Fake Amnesiac

"She actually believes that you have amnesia. Mr. Miller, you know how to keep your wife in check well."

"I had a doctor friend vouch for me. Giselle felt too sorry for me to suspect anything. She was so eager for me to recover quickly that she took on the role of a nanny, cooking and cleaning every day. It's hilarious."

A burst of laughter drowned out Ambrose Miller's voice.

I stood at the door and trembled all over while clutching the hem of my nanny uniform.

Ambrose had called me earlier on to deliver some documents for him at this banquet.

The driver responsible for the accident, Maryanne Brown, sat right beside him, ordering me to pour drinks and serve food, mocking me as much as she could.

I endured it all in silence and even secretly texted some of the guests so that they could cover for me.

If I hadn't forgotten my phone and come back for it, I probably would have never found out that Ambrose's "amnesia" was nothing but a lie.

My mind was in turmoil. I fled as fast as I could.

The moment I stepped into the house, my daughter called out in a cheerful tone, "Mommy!"

Then, her face paled as if realizing something. She quickly covered her mouth, nervously glancing around to make sure no one was there before letting out a relieved sigh.

Seeing how anxious she was, I was heartbroken. Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably.

To make his act more convincing, Ambrose had not only pretended not to know me—he'd even refused to acknowledge our daughter, Alexis Carter, as well.

He'd told her that Maryanne was her real mother. Every time she called me "Mommy", he would fly into a rage.

She was only six years old, yet like me, she'd become nothing more than a prop in their grand "reunion" performance.

I held her tightly as my heart filled with guilt. She reached up with her small hands and gently wiped away my tears.

"Mommy, don't be scared," she whispered. "Daddy and that bad lady aren't here. No one will scold me."

A sharp pain twisted inside me. I hugged her even tighter, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

Seeing me gasping for air, Alexis panicked and immediately ran off to get my asthma medication.

But my medicine was in the bedroom, and the lock on my and Ambrose's bedroom had been changed this morning—they wanted to keep me out.

Ambrose had shouted at me, saying, "Giselle Carter, you're just a nanny! What right do you have to step into my room with Maryanne? Wipe that shameless look off your face. There are plenty of women in this world who want me, but the only woman I care about is my wife!"

I'd believed the doctor's words and accepted everything.

But I forgot that I was sick. Too much emotional distress could trigger an asthma attack. The suffocating pain overwhelmed me, and I collapsed, too weak to move.

Alexis came running back, her bare feet thudding against the floor, her eyes brimming with tears. "Mommy, the door is locked! I can't get in! Mommy, hold on! I'll call for help!"

She quickly pulled up Ambrose's number on her smartwatch. "Daddy! Mommy's having an asthma attack—"

"Alexis, your mother is sitting right next to me. What nonsense are you talking about?"

"Daddy, I don't want to play pretend anymore! Mommy's medicine is in the bedroom! What's the passcode?"

Ambrose clicked his tongue in annoyance. The next second, Maryanne took the phone.

"Alexis, stop this nonsense. Mommy and Daddy are just fine together. Tell that nanny to stop daydreaming. She should go to the hospital if she's sick." With that, the call ended.

I told Alexis to dial 911 using the last bit of my strength before darkness consumed me.