camille saw me in the mirror. The smile dropped right off her face. "What did you see?" "Nothing." She shut the door. "Are you going to tell Julian?" "Why would I bother?" Camille obviously didn't believe me. "You chased him for five years. "And you're just going to let it go?" "I don't remember anything that happened in those five years." She stared at me. "Really? That's for the best, then." I ignored her and turned to open the door. Camille grabbed my arm from behind. "Wait." "Let go of me." "You have to promise you won't tell." "Why should I promise you anything?" I shook her off. Just then, the power went out backstage. The emergency lights came on. Staff outside were shouting that a temporary set had tripped the circuit and telling everyone to get out through the service corridor. Camille went pale. Suddenly she came after me. "Nora!"The service corridor was narrow. Along one side stood several display stands on wheeled bases. The crew had just removed a big sculpture, and the bases hadn't been locked in place yet. I was almost at the emergency exit when Camille grabbed me again. "You can't leave." "Are you crazy?" "If Julian finds out, he'll leave me." "That's between you two." I pulled my hand free. Out of nowhere, she rammed her shoulder into the rolling base beside her. The heavy wooden display stand rolled down the gently sloping floor toward me. I only had time to dodge to the side. My side slammed into a metal railing. I went down hard. A sharp pain shot through my stomach. Camille sat herself down on the floor. Then she started screaming. "Help! "She pushed me!" Staff and security guards rushed in. Julian was the first one there. When he saw Camille clutching her belly, his expression changed instantly. "The baby?" Camille was crying so hard she was shaking. "I don't know. "Nora found out I was pregnant, and she's been pushing me to leave you ever since. "And just now she shoved me toward the display stand..." I braced myself against the wall and got to my feet. "She's not even pregnant." Julian's head snapped toward me. "What did you say?" "Her follow-up slip is in the prep room. "So is her fake belly." Camille sobbed even harder. "You'd say that just to avoid taking the blame?" Julian's gaze turned icy. "Enough." "Take her to the hospital and have her checked. You'll see," I said. "I need to get checked out at the hospital too." The pain in my stomach was getting worse. I had a vague feeling that something was wrong. But Julian had already scooped Camille up. "Get a private treatment room ready for Camille." I called after him, "Julian, I need a doctor too." He paused for a second. Then he said, "Go explain the accident to the organizers first. "If Camille's okay, I'll come find you." "It really hurts." "Nora." He looked back at me. "Don't make this a competition right now." As he said it, a memory suddenly came back to me. Two years ago, I'd had a high fever. Camille had flown back to Seattle on short notice. Julian had sent the driver who was supposed to take me to the hospital to pick her up at the airport instead. Back then, I'd told myself they were just old friends. Getting that memory back meant nothing. My body already knew the answer. The head of security for the event asked me to sign the incident report. The draft read: [Nora Whitmore and Camille Hart got into a physical altercation, which caused Ms. Hart to fall.] I put the pen down. "I'm not signing this." He looked uncomfortable. "Mr. Cross would like to handle this internally, as quickly as possible." "That's what he wants. "It's not what happened." I called Sophie to come get me. By the time I dialed, my hands had started to shake. As the elevator reached the ground floor, I felt something warm running down between my legs. At first I thought I was bleeding from the fall. Then I looked down and saw red on the hem of my dress. Only then did a possibility I'd never even considered flash through my mind. My periods had been irregular lately. The doctors had run routine tests after the accident, but nobody had told me I was pregnant. Was it because it was still too early to tell? I called 911. The on-site medical staff got to me fast. They didn't make me wait for a private treatment room. Instead, they called an ambulance right away. I was examined immediately in the ER at another hospital. Seven weeks pregnant. Miscarriage. The doctor said the injury wasn't the only cause, but the impact and the delay had raised the risk. I stared at the ceiling. I didn't cry. I only had one question. "Is there any way to save the baby?" The doctor shook his head. By the time Sophie got there, Julian still hadn't shown up. She saw my chart and went rigid. "Does my uncle know?" "No." "I'll go tell him." I grabbed her. "Don't." "Why not?" "Because I already asked him once. "But he told me to wait until Camille's checkup was done." Sophie went white. I kept going. "I'm not asking him twice." That night, my lawyer sent over the papers to call off the engagement, revoke authorizations concerning our shared assets, and return the gifts. My parents booked me a flight for the next afternoon. I had the movers pack up everything that was mine in the Seattle apartment. I didn't burn the five-year scrapbook. I took out the receipts and photos that had to do with work. The rest went to a shredding company. The next afternoon, I got on a plane to Boston. Before takeoff, Sophie sent me one last text. [He's back at the apartment.] I turned off my phone. I didn't ask what happened next.