Chapter 3: My Husband?

The sound of an approaching engine made Charlotte lift her head. "Daddy."

I followed her gaze as a black SUV pulled up in front of the community center. My heart began to race—whether from the frantic effort to convince myself this was all a nightmare, or from the terrifying reality that Charlotte’s father was Liam. My Liam. My best friend, the boy who had known me since childhood, and the person I had trusted more than anyone in the world.

when the driver's door opened and a man stepped out, everything inside me went still.

It was Liam. I knew him instantly, though ten years had completely transformed him. He was taller, broader, and his boyish charm had sharpened into striking, refined features. Dressed in a dark, perfectly tailored suit, he carried an air of quiet authority. This wasn't the twenty-year-old boy who used to steal food from my lunchbox; this was a mature, formidable man.

"Daddy!" Charlotte ran toward him.

Liam’s expression softened immediately as he crouched to catch her in his arms. "Are you okay? Did you get hurt?"

Charlotte shook her head, then glanced back at me. "I cried a little."

Liam followed her gaze. The moment his eyes landed on me, every trace of warmth evaporated from his face. He stared at me with a cold, unreadable intensity.

I offered a hesitant, nervous smile. "Liam?"

His jaw tightened as he stood up, keeping Charlotte resting securely on his hip. "What are you doing here?"

"I..." I blinked, looking around helplessly. "I don't know."

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Where did you take Charlotte?"

"I didn't take her," I said quickly.

Charlotte piped up. "Mommy found me! She was just there."

I held up my hands defensively. "It's true. I just woke up, and she was already here."

"You woke up?" Liam asked, his voice flat. "Where?"

"I don't know! Look, I know this sounds crazy—"

"It does."

"Liam, I genuinely don't understand what's happening," I pleaded.

He didn't answer. He just looked at me with an expression that wasn't surprise or confusion, but something closer to deep, bone-weary exhaustion—as if he had heard my excuses a thousand times before.

Finally, he turned toward the SUV and opened the door. "Get in."

"Where?" I frowned.

"Home."

I let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. "Whose home?"

His gaze flicked back to me. "Yours."

"I don't have a home here," I insisted. "With who?"

"With me."

I stared at him. "What?"

"Daddy and Mommy live together!" Charlotte smiled happily.

I looked at Liam, waiting for him to correct her, but he said nothing. My stomach twisted into knots. "No. I'm not married."

He studied me for a long, quiet moment, his eyebrows rising slightly. "You're sure?"

"Yes."

A humorless smile touched his lips, as if he couldn't quite believe the sheer absurdity of what he was hearing. "All right." He held open the passenger door. "Get in."

I stayed rooted to the spot. "Liam... are you married?"

"Yes."

"To whom?"

There was a heavy silence between us.

"You," he said simply.

The ground felt like it was slipping away from beneath my feet again. "No... that's impossible. You and me?"

"We've been married for years," his voice hardened.

"How many?"

"Almost ten."

My lips parted, but no sound came out. Ten years. Yesterday, I was twenty. I hadn't graduated, hadn't planned a wedding, and hadn't even considered marrying anyone—let alone my best friend.

"I don't understand," I shook my head violently. "I don't remember any of this. Not even a wedding."

"You don't remember?" His eyes darkened, taking a bitter edge. "Do you even remember asking me to marry you?"

I froze. "What?"

"You came to me," he said coldly. "Years ago. You showed up at my apartment one night and told me you wanted to marry me."

"Why would I say that?"

"You said you were tired of everything—your life, your family, your relationships." He paused on the last word, his eyes shifting slightly, but he didn't elaborate.

"And you just said yes?" I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"Yes," he answered without hesitation.

"Why?"

Liam looked down at Charlotte for a split second before meeting my eyes again. His gaze was distant, guarded, and laced with quiet resentment. "Because you asked me to. And because I thought it was what you truly wanted."

The weight of his tone pressed heavily against my chest. My best friend had married me because I begged him to, yet he looked at me now as if it were a decision he deeply regretted.

"Is Charlotte... our only child?" I asked softly.

"Yes. Just Charlotte."

Liam held the door open wider. "Get in, Abigail."

I looked at him, feeling the sharp sting of his distance. "I don't know you anymore."

Something flickered in his dark eyes—a brief glimpse of old pain—before it vanished. "You knew me once," he said quietly, almost bitterly. "And apparently, that's all that matters to you now."

He walked around to the driver's side without waiting for a reply. Reluctantly, I got into the passenger seat while Charlotte climbed into the back.

As Liam drove, the silence inside the car was suffocating. I stared out the window at the unfamiliar streets, buildings, and futuristic cars, feeling entirely alienated from this world—and from the man beside me.

I glanced over at him. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his jaw set in a rigid line.

"Liam?"

"What?"

"Do you really believe I'm your wife?"

"I don't believe it," he replied coldly, keeping his eyes on the road. "I know it."

I looked down at my lap, gathering the courage to ask the one question that had been haunting me since he arrived. "Was I... a good wife?"

The car fell completely dead silent. Liam didn't answer immediately, his silence heavy enough to crush my heart.

"Liam?" I pressed.

He finally exhaled, his tone completely devoid of warmth. "You were complicated."

It wasn't an answer, and it certainly wasn't a reassurance.

"Do you hate me?" I whispered.

His jaw tightened, his fingers digging deeper into the leather wheel. "I don't know."

A dull ache flared in my chest. I couldn't comprehend how the boy who had once been my safest sanctuary now looked at me like a total stranger. But what terrified me most wasn't his coldness; it was the realization that somewhere in these forgotten years, I had chosen him. I had walked into his life, asked him to marry me, and he had said yes.

I stared at my hands, terrified of the dark blank space in my memory. What happened to me during those missing years? Why did I choose Liam? And why does my best friend look at me as if agreeing to marry me was the biggest mistake of his life?