I Took The Pill To Forget Him

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of our Upper East Side penthouse, the New York City skyline glittered like a flowing river of crushed diamonds. Arthur stood by the glass, his bespoke suit accentuating his broad shoulders and lean frame. He held a glass of Macallan, the ice cubes clinking crisply against the crystal. 

"Evelyn, it's just a temporary separation agreement for three months." His voice carried the same unquestionable arrogance and entitlement he used when barking orders in a boardroom.

"Chloe's bone cancer is terminal. The doctors say she has two months left, tops. Her biggest regret in life is never making it down the aisle with me. I promised to make her my wife before she passes."

I sat on the cream leather sofa, staring at the coffee table. On it lay the Temporary Separation Agreement, already bearing his signature, and next to it, an unlabeled white pill bottle.

"So, you need me to take this?" I pointed at the bottle, my voice so calm it even surprised me.

Three years ago, the Evelyn who turned down a prestigious offer from the Geneva Institute of Zurich just to stay home and make him stomach-soothing soups would have broken down in tears right now.

She would have screamed, asking how he could trample all over our marriage like this. But now? The man standing in front of me felt like a complete stranger. Or maybe this was who he always was, and I had just been blinded by so-called love.

Arthur turned around, his brows furrowing slightly. He seemed caught off guard that I wasn't throwing my usual hysterical fit. 

He walked over and looked down at me. His tone softened, yet it still reeked of condescension. "This is a new short-term amnesia drug I had my medical team source from the black market. Just take it, and you'll temporarily forget our feelings for each other. You'll forget I'm your husband. That way, during the three-week prep and the actual wedding, you won't feel any pain seeing Chloe and me together."

He was lying. 

As someone who was once the youngest PhD in Neuroscience in the country, I knew exactly what was in that bottle better than anyone. I was the lead researcher who developed it in the lab five years ago. Code name: NZ-48, a targeted memory-erasing agent. It wasn't a "short-term drug" at all. Its mechanism irreversibly destroys the neural synapses in the hippocampus associated with specific emotional attachments. 

Once swallowed, all emotional memories tied to a specific person are completely and permanently wiped out within twenty-one days. There is no antidote. No chance of recovery. 

"Once Chloe is gone, I'll stop your medication immediately, and we'll remarry. I'll transfer the twenty-million-dollar penthouse in the Financial District to your name as compensation." Seeing my silence, Arthur assumed I was hesitating and kept throwing out his bargaining chips. In his eyes, love, marriage, and even my pain were just assets that could be priced and traded.

"Okay." I picked up the Montblanc pen from the table and, without a second of hesitation, signed my name on the separation agreement. 

A flash of shock crossed Arthur's eyes. He had probably prepared a whole speech to deal with my crying and begging, never expecting me to agree so readily. He watched as I unscrewed the white bottle and shook out a pale blue pill.

"Evelyn..." The moment he opened his mouth, I popped the pill onto my tongue and swallowed it down with half a glass of cold water. 

I leaned back against the sofa and closed my eyes. According to my clinical data from back then, the drug would kick in after twelve hours. My brain would be like a hard drive running a format command, bit by bit wiping out every ounce of love I ever had for a man named Arthur Sterling.

"Get some good rest tonight." Arthur seemed to breathe a sigh of relief watching me swallow the pill. He walked over, leaning in to kiss my forehead.

I tilted my head slightly, dodging his touch. His hand froze in mid-air, and his face instantly darkened. "Evelyn, don't throw a tantrum. I already told you, this is just a temporary fix. You're the one I love. Chloe is just a dying woman. Are you seriously jealous of someone on their deathbed?"

"I'm not jealous, Arthur." I opened my eyes, meeting his gaze with absolute clarity. "If you're sick, go see your doctor. If you're just having a psychotic break, take the elevator down and check yourself into a mental hospital. I want to sleep. Get out."

Arthur's face turned livid. He was so used to my docility and compromises that this cold, hard attitude felt like a direct challenge to his authority. "Whatever. The drug kicks in tomorrow. Let's hope you're just as rational then as you are now." He scoffed coldly, snatched up his suit jacket, and slammed the door behind him.

Dead silence returned to the penthouse. I pulled out my phone and dialed my mentor at the Geneva Institute. 

"Professor? It's Evelyn. Yes, I've thought it through. I'll take the Lead Researcher position. I'll be in Switzerland to report for duty in exactly three weeks."

After hanging up, I casually blocked Arthur's number and all his social media accounts. Day one, the countdown had begun. He thought I'd just wait around for him like I always did. Too bad for him—the Evelyn who loved him is never coming back.