Erase My Love, Forget His Face

The first clue my life was a lie was a moan from the guest room. My husband of seven years wasn't in our bed. He was with my intern.

I discovered my husband, Brendan, was having a four-year affair with Kiya-the talented girl I was mentoring and personally paying tuition for.

The next morning, she sat at our breakfast table in his shirt while he made us pancakes. He lied to my face, promising he'd never love another, just before I learned she was pregnant with his child-a child he'd always refused to have with me.

The two people I trusted most in the world had conspired to destroy me. The pain wasn't something I could live with; it was an annihilation of my entire world.

So I made a call to a neuroscientist about his experimental, irreversible procedure. I didn't want revenge. I wanted to erase every memory of my husband and become his first test subject.

Chapter 1

Ellery POV:

The first clue that my life was a lie came not as a shout, but as a muffled moan from the guest room down the hall.

I blinked my eyes open, the digital clock on my nightstand glowing a soft, mocking 2:14 AM. The space beside me in our king-sized bed was cold. Empty. Brendan wasn' t there.

A knot of unease tightened in my stomach. He' d been working late for months, his tech empire demanding more and more of his time, but he always, always came to bed. Even if it was just to kiss my forehead and whisper that he was heading back to his home office, he always checked on me first.

I sat up, the silk sheet pooling around my waist. The house was still, wrapped in the deep silence of our secluded cliffside property. And then I heard it again. A low, feminine giggle, quickly shushed.

My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. It couldn' t be. Not in my house. Not in our home.

I slid out of bed, my bare feet silent on the cool hardwood floor. I didn' t turn on the lights. I moved like a ghost through the familiar shadows of the life I thought we had built. The hallway was a long, dark tunnel leading to a truth I wasn' t sure I could face.

As I drew closer to the guest room door, the voices became clearer. His voice, deep and familiar, a voice that had once saved my life and had promised to love me forever. And another voice. A younger voice, breathy and eager.

"Brendan, stop," she whispered, but her tone was playful, encouraging. "She' ll hear us."

My blood ran cold. She. I was she. The obstacle. The afterthought in my own home.

"She' s a heavy sleeper," Brendan murmured back, his voice thick with a desire I hadn' t heard in months. "Besides, she' s exhausted. She was in the studio all day."

The casual way he spoke of me, like a piece of furniture he had to navigate around, was a physical blow. I pressed my ear against the cold wood of the door, my breath caught in my throat.

"Is she really that good?" the girl asked, her voice laced with a strange mix of admiration and challenge. "The great Ellery Rich. The architectural prodigy."

"She' s brilliant," Brendan said, and for a sickening second, I felt a flicker of hope. He was defending me. But then he added, "But you, Kiya... you have something she doesn' t."

Kiya.

The name ricocheted through my skull.

Kiya Schmitt.

My intern. My mentee. The quiet, talented girl I' d taken under my wing, the one I was personally mentoring, paying for her final year of tuition out of my own pocket because she reminded me of myself at that age-hungry, ambitious, and alone.

I had grown up in the foster care system, a world of temporary homes and conditional affection. I learned early to be self-reliant, to build my own walls, to never expect anyone to stay. Then Brendan came along. He hadn't just stayed; he had built a fortress around me, his love the mortar holding every brick in place. He was my family. The only family I had ever truly had.

And Kiya... I saw that same loneliness in her eyes. I had vouched for her, championed her work, brought her into my firm, into my life. I had told Brendan how proud I was of her, how she was going to be a star one day.

It seemed she was already a star in his eyes. Just not in the way I' d intended.

"Oh yeah?" Kiya' s voice was a purr now. "And what' s that?"

I didn' t need to hear his answer. I could imagine it. Youth. Awe. The thrill of the forbidden. Everything I, at thirty-two, supposedly no longer possessed.

The sounds that followed-the rustle of sheets, the soft, rhythmic creaks of the bed-were a confirmation that shattered the foundation of my entire world. This wasn't a one-time mistake. This was a comfortable, established routine. They were doing this in my home, in a room just down the hall from where I slept, a room I had designed.

