He Hated A Love I Forgot

My memory was gone, a blank slate wiped clean each day. I lived a life guided by Post-it notes-simple instructions that told me who I was, what to eat, and to be polite to visitors.

Then he came back. Jax, the man I supposedly abandoned for money seven years ago, was now a billionaire. He stood at my door with his new fiancée, his eyes burning with a hatred I couldn't place.

He forced me onto a humiliating reality show, turning my broken mind into a public spectacle. He tore down my notes, my only connection to myself, and let the world watch as I nearly drowned in a tank of ice water. When my brother tried to save me, he was arrested for assault.

To free my brother, I had to confess. I stood before the world and apologized for a betrayal I couldn't even remember, becoming the monster everyone believed me to be.

But as I spoke the lies he fed me, a single detail about a stolen necklace made his perfect world shatter. He finally saw the truth in my empty eyes. It was just seven years too late.

Chapter 1

My head throbbed. Sometimes it felt like a broken record, playing the same three seconds over and over again. Other times, it was static. Just white noise.

I forgot things. Big things. Small things. Everything in between.

There were Post-it notes everywhere. On the fridge. On the walls. On my hand. They told me what to do. They told me who I was.

Today, a note on the door said: "Expect visitors. Be polite."

The doorbell rang. It made me jump. My heart picked up speed.

I opened the door.

A man stood there. Tall. Dark hair. Sharp eyes. He looked familiar, but I couldn't place him. My head felt fuzzy.

Beside him, a woman. Blonde, perfectly made up. She wore a dress that shimmered. Her smile was too wide.

The man stared at me. His eyes raked over my faded jeans, my worn-out sweater.

He let out a short, cold laugh. "Seven years, Joleen. And this is what you've become."

I frowned. "Do I know you?"

The woman beside him tightened her grip on his arm. Her smile vanished, replaced by a smirk.

"Don't play dumb, Joleen," the man said. His voice was low, angry. "Or is it the rich old man finally broke your brain?"

I shook my head. "I don't understand."

He scoffed. "Still pretending? Fine. Harlow, my love, let's not waste our time."

Harlow. That was her name. It was written on a Post-it note somewhere. I think.

"Would you like some water? Or tea?" I asked. The note on the table said: "Offer guests a drink."

Jax, the man, just stared at me. His jaw was tight.

Harlow just rolled her eyes.

"Okay," I mumbled. I turned and headed to the tiny kitchen.

I needed to find the cups. A Post-it on the cabinet said: "Cups: top shelf, left."

My hands shook a little as I reached for them. The glass clinked against another.

Another note said: "Water: fridge door."

I pulled out the pitcher. But then, I paused. Where was the sugar?

I scanned the countertop. No Post-it for sugar. My brain felt like a tangled mess of yarn.

"What's taking so long?" Jax's voice cut through the silence. It was sharp, impatient.

"Just getting the sugar," I called back. My voice was small.

I finally found the sugar in a jar. Hidden behind the coffee. I poured two glasses of water. Added sugar to one, just in case.

I carried the tray out, my hands trembling even more. The water sloshed. A few drops spilled onto the tray. They made a tiny splash sound.

Jax was watching me. His gaze felt heavy.

Harlow stepped forward. She took the tray from my hands. Her fingers were long and cold.

"Look at you, Joleen," Harlow said. Her voice was sweet, but her eyes were cold. "Seven years. And you haven't changed a bit. Still a mess."

She handed one glass to Jax. He took a long, slow drink.

Then she placed the other glass heavily on the small coffee table in front of me. It made a thud.

"Who are you?" I asked again. My voice was a whisper.

Harlow's perfect smile tightened. She linked her arm through Jax's. She squeezed.

"I'm Harlow Bridges," she announced. Her voice was loud and clear. "Jax's fiancée."

She paused, just for a second. "And we're getting married. We came back to tell everyone. Especially you."

I felt a strange pang in my chest. A feeling I couldn't name.

"Oh," I said. "Congratulations." It felt like the right thing to say.

I looked down at my hands. I picked at a loose thread on my sweater.

Jax slammed his glass onto the table. The sound made me flinch.

"Congratulations?" he snarled. His eyes were blazing. "What right do you have to congratulate anyone, Joleen? Still playing the innocent act?"

