Hello?

You might want to read the fic again before this because I think we're all lost at this point.

Chapter Nine

'I'm missing way too much, so when do I give up?'

January comes and goes by dreary and grey. The weather is dismal and rather frankly, has been a colossal pain in the ass. It's been wet and cold, and there has been the occasional snow fall that's more annoying than beautiful because the roads get wetter and slippery.

By the time February rolled by, Robert was almost relieved. There hasn't really been much change with Cora's condition, and they had been left to just take each day one breath at time. There are days that are better than the others, and those days are the same days that she retains her memories, even if it's just a few days at a time, even if it is just for a few days at a time, because at least those days are less likely to begin with tears. Those days that are not handled easier with Martha's help, and of course, her journals. He imagines that it's harrowing for her, to have to look through a journal that stores her memories, instead of having to just remember. It must be hard for her, and he feels so much for her, hurts for the wife he loves more than life but cannot remember him, who barely can when she does.

Sometimes, he sees a part of who she used to be in the woman who looks at him with vacant eyes, but it's gone before he can welcome her back, and that leaves him hollow, empty, like he's lost a part of himself. Maybe he has, because he definitely feels it.

He thinks that it's unfair to her, that maybe he is being unfair to her. He remembers her words from a few months back, of how she wants to be the woman he loves, the same one who loves him back, but she can't, but she isn't—not now, maybe not for a while, or maybe even ever, and it's too much pressure for her that he expects for her to remember. Maybe he doesn't expect it now, or yet, or even right away, but he does—someday.

She doesn't understand though. She doesn't understand that he will love her. That he loves her, regardless if she remembers or not, if she becomes the woman she thinks he wants her to be, or not. It doesn't really matter to him. As long as she is still Cora, as long as they both live, his heart will always be hers to own.

He's made a promise to love and cherish her, for better or for worse, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do they part. He will hold onto that promise as long as he breathes—for he loves her, loves her eternally and more than life, will love her forever.

He cannot force her to see that though, if she cannot, if she's not ready to just yet. He can only show her how much she means to him, how much he loves her, how much he cannot and would not give up on her, on their love.

He will just have to show her. And with that he really has no problem with, for he will show her, every day, for the rest of their lives if he has to, if it is what it takes.

He'll just make his wife fall in love with him again.

…

It is an exhausting life.

To have to deal with not only losing her memory and dealing with it, but also with the inability to create and retain new ones, is very difficult and exhausting. It's a struggle, every day, to live the life she has now, to survive grasping for the past memories she's lost that used to define who she is, the very foundation of the life she has lived, or the woman that she used to be and grasping for the ability to remember enough to identify the person she is now, or the kind of life she's to live then.

Sometimes, on good days she'll remember things, remember who she is, or at least who she has been for the past few days—which is a shadow of the woman she's been for the past five years. And that is easy, or at least easier to wake up and know who she is, upon finding out from her mother or the journals, and remember—not everything—but some of it, enough to not be too lost anyway. Most days, the bad days are more difficult to manage. Rarely does it never start with tears of pain and frustration, because it's hard, not being able to remember the life she used to have, only having to know of it through the words brought to life by the ink from the pen that's been pushed to paper. It had recorded a life, the details of a life so beautiful, but achingly, echoing emptily, haunting her even when words seem to fail in capturing the emotions of the days that have gone by.

The imagery is there, and that's what's haunting, and they're now nothing but mere words, without memories to pull from the deep recesses of her mind and put on the forefront of her brain—and that's what makes her feel even emptier.

Annoyingly and frustratingly, she simply cannot remember, and though logically, she knows it's hers, the life written on the pages of the journal is hers, can see that life has been full and beautiful—it just does not feel like hers. She does not remember ever living it, and so she doesn't feel like she has lived it.

Of course, it all just seems like such a stupid argument, a stupid thing to even contemplate at this point. Those are the basics: that she has a life she once lived, and it's this life, regardless if she remembers or not. And so yeah, she has lived that life, and so yeah she doesn't remember, but god help her, she wants to. She wants more than anything to remember.

But it isn't an issue of a will, not an issue of whether or not she'll remember anytime soon, but actually if she'll remember at all. It would change things for her, already has, and if she doesn't remember—well she supposes Roberts life would have to change, too. As it is, her memory loss has already changed his life in a way that she can't take back even if she remembers.

She wishes it's easier—for her, for him. She wishes she can remember loving him, the life they shared.

But above all, she wishes she can fall in love with him again.

…

February is a busy month. So hectic that Robert is barely home before eleven and out of it before seven. The attrition rate not only in his employees but the decline in the percentage of the investors the last quarter brought is catching up to him. It's complicated and time consuming, and it exhausts the bloody life out of him to have to clean up the last quarter's mess.

