I Married a Man Who Remembered Nothing About His Past – Then an Anonymous Note Led Me to a Door I Wish I Had Never Opened

She sipped her coffee, not quite convinced. “Just promise me you’ll keep your eyes open.”

***

Sometimes I’d hear David humming along to old songs on the radio, wiping at his eyes when he thought I wasn’t looking.

“Weird, right?” he said once, catching my gaze. “Songs are supposed to be memories, aren’t they?”

“You’re still you,” I told him, wrapping my arms around him. “Memories or not.”

***

After eight months, we got married in my backyard under fairy lights. Sadie cried through our vows. Daisy wore a ridiculous little tutu.

It felt perfect.

But perfect never lasts.

We got married in my backyard under fairy lights.

Three months after our wedding, small things started to bother me. David would slip away to take calls in the backyard, speaking so softly I could barely hear. Sometimes he’d come home late, blaming “work” at a job I never saw him leave for.

His laptop was always locked. I tried not to pry, but one night, while folding laundry, I found a crumpled slip of paper in his jeans. Across the top, in purple crayon, were the words:

“Daddy’s List”

• apples
• bandages
• purple crayons
• batteries for fox toy

My stomach dropped.

His laptop was always locked.

“Whose is this?” I asked when he came into the room.

David froze. The color drained from his face so fast it scared me.

“I… I found it somewhere,” he said. “At work maybe. Or in a book. I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” I repeated.

“Talia —”

“Why are your hands shaking?”

He looked at the list like it might betray him all on its own. “I said I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”