I backed away from the door, my hand clamped over my mouth to stifle a sob. Betrayal wasn't a strong enough word. This was an annihilation. The two people I trusted most in the world, the man I had given my whole heart to and the girl I had tried to give a future to, had conspired to destroy me.

I wanted it gone. All of it. The seven years of marriage, the memory of his hands on my skin, the sound of his laughter, the sight of the home we built together. I wanted to scrape him out of my brain until there was nothing left but a clean, empty space.

I stumbled back to my bedroom, my movements stiff and robotic. I didn' t look at our wedding photos on the wall. I didn' t look at the city skyline I had designed, the one that had made my name. I snatched my phone from the nightstand.

My fingers trembled as I scrolled through my contacts, past Brendan' s name, past my friends, until I found the one I needed. Dr. Evans Calderon. My old college mentor. A leading neuroscientist whose work was so groundbreaking it was practically science fiction.

A few months ago, over a reunion dinner, he' d told me about his latest project, his voice low and secretive. A highly classified, experimental procedure designed to target and eliminate specific memory pathways. A way to erase trauma. At the time, I' d been fascinated from a purely academic standpoint.

Now, it was my only lifeline.

The phone rang twice before he picked up, his voice groggy with sleep. "Ellery? Is everything alright? It' s the middle of the night."

Tears streamed silently down my face, hot and useless. "Evans," I choked out, my voice a stranger' s, raw and broken. "The experiment you told me about... the one that erases memories."

A worried pause on the other end. "What about it, Ellery?"

I took a shuddering breath, the decision crystallizing in my soul with the cold, hard finality of a diamond.

"I want to be your first subject."

Ellery POV:

Evans was silent on the other end of the line for a long moment. I could practically hear the gears turning in his brilliant mind, processing the sheer desperation in my voice.

"Ellery, this isn' t a spa treatment," he said finally, his tone shifting from sleepy to sharply alert. "This is a radical, irreversible procedure. It' s designed for soldiers with extreme PTSD, for victims of catastrophic events. What in God' s name happened?"

I couldn' t tell him. I couldn' t form the words. To speak it aloud would be to make it even more real, and I was already drowning in the reality of it.

"Is your husband... is Brendan okay?" he asked, his voice softening with concern. He knew our story. He knew Brendan had been my rock, my biggest supporter, the man who had literally pulled me from the wreckage of a car crash years ago.

"He' s fine," I said, the words tasting like ash. "He' s just fine."

"Then what is it? Ellery, you' re one of the most resilient people I know. You built a life, an empire, from nothing. Whatever this is, you can get through it."

"No," I whispered, staring at my reflection in the dark window-a hollow-eyed stranger. "Not this. Some things you don' t get through. You just... cut them out."

He sighed, a heavy, weary sound. "The protocol isn' t even finalized. We have no idea what the long-term side effects could be. Wiping a specific traumatic event is one thing, but what you' re implying... erasing a person, a whole section of your life... it could cause cascading memory loss. It could change who you are."

"Good," I said, my voice flat. "That' s the point. I don' t want to be this person anymore."

"Are there... are there any test subjects needed for the special element you mentioned? The one that could provide a clean slate?" I asked, remembering a detail from our dinner conversation. He had mentioned a component, a serum, still in its theoretical phase, that could not only erase but help build a new, albeit blank, identity scaffold.

His voice turned serious, almost stern. "Ellery, what are you asking?"

"I' m volunteering," I stated, my resolve hardening with every second that passed. The muffled sounds from down the hall had stopped, and a new, more terrifying silence had taken their place. Soon, he would slip back into our bed, his body smelling of another woman, and pretend nothing had happened.

"This is not a decision to be made at two in the morning," he insisted.

"This is the only decision," I countered. "Evans, please. You' re the only one who can help me. I need to disappear. I need to forget."