It's business, though, and despite the downfalls, good news also comes in spades. There is an influx in their investors at the beginning of the first quarter, replacing the ones they lost and then almost doubling it. They're a little tight on their work force right now, but they've started hiring and will have enough soon, he's sure. That part, he's leaving into the capable hands of his human resources team.

A busy schedule also means not being able to spend as much time with Cora as he wishes and he's only thankful that Martha has stayed with them and is keeping his wife company. He knows that she cannot leave her daughter alone in this condition, anyway, and he appreciates his mother-in-law more because of her devotion to her only daughter. They might not have always seen each other eye to eyes, but he certainly is grateful for her now.

For his part, it seems missing Cora will not ebb away. It's not just missing Cora when he's so busy that he cannot see her or spend time with her, maybe try to help jog some of her lost memories. It's missing all of her, and living with the uncertainty of whether or not she will ever come back to him fully. He isn't stupid, not totally naïve to think that she will stay with him for certain. Deep inside, he realizes that she might not stay, if she doesn't ever remember. She has the choice to walk away, and he knows that she might take that choice.

It leaves a cold, empty feeling in his heart and it scares him, truly terrifies him because it is something he might not really have a choice over, something he cannot be a part of the decision making…. something he cannot control.

He wants to tell her, to talk to her about his feelings and his fears, of the possibilities once she remembers, or once she never does, but he is afraid that if he does, she might get more terrified and walk away. Worse, she might stay, out of pity and not out of love, and that is something he truly cannot take.

He'd rather live alone than to force her to live in the prison of what their love once had been. He loves her, loves her too much, but loves her just enough to let her go if she ever wants to be free.

And so, he doesn't tell her, doesn't talk to her about any of it and keeps his feelings between himself and scraps of paper where he pens letters addressed to her, but perhaps, she will never ever get to read. He tells her his innermost thoughts, tells her of how afraid he really is, of how much he loves her. He talks about the light in her eyes when she smiles, or the sparkle in them when she remembers even for a little bit, even when she knows she will probably forget it the next day. He tells her of how happy it makes him that despite the fact that she cannot remember, or that she would most likely forget, he can still bring out that light, that little twinkle in her blue, blue eyes that he loves.

He thinks of her constantly, and he tells her that through the letters because he'll never have the courage to say it to her, otherwise. The thing that stands between her (and it's her memory loss, yes, but also something bigger than that) complicates a lot of things, and the things he used to be able to do without second thought now give him pause and have him second guessing.

What he never second guesses though is the fact that he loves her and that he has promised to spend the rest of his life making her feel and letting her know that he does. It is what he sets out to do, anyway, on the 7th of February, just a week shy of Valentines' Day, as he plans, perhaps, the most elaborate date they have ever had since they'd been together—not counting of course, the time he'd proposed to her. He knows it's over compensating, knows that no amount of roses and chocolates can bring her back to him, or make her love him when she doesn't, can't, remember him, but he figures he has to try somewhat. Doesn't he?

He sets it all up, then: all of the trimmings, the valentines date, the roses, the chocolates. He pays a pretty penny for all of it, too, but it doesn't matter. Not really, and not where Cora is concerned. He will gladly do anything for her, no matter what the cost.

…

She definitely should not feel so, because it makes her guilty to even think about it, but she feels relief. She is relieved that she's not going to have to spend as much more time with Robert than when he'd been at home, working remotely and only coming in when truly necessary. It's a thought that makes her feel like an awful, horrible person, but it's not entirely untrue. It's not that she doesn't like to, it's just that it's all so very complicated. Spending time with Robert can be very, very delightful, as stories of a notorious past between the two of them are often told, but it can be a bit stifling at times.

He is a wonderful, wonderful man, but he cannot help it…he gives her this look, the kind of look that makes her shrink and into herself, makes her awful, and makes her want to crawl out of her body and maybe, become somebody else.

She knows he loves her, or the her that he knows, that she used to be, that he loves or loved, but the very one she cannot remember. She is still struggling to become that person, or to even just find that person. And when he looks at her like that, like the sun and moon rises and falls in her, like she hangs the stars, it's just too much. It's sweet, but it's overwhelming.

She knows, too, that he's trying not to, tries not to make her feel like she does. She knows he just loves her, her of the past and her of the now, his wife. She knows he's not trying to put pressure on her, can feel it, knows it very well, but he does. And it stifles her, it suffocates her. She feels more free when he's not around, because she doesn't have to see the hurt in his eyes. She is free to breathe and live without the expectation that every time she remembers a thing, or her memories are triggered, it will somehow jog her memory completely, and she'll remember everything and be back to the person she once is or was.

God, she doesn't even know anymore.

She might never remember though, and they know that, she knows that he knows that, it seems as though he hasn't fully accepted it.

