Amnesia Turned Me Into My Own Stand-In

When I woke up from the car crash, six years had vanished.

I was married to my childhood sweetheart, and we even had a son.

Our little boy was the spitting image of his fatherquiet, guarded, and painfully adorable.

I couldn't help myself. I scooped him up and covered his chubby cheeks in kisses.

Just then, my phone rang. It was an unrecognized number.

I pressed answer, and a mans drunken voice slurred through the speaker: "She blocked me. It hurts so bad, Hazel. Can you come keep me company for a while?"

My five-year-old son immediately gripped my hand, his knuckles turning white.

"Mom... are you going out to drink with Uncle Beckett again?"

"Dad will be so sad."

He lowered his head, his voice cracking. "And so will I."

When I first opened my eyes, a beautifully dressed little boy was standing at my bedside, staring at me with wide, anxious eyes.

"Mom, you were having a nightmare. Are you okay?"

Why was he calling me Mom?

I blinked, taking in his features. He was incredibly handsome, a perfect, miniature version of Jasper. Then, my eyes drifted to the wall. Hanging above the headboard was a massive, elegant wedding portrait of Jasper and me.

I had only been in a car accident. How did I wake up married to him with a child?

But looking at the sweet little boy, logic went out the window. My hands moved faster than my brain, pulling him into my chest. I hugged him tight, kissing him repeatedly until his face was damp.

That was when the phone on the nightstand buzzed.

The caller ID read: Beckett.

I answered, and the heavy scent of alcohol seemed to bleed through the line as a man groaned.

"She blocked me. It hurts so bad, Hazel. Can you come keep me company for a while?"

I was completely bewildered. "Who is this?"

The voice on the other end grew cold and exhausted.

"Hazel, stop playing games. You know I'm in no mood for your drama right now."

"I'm at our usual bar. Old place. I'm waiting."

With a sharp click, the line went dead.

I checked the time. It was two in the morning. Who was this lunatic, demanding my presence in the middle of the night? Did he think I was some cheap, desperate girl?

My five-year-old son squeezed my fingers, his chest heaving.

"Mom, are you going out to drink with Uncle Beckett again? Dad will be so sad."

He looked down. "And so will I."

I stared at him, a deep sense of unease settling in my chest. Why did this little boy look so incredibly insecure?

Seeing my silence, his grip slowly loosened. His shoulders slumped, a look of profound disappointment crossing his small face.

"If you have to go, Mom... I'll get your coat."

"It's cold outside. You shouldn't catch a chill. Remember your scarf, too."

He was so heartbreakingly sweet that my heart melted. I quickly grabbed his tiny hands, my voice softening.

"I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart. How could I leave you all by yourself in the middle of the night?"

"Come here. Let's cuddle and go back to sleep."

The boy froze, staring at me with a hesitant, shy, almost overwhelmed expression.

"Is that... is that really okay, Mom?"

"Of course it's okay! A mother sleeping with her baby is the most natural thing in the world."

I pulled him under the warm duvet, wrapping my arms around him.

"By the way, what's your name, sweetie?"

He reached up, placing a cool hand against my forehead. "Mom, do you have a fever? I'm Tristan. You were the one who chose my name."

"Tristan? Like the knight?"

He shook his head, his voice dropping. "No. You said it meant sorrow. Because you hated us."

I went completely numb.

Tristan? Sorrow?

Why on earth would I give such a beautiful, innocent child a name like that?

The next morning, I woke up late to find Tristan already dressed. He was sitting quietly on a small chair, reading a book without making a single sound.

My god, I had given birth to an angel.

I adored him instantly. I wanted to call his name, but "Tristan" felt too heavy, too thick with a past I couldn't remember.

So, I called out softly, "Sweetheart."

"Where is your father?"

Hearing the endearment, Tristan's ears flushed a bright red.

"Dad... he was working late at the office last night."

"Oh. I see."

I thought about the six-year blank in my memory since the car crash.

I offered him a warm smile. "Come here, sweetheart. Let me test you. How is the relationship between your dad and me?"

