After Losing His Memory, He Begged My Forgiveness Novel Chapter 8 – The Apology He Never Gave
It had been three days since John left Lily’s apartment.
Three days of awkward silence punctuated by the occasional text:
“How’s her cold?”
“Did she eat the soup I dropped off?”
“Can I come over?”
Lily hadn’t responded to a single one.
Not because she didn’t want to.
Because she didn’t know how to.
Her daughter had gotten a mild cold from school, and Lily had stayed home with her all weekend. They watched cartoons, made tissue castles, and drank too much honey-lemon tea. John dropped off a thermos of chicken soup on Sunday and left it by the door without knocking.
Her daughter hadn’t touched it.
“I don’t like soup he makes,” she said stubbornly.
“You liked it before,” Lily replied.
“That was before he forgot I existed.”
The words hit harder than Lily expected.
That evening, when her daughter was finally asleep and her phone buzzed again, Lily picked it up.
John: Can I come over? Just for five minutes.
She stared at the screen.
Then typed.
Lily: No.
But she didn’t press send.
Instead, she found herself replying:
Lily: Five minutes. No longer.
He showed up twenty minutes later, looking like a man walking into a courtroom.
Lily didn’t invite him in. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed.
“You’re late,” she said.
“I almost didn’t come.” He gave a nervous laugh. “Thought maybe I was pushing too hard.”
“You are.”
He nodded, accepting that. “Then let me be quick.”
He pulled a letter out of his coat pocket. A real letter. Handwritten, folded.
“What’s that?”
“My apology,” he said quietly. “The one I should’ve given you the day you caught me.”
Lily felt her throat tighten.
“I didn’t write it for pity,” he added. “I just wanted you to have it. You don’t even have to read it.”
She took the letter. “Why now?”
“Because remembering made me realize forgetting wasn’t the worst part,” he said. “The worst part was knowing I’d become someone I wouldn’t even recognize.”
She didn’t respond.
He hesitated. “How is she?”
Lily glanced toward the apartment. “Still doesn’t want to see you.”
He nodded again. “I get it.”
There was a pause.
“I’ll go,” he said, stepping back. “Thanks for giving me five minutes.”
Lily didn’t stop him. But as he walked down the hallway, she called out, softly, “John.”
He turned.
“She’s not the only one you hurt.”
His shoulders sagged. “I know.”
Then he left.
That night, after her daughter was asleep, Lily sat on the couch with the letter unopened in her lap. She stared at it for a long time.
Then slowly, she unfolded the first page.
“Dear Lily,
I don’t know how to begin. So I’ll start with the only thing that matters: I’m sorry…”
She read every word.
And cried like she hadn’t in years.
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