Seven Days to Forget
I suffer from a hereditary form of amnesia.
By the time I found out, I had only seven days left.
On the first day, I found my boyfriend had fallen for my younger twin sister. With a bitter smile, I suggested we break up.
On the second day, my most treasured Lego set was smashed by my sister. Everyone laughed at me, saying I was disgraceful, unworthy of being a daughter of the Fleming family.
On the fourth day, I forgot that my sister was allergic to mangoes. She ended up in the hospital, and my parents glared at me with resentment. Even my ex-boyfriend accused me of being heartless.
On the seventh day, I woke up in a hospital bed to see my father walking in with a stern expression. He demanded that I quit my job and devote myself entirely to taking care of the family, as nothing more than a housekeeper.
But I only looked at them in confusion and asked softly, “Who are you?”
When they realized I had truly lost my memory, they lost their minds.