Tristan hesitated, his eyes dropping to the floor again.

"Not very good, Mom. You seemed to really hate us."

"Dad said you lost your memory after the accident. Since you didn't have any other family left, he brought you home to care for you, and you two got married shortly after."

"But after I was born, you were unhappy every single day. Dad said it was postpartum depression, that you didn't hate me, you were just sick."

"But then you met Uncle Beckett, and you started smiling again. You told Dad that Beckett was your medicine."

A bitter, old-beyond-his-years look crossed his face. "And then, you didn't want us anymore."

I searched my brain, but the name Beckett conjured absolutely nothing.

"Who is this Beckett? Why would I care about him so much?"

Tristan shook his head. "I don't know."

"But on your anniversary with Dad, Uncle Beckett called Dad from your phone on purpose."

"Dad thought it was you calling, and he was so happy when he answered."

"But you didn't know the call was connected. You were busy talking to Uncle Beckett. He told you he didn't love you, that he was in love with his brother's fiance, even though they could never be together."

"You asked him why, if it was so painful, he couldn't just consider you instead."

"Uncle Beckett said that if you got a divorce, he would consider it."

"And then, Mom... you said, 'Okay, I'll divorce him.'"

"Dad... Dad was so heartbroken that day."

His voice trembled. "And so was I."

I sat there, utterly stunned.

In my son's eyes, I was nothing but a desperate, pathetic simp. I was throwing away my family for a man who was pining after his own brother's fiance. It was the plot of a cheap, trashy soap opera.

I reached out, gently covering Tristan's ears. "A child shouldn't have to carry these heavy things."

Tristan blinked, looking at me with confusion.

I let out a long, heavy sigh.

Jasper was my childhood sweetheart. When I was seven, my father worked as a driver for the Lu family. Because my mother was gone and my father was always busy with work, he would often leave me at Jasper's estate.

My classmates had warned me, telling me that rich kids were cruel to their bones. They said Jasper would treat me like a toy, bullying and tormenting me every day.

But the moment I met him, those fears vanished. Jasper had no sense of superiority. He looked at me and said I looked like a delicate porcelain doll.

I was fragile and sickly back then. But despite being the pampered heir of the wealthy Lu family, Jasper would kneel on the frozen ground to put on my socks in the winter. He carried my backpack to school every day. When I was sick in bed, he would sit by my side, holding my hand and refusing to leave.

Later, when my father died in a tragic accident, none of my relatives wanted to take in a penniless orphan. It was Jasper who took my hand and led me into his home.

The Lu family was one of the most powerful dynasties in the city, but he never let me feel like an outsider. To me, he wasn't just a lover. He was my family.

Before the car crash, we had been planning our wedding. We had already picked out our future home. I had teasingly told him the bathroom needed a double tub, a massive mirror, and floor-to-ceiling windows so we could play around. Jasper had smiled and promised me everything.

And yet, during the six years I had lost to amnesia, I had treated him like garbage.

The guilt tore at my chest.

"Sweetheart, let me ask you one more thing. When is our wedding anniversary?"

"November twenty-first, Mom."

That was just two days ago.

I couldn't let my husband suffer like this any longer. When Jasper came home, I was going to make things right.

That evening, Jasper returned from the office.

The house was dark, quiet, and cold. As usual, there was no one waiting for him.

He let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh and reached for the light switch.

The moment the light flared, I stepped into his path, a brilliant smile on my face. "Surprise!"

The living room had been beautifully decorated, and a warm, steaming dinner sat on the dining table.

Jasper froze, his briefcase slipping slightly in his grip. "Hazel? What is this?"

"I know we missed our anniversary, so I wanted to make it up to you tonight."

Tristan was already fast asleep, leaving just the two of us in the quiet room.

"Just an anniversary dinner?"

"Of course. What else? I made everything myself. Come, try some."

I pulled him toward the table, making him sit.

I stared at him, taking in his features. He was breathtakingly handsome, like a painting of a modern prince. I wanted nothing more than to drag him to bed and ruin that perfect, neat composure.