He stood up. His tall frame cast a shadow over me. My breath caught in my throat.

"You left me," he said. His voice was a low growl. "For some rich old man. You threw away everything we had. Everything."

"You think I forgot?" he continued. "You think I'd ever forget how you humiliated me? How you ruined me?"

"Now look at me. I'm a billionaire. A tech mogul. Worlds away from this dump. Worlds away from you."

"And you," he spat. "You're still playing the victim. This memory loss act? It's pathetic, Joleen. It truly is."

He leaned closer. His breath hot on my face. "Don't think for a second I'm going to feel sorry for you. Don't think for a second I'm going to look back."

He reached out. His fingers clamped around my jaw. He tilted my head up roughly.

"Look at you," he said, his voice laced with disgust. "The pretty girl from high school. Wasted. Ugly."

My jaw ached. My vision swam.

"It hurts," I whispered.

He let out a harsh laugh. "It hurts? You remember pain, Joleen? Good. Because you caused me more pain than you could ever imagine."

Jax finally let go of my face. He pushed my head away with a harsh movement. My neck snapped back.

He turned from me. His eyes found the wall covered in my Post-it notes. His face twisted in a sneer.

He kicked the wall. The sound was loud. A few notes fluttered to the floor.

"What is this garbage?" he growled. "Your life's instructional manual? Don't tell me you need notes to breathe, too."

He started to rip them down. One by one. He read them aloud, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

" 'Remember to eat breakfast.' 'Take medication at 8 AM.' 'Colton calls on Tuesday.' "

He tore another one. " 'This is your home.' "

He laughed, a cruel, harsh sound. "You need a reminder of where you live, Joleen? What a genius. Or is this all part of the act? To get sympathy?"

My Post-it notes. They were my anchors. My lifeboat in a sea of forgotten moments. They were my proof that I was still here.

I tried to get up from the chair. My legs felt like jelly. I slid to the floor.

"Please," I croaked. "Don't. Don't tear them."

I crawled on my hands and knees. Trying to gather the scattered pieces of paper. They were my memories. My instructions. My life.

Jax watched me. A cold, detached look in his eyes.

He put his foot down. Right on top of a small yellow note. My hand reached for it, but his shoe was too heavy.

He bent down. Slowly. He picked up the note from under his foot.

It was an old one. Faded ink.

" 'Happy birthday, Jax,' " he read aloud. His voice was flat. " 'You are my sun.' "

He paused. Just for a second. His fingers tightened around the small paper.

"Still keeping this?," he scoffed. "What, planning to use it for your next victim? Remind them of my past stupidity?"

Then, with a deliberate motion, he tore the note into tiny pieces. He held them up. The paper confetti drifted down. Landing on my hair. My shoulders.

My hand still outstretched. Trying to catch the fragments. But they slipped through my fingers.

Harlow stepped forward. She gently took Jax's arm.

"Jax, darling," she cooed. Her voice was soft. "Don't get yourself worked up over her. She's pathetic. Like a stray dog."

She turned to the cameras that had suddenly appeared. I hadn't even noticed them. They were everywhere.

"This is exactly what I mean," Harlow said to the camera. Her voice was full of fake sympathy. "She's so lost. So broken. It's truly heartbreaking."

She looked back at Jax. "We came here to help, remember? To show everyone your generous spirit. Your forgiveness."

"A reality show," she whispered to him. But it was loud enough for me to hear. "We'll call it 'Rust Belt Redemption.' A story of a compassionate billionaire returning home to save a lost soul. It's gold, Jax. Pure gold."

Jax looked at Harlow. A flicker of something in his eyes. Then he nodded. A slow, predatory smile spread across his face.

He looked at me. Still on the floor, surrounded by torn paper.

"Get up, you brain-damaged trash," he snarled. He kicked a stray note near my head. "You're going to be a star. Everyone will see what a mess you are. And they'll see how I, Jax Mosley, am going to save you."

He turned and walked out, Harlow clinging to his arm. The cameras followed them.

I lay there for a long time. The empty wall stared back at me. Silence. But my head. My head was screaming.

The next morning, I woke up with a dull ache in my head. A Post-it on my wrist said: "Eat oatmeal. Take pills."

I shuffled to the kitchen. My home felt empty. The walls were bare.

