We were married for 11 years. Our marriage was an arranged one since our parents were business partners. But from the beginning, Izan never showed the same interest in me that I had for him. Before our marriage, he had a girlfriend named Zilla, and they had been together for six years. However, they were forced to separate.

I still vividly remember the day Zilla begged me to stop the wedding. She was kneeling on the ground, pleading with me. I wished I could do something, but I was too afraid. Izan never accepted me as his wife—he only went through with the marriage because of his parents. He never approached me or spoke to me unless necessary.

Now, after 11 years of marriage, Izan has been in a car accident. He suffered a severe head injury that led to Alzheimer's disease. The only part of his memory that remains intact is from when he was 14—when he was still with Zilla.

He was backyard sitying I quietly prepared his breakfast, setting it on the tray with trembling hands. As I approached, he turned to me, his tired eyes lighting up—not with recognition of me, but of someone else.

“Zilla,” he whispered, his voice filled with longing, as if he had been waiting years to see her again. My heart clenched.

“I thought you left… You said you wouldn’t, but you did.” His fingers brushed against mine, gentle, aching. “I missed you.”

Tears burned at the back of my eyes, but I swallowed them down. I wanted to tell him—wanted to scream—that I wasn’t Zilla. That I was his wife, the one who had been by his side for eleven years. But what good would it do? To him, I was just a stranger, an echo of a love that was never mine to hold.

So I forced a smile, my voice barely steady. “I’m here.”

His smile faltered as he looked at me more closely. His brows furrowed, his expression softening with concern. “Why do you look so sad?” His fingers tightened slightly around mine, as if trying to comfort me. “Did something happen?”