"You cannot keep pushing him away, Cora," her mother tells her as they prepare their lunch for two, yet again. "You have to give him a chance." It is the second day in a row that her mother is lecturing her about Robert, and her marriage and everything else. And Cora knows because she's been remembering more now—she's remembered the past four days, in fact, has been able to keep her new memories for that long at least.

She bites down on her lip and turns her back. She might be able to hide from herself but never from her mother.

"He's busy," she reasons with a shrug, though it's a bit half-hearted. It's not a lie though, for the past four days that she's remembered, he hasn't been home much. So it isn't like she's making—

"Excuses," her mother says, cutting her train of thoughts as though he can see it. "That's a cop out bullshit and you know it, Cora Catherine."

Full name.

Uh-oh.

"He's rarely home before midnight, and I know from the past four days that my rusty brain has remembered, and from what my journal records," she points out and conveniently ignores the little slip out that she's recording his coming and going. It doesn't mean anything after all. "But now is really not the time."

That isn't exactly true. There are always the weekends, but of course, she spends half of the day holed up in her room or out "jogging her memory", anything to avoid having to spend a lot of alone time with him.

"Cora," her mother starts just as they sit down. It's a lecture, Cora knows that it is, and she almost rolls her eyes. Almost, but not quite. "How are you ever going to work on your marriage if you don't try? Robert is a good man, and granted that I don't always agree with his principles in life, I do still know that he's good to you, he was good to you when you guys were married, and he still is. Lord knows the man should be canonized, he's got the patience of a saint." Martha shakes her head. "If you don't make it work, if you don't even try, then it isn't going to be fixed. It sure as hell won't fix itself."

Cora sighs deeply and spills the words she's only ever kept between her and her journal. "Has it ever occurred to you, mother, that perhaps I don't want to fix it?"

Martha's eyes widen, and she barely manages to conceal the sharp gasp that tumbles from her lips. It's quiet, but it's loud enough that it shoots straight to Cora's heart. She knows there will be no judgments, not from her mother, but it's the kind of reaction that she wants to avoid.

She's always said that it's a blessing and a curse that her mother knows her so well. She finds it a blessing now that Martha does, because there must be something in her expression that makes her mother swallow the response she's about to make and keep her mouth shut.

For that, Cora is thankful.
…

Robert comes home on the 14th of February a little earlier than usual. The excitement he feels makes his nerves thrum, and he feels butterflies fluttering in his stomach. He wants this to be perfect for her, wants this to be the kind of date that she will write about and would want to look back into.

There is a pep in his step that he has lost the past few months. It feels good, to have something to look forward to that's good, and not a looming feeling of heartbreak…and not, well, Cora not remembering their past, and on most days, even the present.

It gives him hope, has him floating in that cloud of beautiful dreams and cautious anticipation. There is a huge chance that this will go up in flame or end in a disaster, but he wants to keep positive that things won't go so haywire.

He walks up to the second floor, making his way to the bedroom he used to share with Cora (that she now owns by herself). His heart is thudding as he raises his fisted hand to knock on her door. He knocks softly, carefully, and hears her respond with a quiet 'yes?'

"Cora?" he calls out, feeling his heart leap to his throat as he waits for her. "Can I talk to you for a moment, please?"

He hears some shuffling, and then Cora's muffled reply: "Yes, just a moment."

Robert shifts from foot to foot, sighing, feeling as though his heart might leap out of his chest. Robert swallows as the door opens and Cora peaks out, eyes wide. There's an uneasy sm9ile on her face as she looks up at him, and it breaks his heart, breaks his heart, breaks his spirit a little, though not completely. There are still shards that he picks up and uses to bolster himself with.

"Did you need something, Robert?" she asks, looking at him anxiously, pearly white teeth sinking down on her bottom lip.

Robert wants a bite of that lip, too—but he shakes himself. "Oh, uh, yeah I just…would you like to go out tonight?"

He watches as Cora's eyes widen and then gaze drops, avoiding looking at him straight in the eyes. He had, of course, anticipated rejection, had not wished for it, hadn't hoped, but had expected it. It still breaks his heart now, nevertheless, because nothing could really prepare him for the kind of pain her rejection brings.

He stammers to the back the invitation he's already handed to her and she has already rejected. He lifts his hand and scratches the back of his head. "It's fine," he rushes to say. "I get it that you're not comfortable yet." He thinks back to yesterday morning's stilted greetings, how she had fumbled, and how apparent it's been to him that her memories have escaped her once more. He'd thought until yesterday that they had made a breakthrough when she'd been able to keep her memories for a couple of days a week prior.

"I know I'm kind of jumping the gun a lot in here. I…I'm sorry, Cora."

"Robert," she begins, sighing deeply, but he does not really want to hear her platitudes, doesn't want to hear her pity him.

He looks away. "It's okay, Cora," he tells her again, but it's really not okay, not when it hurts like this, but he needs to suck it up, needs to understand what she's going through and how difficult it is for her right now. He turns to walk away, but is surprised when she grabs his elbow and drags him back to her side.