There was another long pause. I held my breath, my entire future hanging on his answer. He knew my history, my deep-seated fear of abandonment, the fierce loyalty I placed in the family I had built for myself. He knew that for me to want to detonate that family, the betrayal must have been absolute.

"Meet me at the lab tomorrow afternoon," he said finally, his voice laced with grave resignation. "We' ll talk. And Ellery... don' t do anything drastic until then."

But it was already too late. The most drastic thing had already been done to me.

I hung up the phone and slid back under the covers, turning my back to the door. I lay perfectly still, my body rigid, my eyes wide open in the dark. I practiced my breathing, slowing it down, mimicking the rhythm of sleep.

Minutes later, the bedroom door creaked open.

I didn' t flinch.

I felt the dip in the mattress as his weight settled beside me. I felt the warmth of his body as he moved closer, the familiar scent of his cologne now tainted with something else-the faint, cloying perfume Kiya always wore.

His arm snaked around my waist, pulling me against his chest. His lips, the same lips that had been on her just moments ago, pressed against the back of my neck. A wave of nausea rolled through me, so powerful I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from gagging.

I flinched and pushed his arm away, a purely instinctual reaction of disgust.

"Ellery?" he murmured, his voice thick with fake sleepiness. "Baby, you awake?"

"Go to sleep, Brendan," I said, my voice muffled by the pillow. "You have an early meeting."

He didn' t seem to notice the ice in my tone. He just chuckled, a low, satisfied sound that made my skin crawl. He wrapped his arm around me again, tighter this time, his hand splaying possessively across my stomach.

"Just dreaming," he mumbled into my hair. "Dreamed you left me. Scared the hell out of me."

The bitter irony of it was a physical pain. He was scared.

"I' m here," I said, letting him believe his lie. But in my mind, I was already gone. I was picking out a new name. June. June Bennett. A simple, unassuming name. A name with no history, no ghosts. I was picturing the new ID, the new passport. I was planning my escape, liquidating my assets, charting a course to a new life where the name Brendan Wiggins meant nothing.

The sounds of his quiet snores soon filled the room. He was exhausted, of course. He' d had a busy night.

I waited until the sun began to bleed through the blinds before I moved. He left for his morning run, and I went straight to the bathroom, brushing my teeth until my gums were raw, trying to scrub the phantom taste of his betrayal from my mouth.

When I came downstairs, the scene in the kitchen was so grotesquely domestic it felt like something from a nightmare. Kiya was sitting at our breakfast bar, sipping orange juice, her bare legs tucked under her on the stool. She was wearing one of Brendan' s oversized t-shirts, the neck hanging off one shoulder. She looked up as I entered, her expression a perfect mask of innocent sweetness.

"Morning, Ellery!" she chirped. "You' re up early."

Brendan was at the stove, flipping pancakes. He turned, a broad, handsome smile on his face, a smile that had once made my heart soar and now just made me want to vomit.

"Morning, baby," he said, his voice full of warmth. "I saved you some batter." He pointed with his spatula to a plate he' d set at my usual spot.

"You' re so lucky, Ellery," Kiya sighed, propping her chin on her hand. "Brendan is the most attentive husband in the world. He spoils you rotten."

I met her eyes over the rim of my coffee mug. The challenge was there, glittering in their depths.

"He is," I said, my voice dangerously calm. "He gives everyone exactly what they deserve."

Brendan, oblivious, chuckled. "I just take care of the people I care about. My wife, obviously, comes first. But I look out for my wife' s protégée too."

The casual way he compartmentalized us, his wife and his mistress, sitting at the same table, was breathtaking in its arrogance.

I set my mug down with a soft click. "Brendan," I asked, my voice very clear. "Do you love me?"

He looked startled by the directness of the question. Kiya froze, her fork halfway to her mouth.

"Of course I love you," he said, his brow furrowing in confusion. "You' re the only woman I' ve ever loved. You know that."

His words were a well-worn script, smooth and practiced. But last night, I had heard the unscripted version.

