Divorcing the Stranger I Married

I have amnesia. I remember everyone—except him.

I studied my handsome, grumpy, and very clearly not-in-love-with-me husband and shrugged.

"Let's get a divorce," I said.

When Jesse picked me up from the hospital, I nearly dialed 911. The only thing that stopped me was the marriage certificate shoved in my face.

I squinted at the photo—two people who looked about as happy as cats in a bathtub—and asked, "Are you really my husband? Because you don't seem to like me very much."

Jesse's annoyed expression flickered.

"I wouldn't marry someone who doesn't love me either," I added. "There's gotta be some mistake."

Jesse didn't answer. He just took me home.

The door swung open to pitch-black darkness.

"Damn it—" He stubbed his toe on the entryway step. "Why is this thing so high?"

I had no memory of this house. No clue how to answer.

He fumbled along the wall, cursing under his breath. "Where's the damn light switch?"

"Isn't this your house?" I shot back.

Silence. Then—finally—his fingers brushed against the switch hidden behind a vase.

Light flooded the entryway, chasing away shadows that had felt almost alive.

A flicker of memory: No matter how late, the entryway light always stayed on, waiting for Jesse—just like I used to.

Then I noticed the torn sticky note in his hand.

My handwriting. It read: Hey Jesse, congrats on finding the switch!

I snorted. "Was I that petty?"

Jesse tossed the note aside. "Not just petty. Jealous, too."

I crossed my arms. "So you are seeing someone else."

He choked, then exploded. "Sarah, cut the act! I don't have time for your games!"

Everyone thought I was faking. No accident, no head trauma—just woke up one day with no memory of Jesse.

But my heart? It ached for him.

I smirked. "You're guilty."

Jesse ignored me, storming into the living room.

The light switch there was perfectly placed—for him. He collapsed onto the cream sofa, pointedly pretending I didn't exist.

I eyed the switch. He could flick it without thinking. I'd have to stretch.

"I've been real nice to myself, huh," I muttered.

Jesse's glare could've melted steel. "Are you trying to piss me off? I said no more games!"

I dropped into the chair across from him, scanning the room. "Then don't play." I pulled out the marriage certificate. "Let's get a divorce."