Chasing His Divorced Wife And His Child

Chapter 15

COLIN’S POV

The antiseptic smell hits first, too clean to be comfortable, and I sit there listening, trying to make sense of something that doesn’t feel like it belongs to me.

“It’s not unusual,” the doctor says, calm and measured, like he’s said this a hundred times before. “Memory loss like yours doesn’t always return in full, sometimes not at all.”

I nod slowly, but it doesn’t settle anything.

“That doesn’t explain why it feels like I remember things I don’t,” I say, my voice lower than I expect, like I’m still trying to catch up with my own thoughts. “Not clearly, not… actual memories, just—” I stop, searching for the right word. “Something.”

He studies me for a second, then nods slightly. “Emotional memory can remain even when factual memory doesn’t,” he explains. “Your mind forgets, but your emotional responses don’t always follow.”

That doesn’t help as much as it should, because it means what I’m feeling isn’t random, it’s real.

I lean back slightly, dragging a hand through my hair as I exhale slowly, trying to process that without letting it sit too deep.

“So I could feel like I lost something,” I say, more to myself than to him, “even if I don’t remember losing it.”

“Yes,” he replies simply.

I nod once, pushing myself up after that, because sitting here isn’t going to give me anything else I don’t already know.

And right now…that’s enough.

The drive back is quiet, but my head isn’t.

Her voice keeps replaying, steady, controlled, final.

It was over the day I signed the divorce papers.

I grip the steering wheel a little tighter than I need to, forcing my focus back to the road, but it doesn’t stick.

Nothing does, because the more I think about it, it feels like she’s right, and I don’t know what to do with that.

****

Max doesn’t look surprised when I walk in.

He’s leaning back in his chair, tablet in hand, expression already halfway to impatient before I even say anything.

“You look like hell,” he says without looking up.

“Good,” I reply, dropping into the chair across from him. “That makes this easier.”

Now he looks at me, a hint of suspicion in his expression.

“What happened?”

I don’t answer right away, because I’m not even sure how to ask this without making it sound like something it isn’t.

“What was it like?” I say finally.

He frowns slightly. “What was what like?”

I hold his gaze. “With her.”

That’s enough.

Max goes quiet for a second, like he’s deciding how much to say and how much to leave alone.

“You were married,” he says, like that explains anything.

“I know that,” I reply, my voice tightening slightly. “I’m asking what it looked like.”

He exhales slowly, setting the tablet aside.

“You worked,” he says. “A lot.”

I don’t respond.

He continues anyway.

“Everything came second to that,” he adds, his tone still calm, still matter-of-fact. “You thought providing was enough.”

Something in my chest pulls tight.

“That’s it?” I ask, quieter now.

“That’s what I saw,” he says.

I lean back slightly, dragging a hand over my face, because that— that sounds like me and I hate it.

“She stayed,” I say after a moment, more like I’m trying to understand than argue. “So it couldn’t have been that bad.”

Max’s expression doesn’t change.

“She stayed until she didn’t,” he replies.

It hits harder than anything else he’s said, and I don’t respond right away because there’s nothing I can say to that.

Max watches me for a second, then says, “You didn’t notice how far gone things already were.”

I let out a slow breath, my gaze dropping for a moment. “She left,” I say quietly.

Max shakes his head slightly. “No… you ended it,” he says, calm, not harsh, just matter-of-fact. “You handed her the divorce papers.”

That sits wrong, and I nod slightly as it settles in, I was there and still chose to end it, and somehow that feels worse than not remembering at all.

Max shifts slightly, breaking the silence. “There’s something else,” he says.

I glance at him.

“Your mother is already asking questions,” he adds. “About Nadia.”

My jaw tightens.

“That’s not happening,” I say immediately.

Max gives me a look. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“I do,” I reply, my voice lower now, more controlled. “When it comes to this, I do.”

He studies me for a second, like he’s trying to figure out if I actually mean that.

I do.

“Just be careful,” he says finally. “This gets messy fast.”

Too late for that.

*****

By the time I get to her place, I know this won’t go the way I want, but I knock anyway, and after a brief pause, the door opens.

Nadia stands there, and for a second everything else fades, the conversation with Max, the doctor, all of it, leaving just her.

Her expression shifts the moment she sees me, not surprised, just tired.

“You being here is already making this harder,” she says, her voice low and worn, and after a second she adds, “Please just leave me alone, Colin… what exactly do you want from me?”

I don’t answer right away because I don’t have a clean answer, and whatever I say is going to sound like it’s not enough.

“I don’t know,” I admit finally, my voice quieter now. “But I know I can’t just walk away from this.”

Her gaze doesn’t soften, it hardens slightly instead.

“That’s not your choice anymore,” she says.

A quiet tension settles in my chest.

“Maybe not,” I reply, holding her gaze. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not part of it.”

She exhales slowly, like she’s already tired of this conversation.

“You were part of it,” she says. “Past tense.”

It settles deeper than I expect, and I don’t push back this time.

“I think I owe you more than that,” I say instead, quieter now, more honest than anything else I’ve said since this started.

She watches me closely, like she’s trying to figure out if I even understand what I’m saying.

“You don’t even know what you’re trying to fix,” she says.

She’s not wrong.

“I know I messed it up,” I reply.

Her expression tightens slightly before she speaks. “You didn’t mess it up, Colin… you destroyed it,” she says, her voice low but steady. “My love for you, my patience, everything… you destroyed all of it.”

She exhales, shaking her head faintly. “And now you’re standing here telling me you don’t remember, just like that…” her voice drops slightly, quieter but heavier. “Don’t you think that’s a little too cruel?”

That settles deeper than I expect, heavier now, and I don’t have anything to push back with, not after that.

Silence stretches between us, not empty this time, just filled with what she said and what I can’t even remember doing.

For a second, it feels like we’re standing in the same place, just not at the same time.

Her hand tightens slightly on the door.

“You should leave now,” she says again.

I nod because pushing won’t get me anywhere, but leaving doesn’t feel like the end, not anymore, and I hold her gaze a moment longer as something steady settles in my chest.

“I know,” I say, my voice quieter now. “I’m… I’m sorry, Nadia.”

The words don’t feel like enough, but I say them anyway, holding her gaze for a second longer before adding, “I’ll figure out how to make it right.”

Her expression doesn’t change, and I don’t wait for a response this time, I just turn and walk out.