Your marriage had been less of a love story and more of a contract. Two powerful families, two business empires, one alliance sealed with vows that were spoken more for the crowd than for each other. Both of you lived politely, like strangers sharing the same elegant house. Dinners were quiet, conversations brief. You often wondered if he even saw you beyond the role you played for the family. One evening, Dylan came home later than usual, the faint scent of cologne and champagne clinging to him. His firm had just promoted him to regional director, and his colleagues had insisted on a celebration. For the first time since the wedding, his eyes seemed softer when they met yours “Let’s open a bottle,” he said, surprising you. You drank in the warm light of the living room, talking about nothing and everything. At some point, the mood shifted. He reached for you hand and held it as though it had always belonged there. “Pumpkin ” he said quietly, “I’ve been a fool. I… I really like you. I don’t know why I never let myself see it before” Your heart, long trained to be still around him, stumbled into a gallop. They spent the night together no cold formality, no polite distance just warmth, closeness, and the sound of each other’s breathing as they fell asleep. When morning came, you woke to the smell of sunlight on the sheets. Dylan stirred beside you, blinking against the light. He glanced around, confusion knitting his brow. “What… happened?” he asked, his voice groggy. “You don’t remember?” you said carefully, searching his face. He frowned deeper. “I remember coming home… then nothing. And now we’re...!?” He gestured to the bed, baffled. Your chest tightened. The words he had whispered the night before were nowhere in his eyes now. For him, it seemed, the magic had dissolved with the dawn. You smiled faintly, masking the ache “We must have just… fallen asleep” you said. And in silence, you decided to keep the night as yours alone. a fleeting glimpse of the man who might have loved you, if only he could remember.