He Saw Her, Not His Wife

severe face blindness. So I became a brand, not a wife, w

h a crowd of hundreds and embrace his mistress, Kas

mistakenly arrested. I s

e and told the polic

ail cell, claiming he didn't re

ife being dragged away? It wasn't his illness; it was his h

shut, an old fire captain steps forward. "I was at the wildfire that caused his conditi

ly at me-at the star-s

pte

yah

es, but in his mind. He has severe prosopagnosia-face blindness-the result o

ircut, a short, chic bob to replace my long waves. He walked right past

had said, my

the kind he gave to strangers, to his employees. "I

n dropped from a great height

ade dress he' d bought for me, the one I' d been wearing that morning, t

ented on the

e a ghost in my own life, defined by two

hrome sea of sadness. The scent of Chanel No. 5 clung to me like a second skin, a constant, cloying reminder of my own

d. The Aliyah Potts Brand. Si

ver the jagged, snow-dusted peaks of the Rockies for a corporate retreat. The

. "Harrison, look

ion unreadable. "It is." He didn't loo

pen, engraved with the coordinates of the place we first met

creech of metal tore through the air. The pilot shouted somet

o spin, the breathtaking landscape tu

ing him tight. "Harrison!" I screamed

fear, but there was no recognition

my head smacking against the seat in front of me. The world went black for a second

g to get the door

ching for him. Blood was

primal fear. He saw me, but he didn'

might. My injured head slammed against the bent metal frame

nger he needed to g

him finally pry the door open and scramb

licopter on our third wedding anniversary, pushed away by

s felt cold against my skin. My head throbbed with a dull, persistent

to a day, then two. My room was silent, sterile. No flowers,

ision screen mounted on the wall. He was at a press conference, loo

e felt, being the survivor

glass of champagne. "I feel blessed," he said, his voice smooth and confid

asua

the helicopter crash. Harder

a casualty. I wasn't a person. I was jus

And I doubled down on my uniform. My blue became brighter, my perfume stronger.

' d flinch, a flicker of confusion in his eyes before the scent o

lways meant to be a ghost. Some people are born to be protagonists, t

It happened at the Cannes Film Festival. The air was thick with the scent of salt, mone

as it had been for the last year, the air around me saturated with Chanel

th prosopagnosia. Hundreds of people milled about. Yet, I saw Harrison' s eyes scan the cro

a genuine, breathtaking smile. He moved through the throng with a purpose I h

influencer, a musician who had

r, pulling her into a tight embrace. He buried his face in her hair, and even fr

r. A woman not wearing blue. A woman who probably smelled

It wasn't a flaw in his brain. It was a choice. A choice of the heart

allroom and onto a deserted balcony overlooking the Mediterranea

icers approached me. They spoke in rapid French, their tone

torious thief who apparently bore a r

ou have the wrong perso

ning. Through the glass doors, I saw Harriso

my voice raw with terr

rowded space. He saw the police officers

d turned to the officers. His voice was cold, dismiss

la conn

't kn

oke in the helicopter, but this

cers dragged me away, my pleas

hing weight of being utterly alone in a foreign country. My embassy was eventually contacted. My identity was con

g, feeling like I had aged a hundred years. My phone had been re

t, a man I barely knew, got out. He didn't ask i

, his tone accusatory. "He said you know the rules. You are to wear your

another blue dress. Identical

rested, humiliated, and abandoned, and my husband's only concern was

tight. "Where the hell have you been, Aliyah? And what were you wearing

ed over. "They arrested me, Harrison! I was in jail! I

voice flat. "You weren't wearing blue.

tasting like poison. "In a gold dress. In the middle of a

ce. It was gone in an instant. "I... I thought she was you," he lied, t

d nothing like me. She wasn't wearing my un

who had built our entire marriage on a foundation of willful ig

voice suddenly calm, eeri

e Crane was on the cover, a close-up shot of her laughing face. Harri

al image of her. But he couldn't recognize

porter at a major magazine, a woman who had bee

ed to he

voice light, almost cheerful. "I thi

Put on the dress the assi

dn't reach my eyes. I pressed the call butt

lear and steady, my eyes locked on my husb

en, of pouring myself into a mold that didn' t