Hearts Remember What Minds Try To Forget by Rex Wilder 55

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Although the doctor had said Annalise could be discharged in a day, 

the Thwaites family parents weren’t reassured, so they repeatedly insisted on staying a few more days to observe the situation. 

Rufus also agreed. 

Thus, for five consecutive days, Rufus stayed by Annalise’s hospital bed. 

From expensive imported post–surgery supplements to limited–edition flowers, as long as Annalise casually mentioned something, he would immediately arrange it. 

And sometimes he would even prepare things personally. 

The hospital room was piled with exquisitely packaged gift boxes. Annalise held up her phone for a selfie against the backdrop of gifts, coquettishly asking, “Rufus, does this angle look good?” 

“Does it seem a bit weird?” 

Rufus nodded absentmindedly, but his gaze swept over the social media post Annalise had just shared- 

a nine–grid collage featuring bracelets and jewelry he’d gifted, captioned “Only the favored can afford to be reckless.” 

In the likes list, Carice’s name stood out conspicuously. 

But she quickly unliked it. 

His fingertips trembled slightly as he exited the interface, accidentally opening their chat box–the last message still lingered on that line:” I agree to the divorce.” 

What exactly does Carice mean by this? 

On the day Annalise was discharged from the hospital, she took a fancy to a limited–edition bag, and Rufus agreed as usual. 

The two arrived at the mall, Annalise picked a gray one, and just as Rufus was about to swipe his card, he suddenly remembered that Carice seemed to like this brand too. 

As if possessed, he said to the clerk, “Same model, two of them.” 

The clerk seemed unfazed by this and quietly prepared the bags, even placing them directly in the back seat of the car. 

So much so that Annalise didn’t notice anything the whole way. 

When Rufus finished sending Annalise home and carried the bags back himself, he found the house empty, and Carice wasn’t home either. Rufus’s grip on the shopping bag suddenly tightened. As if remembering something, he rushed into the bedroom and rummaged through the closet–all of Carice’s clothes had already vanished. 

Even her Social Security Card and other documents seemed to be gone. 

She didn’t decide to leave suddenly; she had planned this long ago. 

He panicked and started calling her, but after several attempts, Carice’s number became etched in his mind, yet the receiver only played the mechanical electronic prompt tone. 

“The number you have dialed is currently switched off. Please try again later.” 

Rufus collapsed onto the sofa. 

All the messages he sent were rejected, a sea of red exclamation marks that made his vision blur. 

He suddenly remembered the birthday gift the bodyguard had mentioned and rushed to the garage like a madman. 

In the trunk, the silver gift box lay quietly in the corner, sealed with Carice‘ delicate handwriting: “To Rufus, to be opened personally.” With trembling hands, he unwrapped the package, only to find the divorce agreement between him and Carice. In the space for the wife’s signature, the name “Carice” was written with forceful strokes. 

Beneath the agreement was a note, still in 

neat handwriting:“Wishing you and Annalise happiness.” 

Rufus’s hand clenched the note so tightly that veins bulged, his nails nearly tearing through the paper. 

His phone suddenly vibrated–Annalise had sent another message: “Thanks for buying me the limited edition! All my friends are so jealous!” 

In the attached photo, Annalise held up the bag he bought, beaming with joy. 

Rufus stared at the screen, his throat tightening, his mind filled only with thoughts of Carice. 

“How could this happen? Didn’t she love me deeply?” 

Rufus muttered to himself in the silent garage.