"You didn't let me say anything," she scolds, sending him a look that has him shaking his head and smiling sheepishly. He waits her out then, remains by her side and listens to her as she finishes. "I'd like to let you take me out for tonight. Can you give me an hour to get ready?"

He thinks he's fallen and hit his head, unsure as he is that she's actually agreed to go with him. He knows she barely remembers, and this is a leap of faith for her, and for that—he feels his heart expand in his chest to the point of breaking. The smile she gives him is uncertain, but it seems genuine and Robert cannot help but return it.

The steady bloom of hope igniting in his chest and makes him feel lighter than he has in a while.

"Really?" he asks, sounding as surprised as he feels. He'd scold himself if he isn't so damn giddy.

She nods, hand that is still holding his arm squeezing in affirmation and reassurance. "Yep," she answers him. "Let me go get ready. What should I wear?"

"Nothing too fancy," he tells her. He thinks about where they're going and shakes his head. "Something you would be comfortable in but…well, presentable at least?"

She nods in understanding. "Alright," she says. "I will see you in an hour."

She disappears back into the bedroom, and his smile widens into a grin.

…

She comes out of the bedroom less than an hour later looking like an absolute fantasy. Her dark green dress stood out against her milky white skin. Her lips are painted a sinful red and her hair was let down freely. She was a dream...his best dream.

"Are you ready to go, Cora?" he asks her as she makes it to the foot of the stairs.

She nods and takes his offered arm, tucking her hand inside his elbow. Robert can almost make himself believe that this is just a normal valentines date. He could almost pretend that she hasn't lost her memory or her love for him.

It is a beautiful night, the stars are twinkling in the clear, dark blue sky, and Cora looks every bit the goddess that she is as the milky glow of the moon illuminates her satin skin. He's decided to hire out the Chiswick house and gardens - one of her favorite places - and hope that by being there, her memory may be jolted into remembering.

If it doesn't work, then the best he can hope for is that she enjoys herself.

He hears her gasp when she realizes where they are, and she looks at him with shining eyes, looking extremely happy. His heart flutters and he realizes that it doesn't truly matter. He just wants her to be happy.

. . .

The dinner is great and Cora feels as though she's gone to seventh heaven when the most tempting chocolate cake is served to them for dessert. She takes one bite and feels her eyes roll back her head from the divine decadence of it. She's been pleasantly surprised that Robert had brought her to the Chiswick Gardens for a valentines date because it's always been her favorite place but she figures that he already knows that.

He knows her more than she knows him, so that shouldn't even be surprised.

"Did you enjoy yourself Cora?" he asks her in earnest as they walked around the conservatory. She had been a bit hesitant to go, but it isn't as though she had anything to lose.

She nods slowly. "Yes, I did, thank you for tonight Robert," she tells him.

Robert nods and smiles at her in that soft and adoring way. She knows, despite not being able to remember, that theirs had been a great and loving marriage.

"I'm glad," he tells her. "I know this is your favorite place, and although I know that things are difficult right now, I still wanted you to have a good time."

She is appreciative of everything he has done for her, appreciative of his patience and his selfless and unconditional love.

"I uh, want you to have this," he says, handing her a blue box. She hesitates but reaches out for it anyway. She doesn't deserve it, but she isn't going to kick him when he's already down by refusing a gift that he looks so eager to give her. "I hope you like it."

She opens the box slowly and gasps when she sees what is inside. It's a beautiful heart shaped gold locket with an engraving. "My love, for always," she reads aloud. Her tears prickle her eyes and a few trickle down her cheeks before she can stop them. He is so, so lovely, why can't she bring herself to just love him?

"I want you to know...it doesn't matter to me if you can't remember, or if you won't. I love you. You are my love, for always," he declares with such conviction that Cora just wants to let it be, to stop battling with herself so hard. She knows she can't. "This locket is just…"

"To remind me to never forget," she supplies and he nods.

She wants to reach out, to tell him that she wants to remember, that she wants to love him, but the weight of his love feels so heavy when she can't remember, when she doesn't even know who she's become in the years that she's loved him. They're all missing, all the memories, and every time she tries to reach around and find them, she comes face to face with a dead end, like a mental wall preventing her from recovering the memories.

"I uh…" she stammers, finding the right words to say. "Robert…" She pauses, looks into his blue eyes, the windows to his broken soul. "I want a divorce."

She doesn't really mean to say those, but it's been lingering in her head for a while now. She realizes that now isn't the time, when he's made all this effort for her, but the words are out before she can think, and she can not so much as pluck them up from the air as she can take them back.

That wasn't exactly a very cheerful come back, was it? Lmao. Hope you all like it! Sorry, I had most of this written for maybe around 2 years now but I forgot about it. Let me know what you think lovelies!