I get the first miscommunication, girl got into a car accident, loses her memory (amnesia, the truly unique plot point), and when she remembers she was in love with someone her husband tells her he died in the car accident. Fine. Let’s overlook the fact that she could’ve read the newspaper articles about the accident, gone to his grave, looked him up AT HIS JOB. Whatever. It’s the ‘60s, she’s a housewife, supposed to not be good at that shit. Fine. But then, four years later, surprise! He’s not dead! But oh no, now she’s got a kid and is afraid her husband won’t let her take the kid with her. So of course, she spends the night with him, tells him she could never be with him, runs away. TWO DAYS LATER she gets what she needs to leave her husband and keep her kid and when she tries to find ‘the love of her life’ AT HIS JOB she’s told he went to Congo. Sane, normal woman that she is, she takes off to Congo to find him. Finds out she can’t get to Congo because war and murder and governments and she’s white and a woman. So she turns around, goes straight back home, AND GIVES UP. The love of her life keeps working at the same job for FORTY YEARS and she never goes back to look for him. You’re expecting me to believe that neither of them moved and yet they didn’t run into each other for forty years?! This is not a love story or a romantic storyline; this is insanity, or at least stupidity. Would authors please stop trying to sell this narrative as ‘long lost love’ and ‘meant to be’ and ‘oh how sweet, now they get to be together when they’re old and dying’? Because it’s dumb and it’s unrealistic and it’s crap. If these people were truly in love they wouldn’t have given up when it was clearly so easy for them to find each other. And if they were willing to give up on each other so easily, they clearly weren’t in love, and they would’ve settled down with other people at some point in the LAST FORTY YEARS.