When His Love Is Too Late, My Love Has Gone

On our wedding anniversary, my husband had a car accident on the way to pick up Bianca at the airport. As his surgeon, I did my best to save him. But he had selective amnesia. He could remember everything except me. He wanted to divorce me as soon as he opened his eyes.

When I wanted to keep him, I had a car accident. My husband refused to sign the surgery confirmation form and didn't care about my death. He even turned around and had a hot affair with Bianca. A few months later, his memory recovered and he started looking for me like crazy...

***

I am Marisca, a neurosurgeon at Capital Hospital.

It was my turn to work the night shift today. At 8:30, I had just finished my ward check and the phone in my pocket kept vibrating.

When I walked out of the ward, I glanced at my phone and smiled sweetly. It was my husband Murphy, the chairman of the country's leading pharmaceutical company and my college classmate. For me, he was once an unattainable star. And a year ago, I finally took off the star and walked into the palace of marriage with him.

Today was our first wedding anniversary. We had agreed to have dinner downstairs in the hospital after I finished my rounds, but he couldn't come because of work. After hanging up the phone, I stared at the snow-white walls in the hospital in a trance, feeling uneasy for no reason. The nights on duty are always extra long.

What I never expected was that I would see Murphy again not at home, but on the operating table. When the ambulance stopped outside the emergency passage of the hospital with a roar, I was waiting at the entrance with my assistants and nurses.

I saw a man covered in blood lying on a stretcher from a distance and I felt that the figure was very familiar. I ran to the stretcher and at a glance, I felt cold all over, the strings in my head seemed to be broken and my ears were buzzing.

Someone pulled me back and the stretcher passed quickly in front of me, but I was still unable to move. The deputy chief physician next to me held my arm, looked at me deeply and asked me if I needed to apply for recusation.

I was stunned for a few seconds, restarted my brain and shook my head to indicate that I didn't need it. With a deep breath, I donned my surgical gloves and followed the stretcher into the operating room, determined to save him, regardless of the emotional turmoil raging inside me.

This operation was the longest one I had ever experienced in my career. Murphy's internal organs were not seriously damaged. There was a rupture point in his spleen, which the attending physician of internal medicine sutured immediately.

The most critical issue was the large bleeding point in his brain. If not treated in time, he might become a vegetative state or suffer even more severe consequences. I dared not think about it.

The five-hour operation left me completely exhausted. After stepping off the operating table, my vision darkened from the excessive mental and physical strain. Watching Murphy being sent to the intensive care unit, I removed my blood-stained surgical gown and was about to walk out.

"Marisca, the operation was quite successful. You... you did your best," the dean said, patting my shoulder outside the operating room.

I nodded silently, barely registering his words. The adrenaline that had kept me focused throughout the surgery was now draining away, leaving me feeling hollow and numb.

Murphy's parents and several aunts took turns caring for him. Whenever I had a free moment, I would sit by his bed and talk to him, hoping that my voice would reach him somehow. In addition to the company's management, many of Murphy's friends came to visit, including his first love, Brianna.

Five years ago, Brianna went abroad to study piano and the spark that had just sprouted between them ended without success. It was only after Brianna left that I had the opportunity to get close to Murphy. It was said that it was easy for a girl to get close to someone, but I didn't expect that there would be three years between us. In those three years, after my persistent efforts, he finally agreed to my request for dating.

Now, seeing Brianna visiting him, I realized she had returned to Virginia three days ago and Murphy had an accident on the way to the airport three days ago. As soon as Brianna arrived at the bedside, she burst into tears. But I felt cold in my heart. She held his hand, tears streaming down her face and whispered things I couldn't hear. I stood at the back of the room, feeling like an outsider in my own life.

Since that day, Brianna had been visiting Murphy without fail. Murphy's parents also knew about their past relationship and chose to keep it a secret. They would glance at me with a mixture of pity and discomfort, as if unsure where I stood in this tangled web of relationships.

More than a month later, one afternoon, I was leaning against the bed, writing a work summary. The steady beeping of the machines was almost comforting, a reminder that Murphy was still with us, even if he was unconscious. Then, without any warning, he woke up.

When he saw me for the first time, he frowned. His voice was a little hoarse as he questioned his mother. "Why is she here?"

This "she" naturally referred to me. Both his mother and I were stunned. My heart sank, the room spinning slightly.

"My dear husband, what's wrong with you? Are you uncomfortable somewhere? Let me check for you," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, stepping closer to his bed.

Murphy was taken aback and asked, "Who is your husband? Marisca, can you have some shame?"

My steps froze instantly, my outstretched hand falling limply to my side.

"Murphy, this is your wife, Marisca," his mother said softly, glancing between us with a look of concern and confusion.

Murphy's eyes narrowed as he looked at me, his expression filled with a mixture of confusion and irritation. "I don't know who you are," he said coldly. "Why are you pretending to be my wife?"

His words hit me like a physical blow and I had to grip the side of the bed to steady myself.

"Mom! Don't talk nonsense, how can Marisca be my wife? I haven't married yet. Even if I get married, my wife can only be Brianna."

The words pierced through the room, leaving an uncomfortable silence in their wake. Murphy’s mother looked at me helplessly, her eyes filled with confusion and sorrow. I felt a sharp pain in my chest, like a knife twisting deeper with every word he spoke.

"What... amnesia?" I whispered, my voice trembling as I tried to process what was happening.

In the expert consultation room, the atmosphere was tense. I had been a doctor for decades and had encountered patients who had lost their memory after severe injuries, but the number was not large. I never expected this condition to affect Murphy.

"But he still remembers me, his family, his company and everyone else," I said, hoping for some logical explanation.

"It's called selective amnesia," one of the senior neurologists explained, his tone measured and clinical. "After the patient is severely injured, the brain can automatically turn on a sort of 'saving mode' to protect the information it deems important. Some memories, especially those considered unimportant or those the patient subconsciously wants to escape from, can be forgotten."

I sat there, absorbing his words. The reality of our situation began to sink in. Murphy had erased me from his life, his brain selectively forgetting the woman he married. I felt tears prickling at the corners of my eyes but fought to keep my composure.

"Is there a chance he will recover his memory?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, fearing the answer.

"It's possible," the senior neurologist replied, "but there are no guarantees. The brain is complex and recovery depends on many factors, including the severity of the injury and the emotional significance of the memories."

The room fell silent again. I nodded, though the words felt hollow. The man I loved, the man I had married, no longer knew who I was.