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"I was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. My memories slipped away like sand. In the seventh year, a man kicked down my door. He hated me, said I had abandoned him for m0ney, and was now pretending to have amnesia to gain sympathy. He tore down every sticky note on my wall— “Eat,” “Stay alive.” He ripped the one that read “Happy Birthday” to shreds right in front of me. The next day, he became a “philanthropist,” bringing a film crew to document my so-called karmic downfall. In front of the camera, neighbors spat insults, saying I deserved it. When I collapsed and was hospitalized, they still didn’t stop. By my bed, he threatened me to cooperate with filming, or he would make me disappear. Until the ward door was slammed open. A man radiating cold fury rushed in and shielded me tightly. He roared at the cameras, “Who dares touch my sister!” Watching my ex turn deathly pale, I wept— realizing that his seven-year revenge was finally stopped." "It’s been seven years since I was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s. The ex-boyfriend I once ""abandoned"" returned to our small town, this time with his trophy girlfriend, an actress. As for me, I’ve finally forgotten who he is. I can barely manage the day-to-day, relying only on the sticky notes plastered to my wall. When he saw me, dressed in faded clothes, staring blankly, he offered a cruel half-smile. ""What's this? Is this the look you give me? What happened to that charm you used to have, the one for hooking up with rich men? Too lazy to even put on an act now?"" Before he could finish, I tugged at the edge of my shirt and asked, ""Excuse me… who are you?"" He scoffed, then pulled the woman beside him closer. ""Ah, that's a new one: 'Who are you?' Looks like when you ran off with your sugar daddy, you hit your head a little too hard."" I blinked. ""Oh… well… do you want a drink or something?"" With that, I turned and tried to follow the instructions on the sticky note to get drinks for our ""guests."" … I made my way to t