I tilted my head, offering a soft smile. "Does it taste good, honey?"

Jasper's fork paused mid-air. He looked at me as if I were a ghost.

"It's been a long time since you called me that."

He took a slow bite. "The food is excellent."

I winked. "If you like it, I'll cook for you every single day."

But there was no joy in his eyes.

"Is that so? That must be incredibly exhausting for you."

"How much money do you need this time, Hazel?"

"After all, you worked so hard to learn how to cook healthy meals for Beckett's sensitive stomach. You wouldn't waste those skills on me without a price."

I went entirely rigid.

Just then, my phone began to blare. It was Beckett.

I immediately swiped decline. But a second later, the screen lit up again.

Jasper placed his fork down, his eyes dark and empty.

"Why don't you answer? Are you afraid I'll hear something?"

"You don't have to hide it from me. Just do what you want."

His voice was a hollow whisper. "I already know everything anyway."

Left with no choice, I swiped accept and pressed the speakerphone button, laying the phone flat on the table.

Beckett's irritated voice snarled through the speaker.

"Hazel, you actually dare to hang up on me now?"

"You had quite a spine last night, actually refusing to show up. Is this a new game? Playing hard to get?"

"I have to admit, you're slightly more interesting than before."

He let out a patronizing chuckle.

"I have some good news for you."

"My brother is marrying his girlfriend next week. I'm going to plan the wedding myself. Maybe once I hear her say 'I do' to him with my own ears, I can finally let her go."

"And then, I'll give us a try."

"As for you, make sure you clean up your mess and cut off whatever ties you need to on your end."

Jasper listened to the entire speech, a faint, mocking smile playing on his lips. "How touching. You gave him your heart, and now you're going to give him your official status too."

"Should I start packing my bags to make room for him?"

Before he could say another word, I reached out and pressed my fingers against his lips.

"Husband, shut up for a second and let me handle this."

I cleared my throat, speaking into the phone with cold precision.

"Beckett, right? I am a married woman with a family. Please have some self-respect."

"Stop trying to insert yourself into my marriage. My husband and I are deeply in love, and we don't need a third wheel."

"We've just finished our romantic candlelight dinner and are about to go to bed. I need to warm his sheets now. Goodbye."

With a swift tap, I disconnected the call. Then, right in front of Jasper's stunned eyes, I blocked the number and deleted the contact permanently.

Surely he would believe me now.

But Jasper only stared at me, his shoulders slumped. "You don't have to force yourself to play these humiliating games for his sake."

"How am I forcing myself?"

He looked away. "We've been sleeping in separate rooms for a very long time."

I blinked, thoroughly confused. "Why on earth would we do that?"

My eyes slowly drifted down to his lap, my voice dropping to a cautious whisper. "Is it because... you can't perform?"

That didn't make sense. Before the accident, Jasper had been insatiable, going through an entire box of ultra-thin condoms every night until I was begging for mercy.

Jaspers face flushed a deep crimson, a mix of embarrassment and anger flashing in his eyes.

"You were the one who demanded it!"

"Because you said the mere thought of me touching you made you sick."

I wanted to punch my past self. How could I have kept such a masterpiece of a man out of my bed? Was I out of my mind?

"Well, tonight, we're touching."

"Husband, Ive missed you so much. Let me feel you."

I slid my hand beneath his shirt, pressing my palm against the firm, defined muscles of his chest, gently teasing his skin.

It had been years since I had touched him like this. His body went rigid, a low, ragged groan escaping his throat as he grit his teeth.

"Enough, Hazel."

"Beckett's company just secured its funding. You don't have to disgust yourself by seducing me anymore."

He pushed my hand away, stood up, and walked out of the room.

Looking at the back of the man who used to look at me with nothing but warmth and adoration, my heart shattered into a million pieces.

I tangled my fingers in my hair, staring at the empty doorway.

What had I done?

Could a man as proud and dignified as Jasper ever forgive me?