"I was just wondering," I said, stirring my untouched coffee. "Do you think it' s possible for a man to love two women at the same time?"

He scoffed, a confident, dismissive sound. "No. Of course not. Love isn' t something you can divide. When you truly love someone, there' s no room for anyone else. It' s all-consuming."

I held his gaze, my own expression unreadable. "I agree."

"Why are you asking these strange questions, El?" he asked, a hint of irritation in his voice.

"No reason," I said, taking a slow sip of coffee. "Just a hypothetical. If you ever did fall in love with someone else, you' d tell me, right? You wouldn' t just... keep me around?"

He came around the island and put his hands on my shoulders, leaning in to kiss my forehead. I had to fight the urge to recoil.

"That will never happen," he said, his voice a low, sincere promise. "But if it did, I would never hold you against your will."

"Good to know," I said, my voice a dead calm. "Because if that day ever came, I wouldn' t fight. I would just leave. And I would make sure I forgot everything about you."

Ellery POV:

Brendan laughed, a rich, confident sound that filled the kitchen. He thought I was joking, being dramatic. The arrogance of it was staggering.

"You' d never leave me, El," he said, squeezing my shoulders. "We' re endgame. You and me."

He tried to pull me into a hug, but I resisted, a subtle tensing of my muscles that he, for once, seemed to notice. A flicker of something-annoyance? suspicion?-crossed his face before he smoothed it away.

I could smell her perfume on his shirt, mingled with the scent of pancakes and stale sex. It was suffocating.

"I' m going to be late for my meeting," I said, slipping out from under his hands and moving towards the door. I needed to get out of there before I shattered into a million pieces.

"Wait, El," he called after me. "What about your designs for the waterfront project? You said you needed to drop them at the city planning office. I can take them for you."

My blood ran cold. He was testing me. Checking to see if my routine was unchanged, if his world was still securely in its orbit.

"It' s fine," I said without turning around. "I can handle it."

"You' re sure?"

"I' m sure," I said, pushing the door open and stepping out into the cool morning air, gasping for breath as if I' d been held underwater.

I didn' t go to the office. I didn' t go to the city planning department. I drove, aimlessly at first, the pristine glass and steel towers of the city I had helped shape blurring past my window. My city. My life. A beautiful, intricate facade built on a foundation of lies.

I drove until I found myself in a part of town I rarely visited, a gritty, anonymous neighborhood of pawn shops and check-cashing places. I parked in front of a small, nondescript office with a sign that read "Documents & Duplicates."

Inside, a man with tired eyes and a practiced, incurious expression looked up from his computer.

"I need a new identity," I said, the words feeling foreign and powerful on my tongue.

He didn't blink. He just nodded toward a chair. "It'll cost you. Rush job costs more."

"I don't care about the cost," I said, pulling a bundle of cash from my purse-the emergency fund I had always kept, a relic from my foster care days when I knew I could only ever truly rely on myself.

An hour later, I walked out with a pristine driver' s license, birth certificate, and social security card. The face in the photos was mine, but the name was different.

June Bennett.

I said the name aloud in the confines of my car. It felt clean. Unburdened.

That afternoon, I met Evans at his lab. It was a sterile, white space, humming with the quiet energy of cutting-edge technology. He looked at my pale face and the dark circles under my eyes, and his professional demeanor softened.

"Ellery," he said gently. "Talk to me."

So I did. I told him everything. The sounds in the night, the name I heard, the sickening discovery. I told him about the four years of mentoring Kiya, the tuition I paid, the trust I' d placed in her. I told him about Brendan' s lies, the way he' d looked at me that morning as if I were the center of his universe while his mistress sat feet away in his t-shirt.

I didn' t cry. I was beyond tears. My voice was a flat monotone, reciting facts, each one another shovelful of dirt on the grave of my old life.

When I finished, he was silent, his expression a mixture of pity and horror.

"The procedure..." I began.

