President's Second Chance At Love

I awoke with a startle, my heart pounding in my chest. As my eyes adjusted to the soft, golden light filtering through the curtains, I realized I was in an opulent room filled with luxurious items—plush velvet furniture, rich mahogany woodwork, and delicate crystal chandeliers that glittered in the morning sun. This wasn’t my room. I wasn’t supposed to be here.

“This is not my room. I’m supposed to be dead,” I thought, my mind racing with confusion and fear. I vividly remembered the horrifying moment when my stepsister and husband had pushed me off a cliff. The sensation of falling, the wind rushing past me, the sheer terror—it all came flooding back. So how had I survived, and more importantly, how had I ended up in this place?

My legs trembled as I swung them over the side of the bed and stood up. Each step towards the door felt like a monumental effort, my body weak and unsteady. As I moved, I caught sight of myself in a large, ornate mirror.

“This isn’t me,” I whispered, staring at my reflection in disbelief. My face, once marred by a prominent scar, was now smooth and unblemished. And my stomach—why was it so big? I touched my swollen belly, realizing with a jolt that I looked heavily pregnant. “I was never pregnant. What is this?”

I turned away from the mirror, feeling a mixture of panic and disbelief. “No, I must be dreaming,” I said aloud, trying to convince myself. “This can’t be real.”

I made my way to the door, my hands shaking as I grasped the handle. Stepping out into the hallway, I was immediately met with a group of men in dark suits. They looked at me with a mixture of concern and wariness.

“Do you need anything, ma’am?” one of them asked, his voice calm but guarded.

“Where am I?” I demanded, my voice trembling. The guards exchanged uneasy glances, and one of them whispered something to the other.

“I think she’s started again,” I heard one murmur.

“Started what?” I asked, my frustration mounting. “What is it I have started again? Can someone please explain to me what is going on and why I am in this place?” I screamed, my fear and confusion spilling over.

The guards moved to restrain me, their grips firm but not painful. Panic surged through me as I struggled against them. “Let go of me!” I shouted.

A woman’s voice rang out from the top of the stairs. “Leave her alone! Can’t you see she’s pregnant?” The guards immediately released me, and the woman hurried down the stairs, her face etched with concern.

“Who are you?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper. “Can you tell me what is going on and why am I here?”

The woman sighed, looking at me with pity. “I think what the doctor said is coming true. You had an accident and you kind of lost your memory.”

“What do you mean, I had an accident? I fell off a cliff. So how am I here?” I demanded, the pieces of the puzzle not fitting together.

The woman paused, clearly choosing her words carefully. “Ma’am, you need to rest. Everything will make more sense soon.” She gently guided me back towards the room.

Reluctantly, I allowed myself to be led back to the bed. As I lay down, my mind whirled with unanswered questions and terrifying possibilities. Perhaps if I slept and woke up, everything would be back to normal. Maybe I’d find myself in heaven, I thought desperately.

Exhaustion finally overtook me, and I slipped into a fitful sleep. When I awoke, the room was dimly lit by the soft glow of a bedside lamp. I heard hushed voices outside the door.

“Be careful, remember she is pregnant” someone said, their tone laced with caution.

Slowly, I opened my eyes and looked up at the group of people standing around my bed. They were strangers, their faces unfamiliar and wary. One of them, a young woman, handed me a glass of water, her hands trembling slightly.

“Good evening,” I managed to say, my voice still thick with drowsiness. I sat up on the bed and took the water gratefully, my throat parched. As I drank, I studied their faces, searching for any hint of familiarity.

When I finished, I handed the cup back gently and asked, “Can you tell me who I am and why I’m locked up in this room?” But instead of answering, they just stared at me.

Frustration and fear bubbled up inside me. “Where am I?” I whispered to the empty room. “I was supposed to be dead after my husband and stepsister pushed me off that cliff. Why am I in this unfamiliar house with these weird looking people?”

The silence of the room offered no answers, only the echo of my own desperate questions. I lay back on the bed, feeling more alone and confused than ever. The luxurious surroundings, once a source of bewilderment, now felt like a gilded cage. I was trapped, with no idea how or why I was here, or how I could escape.

As I was about to drift into another uneasy sleep, the door suddenly creaked open. I turned my head and saw a small boy walk in, accompanied by one of the women who had left earlier. The boy couldn’t have been more than five or six years old, his wide eyes filled with a mix of fear and curiosity. The woman spoke softly, her voice breaking the silence.

“He’s been asking about you the entire time you were in a coma,” she said, her tone gentle but guarded. “Now that you’re awake, he’s been desperate to see you.”

Despite her words, the boy looked hesitant, lingering near the door as if he was afraid to come closer. His eyes darted between me and the woman, and he bit his lip nervously.

I studied his face, searching for any hint of recognition, but nothing came to mind. Who was this child? Why did he care so much about me? My heart felt heavy with the weight of unanswered questions.

The woman placed a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder and gave him a slight push forward. He took a tentative step, but his fear was palpable. “Go on, it’s okay,” she encouraged him softly.

“What’s your name?” I asked gently, trying to coax him into speaking.

“Tommy,” he replied in a small voice, still not daring to move closer.

I nodded, the name unfamiliar but somehow significant. “Tommy, do you know who I am?”

The boy’s eyes filled with tears as he nodded. “You’re my mommy,” he whispered.

A jolt of shock went through me. “Your mommy?” I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper. How could this be? I had no memory of having a child.

The woman’s eyes were filled with a mixture of pity and resignation. “You lost your memory in the accident,” she said. “You’ve been in a coma for weeks. Tommy has been waiting for you to wake up.”

“But why does he seem so afraid of me?” I asked, my heart breaking at the sight of his fear.

The woman hesitated, glancing at Tommy before answering. “Before the accident, you… you weren’t very kind to him. You used to push him away, tell him to get out of your sight. It’s been hard for him.”

Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked at Tommy. How could I have done such a thing? “Tommy, I’m so sorry,” I said, my voice trembling. “I don’t remember any of that, but I promise you, I’m not going to hurt you. Can you forgive me?”

Tommy looked at me, his small face torn between hope and fear. Slowly, he took a few steps closer, his movements tentative. I opened my arms, and after a moment of hesitation, he walked into my embrace. I hugged him tightly, my heart aching for the pain I had caused him.

“I’m so sorry,” I repeated, tears streaming down my face. “I’m going to make it right, Tommy. I promise.”

He finally hugged me back and started crying, his small body trembling with each sob. My heart became heavy with his tears, and I wondered how a woman could be so cruel as to treat her own son this way. Before I was pushed off the cliff, back when I was married to my husband, I had always longed for a child.

As Tommy clung to me, his tears soaking through my clothes, I felt a surge of protectiveness and regret. How had I become someone who could inflict such pain on an innocent child

Then a question poked at my mind. If I was married with a child and pregnant, then that meant I should have a husband.

I looked up at the woman and asked, "Who is my husband?"