Suddenly, the front door burst open. It slammed against the wall. The sound made me jump.

Jax walked in. Behind him, a crew of people. Lights. Cameras. Microphones.

Harlow was there too. Her arm linked through Jax's. She smiled at the cameras. A wide, dazzling smile.

A man with a headset stepped forward. He held a clipboard.

"Joleen Spencer?" he asked, his voice booming. "I'm Mark, the director of 'Rust Belt Redemption.' And this is your chance to turn your life around!"

He gestured to Jax and Harlow. "These two amazing philanthropists, Jax Mosley and Harlow Bridges, have returned to their hometown. They want to give back. To help the less fortunate."

He leaned in conspiratorially, but his voice was still loud. "We heard about your struggles, Joleen. Your... condition. We want to document your journey. To inspire others. To raise awareness. And, of course, to get you the help you desperately need."

I huddled in my chair, trying to make myself small. Mark's words swirled around me. I couldn't make sense of them. Why would Jax want to help me? He was the one who ripped my notes. He was the one who called me trash.

My eyes drifted to the empty wall. My mind felt blank, just like the plaster. No notes. No instructions. Just a vast, empty space.

Jax stepped forward. The cameras zoomed in. Their lenses were like hungry eyes.

"Joleen," he said. His voice was harsh. "Seven years. And you still can't take care of yourself? What have you done with your life?"

I looked at him. I remembered his face. The one tearing up my life. The one with the cruel smile. But his name... it was still a blur.

Jax' s face darkened. He hated being forgotten.

Harlow immediately stepped in front of him. Her hand on his chest. A concerned look on her face for the cameras.

"Jax, darling, don't be mad. She can't help it. Her memory is... fragile." She patted his arm. "Don't take it to heart."

Then, she turned to the cameras. Her face softened into a performance of pity.

"We heard about Joleen's situation," Harlow explained to the lens. "I mean, we really thought she was doing well. Seven years ago, we were told she left for... a better life."

She paused, shaking her head sadly. "We never imagined she'd end up like this. So alone. So vulnerable."

"Jax has always felt a deep regret," she continued, her voice full of emotion. "He blamed himself. Thought he wasn't good enough for her. That's why she 'left' him, you see."

"When we came back, the first thing he wanted to do was find her. To make amends. To give her a second chance." Harlow choked back a fake sob. "We just want to fix what was broken."

A few people from the crew murmured words of approval. "So selfless," someone whispered. "What a beautiful story."

My head pounded. Their voices. Their faces. It was too much. I just wanted them to stop.

I stood up. I needed to get away. Back to my room. Back to silence.

Jax's hand shot out. He grabbed my wrist. His grip was like iron.

"Where do you think you're going?" he snarled. His eyes were cold. "You're the star of the show now, Joleen. You don't get to leave."

"You weren't this quiet before," he mocked. "Seven years ago, you had plenty to say. Plenty of fight."

He shoved me back into the chair. Hard. The old wood groaned.

"Start filming!" he snapped at Mark.

Mark nodded eagerly. Cameras swiveled. Lenses focused on me.

"Can we get a tour of the premises?" Mark asked. "Show the viewers her living conditions? Really highlight her struggle?"

Jax waved a dismissive hand. "Go ahead. Film whatever you want. She has nothing to hide. Nothing left, anyway."

The crew swarmed my small house. They filmed my threadbare couch. My faded curtains. My chipped teacups.

They filmed my clothes, hanging on a line to dry. Pale and worn.

They filmed the half-eaten can of soup on my table.

They filmed my bed. The quilt patched in a dozen places.

Then, the neighbors started crowding in. Drawn by the commotion. Drawn by the cameras.

Mrs. Henderson, from next door, pushed her way to the front. She pointed a finger at me.

"Look at her now!" she screeched, her voice shrill. "Used to be such a pretty thing. Thought she was too good for this town. Too good for Jax."

"Ran off with some rich old man, they said. Two-timing little hussy. Thought she hit the jackpot."

"Serves her right, I say! The way she dumped Jax, practically at the altar. Left him heartbroken. Now look at her. What goes around, comes around."

"That rich man probably used her up and tossed her out," another neighbor chimed in. "Now she's got nothing. Brain's gone. Stares into space all day. If her parents hadn't left her this house, she'd be begging on the streets."