He held up a hand. "Wiping the memories is the easy part, relatively speaking. The serum-the 'special element' -is what makes a true clean slate possible. It creates a state of temporary, heightened neuroplasticity. It helps the brain accept a new narrative, a new identity, without the psychological schisms that would normally occur. It essentially... reboots your sense of self."

He looked at me, his eyes full of a terrible weight. "It' s never been tested on a human. The risks are astronomical. We' re talking about the very fabric of your consciousness, Ellery."

"I' ll take the risk," I said without hesitation.

He nodded slowly, as if he' d expected this. He knew me. He knew that when I made up my mind, it was set in stone. "I can have the serum synthesized and shipped. It will have to be done discreetly, through international channels. It will take a few days."

"How many?"

"Three," he said. "It will arrive on the 24th."

Brendan' s birthday. The universe had a sick sense of humor.

"Fine," I said. "I' ll book my flight."

When I got home that evening, Brendan was waiting for me, his face a mask of anxious relief.

"Ellery! Where have you been?" he exclaimed, rushing to me and pulling me into a suffocating hug. "Your phone was off, you weren' t at the office... I was about to call the police!"

I stood stiffly in his arms, the smell of him making my stomach turn. "My phone died," I said, my voice flat. "I went for a drive."

He pulled back, his hands still gripping my arms, his eyes searching my face. "A drive? All day? But... I saw the boxes in your closet. The ones you packed with your clothes."

Fear, sharp and sudden, pierced through my numbness. He' d been snooping.

"I' m donating them," I said quickly, the lie coming easily. "To the women' s shelter. It' s time for a clear-out."

The relief that washed over his face was instantaneous and absolute. He believed me. He wanted to believe me.

"Oh," he said, his grip loosening. "Oh, thank God. El, you scared me. Don' t you ever do that to me again. Don' t you ever, ever leave me." His voice was thick with emotion, a masterful performance of a terrified, loving husband.

I just looked at him, my heart a dead, heavy stone in my chest. "I won' t," I promised.

He would leave for his "business trip" with Kiya in two days. I had until then to finish erasing Ellery Rich.

The next day, I took my wedding ring to a custom jewelry shop in a part of town Brendan would never visit. It was a simple, elegant platinum band with a flawless three-carat diamond, a ring he had designed himself.

I slid it off my finger. It felt strange, my hand suddenly light and free.

"I need you to melt this," I told the jeweler, placing the ring on the velvet mat.

He stared at me, then at the ring, his eyes wide. "Melt it? Ma' am, this is a beautiful piece. Platinum, a VVS1 diamond at least... Why would you want to melt it?"

"Just do it," I said, my voice leaving no room for argument. "Melt the platinum band into an unrecognizable lump. Give me the diamond back separately."

He looked like I' d asked him to commit a murder. But the look in my eyes, and the cash I slid across the counter, convinced him.

I left the shop with a small, black velvet box. Inside was a single, perfect diamond and a small, ugly lump of gray metal that had once symbolized forever.

When I pulled up to the house, the scene was one of chaos. Two police cars were parked in the driveway, their lights flashing. Brendan was on the front lawn, talking animatedly to an officer, his expression frantic.

He saw my car and his face crumpled in what looked like profound relief. He ran to me as I got out, pulling me into a crushing, desperate hug.

"Ellery! Oh my God, Ellery!" he cried, his voice breaking. The police officers and our housekeeper watched with sympathetic expressions.

"What' s going on?" I asked, my body rigid in his embrace.

"I came home, you were gone, your car was gone... I thought..." He buried his face in my neck, his body trembling. Another command performance.

"I told you, my phone died," I said, pulling away. "I went to run some errands."

"All day? Without a word?" one of the officers asked, his tone skeptical.

Before I could answer, Brendan jumped to my defense. "It' s my fault. I' ve been smothering her. She just needed some space." He turned back to me, his eyes pleading. "But please, El, just tell me where you' re going next time. I can' t lose you. I would die if I lost you."

He was a phenomenal actor. I almost had to admire the commitment.

Then his eyes fell on the small black box in my hand.