“You’re My Wife”

I don’t sleep.

I just lie there.

Staring at the ceiling.

Listening to machines breathe for me.

Mrs. Reyes.

The name loops in my head like a glitch.

It doesn’t belong to me.

I’m Alessandra Valez.

I was engaged to Marcus De La Torre.

We were supposed to get married in September.

I remember the venue.

The flowers.

The way he smiled when he slipped the ring on my finger.

That memory feels real.

Solid.

Safe.

The wedding photo Adrian showed me?

That feels like I’m looking at someone else wearing my face.

---

The door opens at 6:17 a.m.

I don’t know why I notice the exact time.

Maybe because everything else feels uncertain.

He walks in like he owns the building.

Dark charcoal suit.

Freshly shaved.

Controlled.

Like yesterday never broke him.

His eyes find mine instantly.

Relief flickers there.

Then it’s gone.

Guarded.

“Good morning,” he says.

His voice is low.

Smooth.

Dangerously calm.

I swallow.

“You came back.”

His gaze doesn’t waver.

“I never left. Not once.”

The words land heavier than they should.

He moves closer.

Not touching.

Not yet.

“Did you sleep?”

“No.”

A pause.

“That makes two of us.”

No self-pity.

Just fact.

I sit up slowly.

My head throbs.

“Where’s my phone?”

“I have it.”

“Why?”

“Because you were unconscious.”

He places it on the bedside table.

Face down.

Like he’s still controlling access to my world.

I stare at him.

“You said I filed for divorce.”

“Yes.”

Immediate.

Steady.

“Why?”

His jaw tightens slightly.

“We were having problems.”

“What kind of problems?”

Silence stretches.

He’s choosing his words.

Editing them.

“You said I wasn’t present.”

“That’s vague.”

“You said I chose work over you.”

“And did you?”

His eyes hold mine.

“Yes.”

The honesty surprises me.

“You admit that?”

“I don’t lie.”

Something about the way he says it makes my stomach flip.

Not arrogance.

Conviction.

“Then maybe I was right to leave you.”

The air shifts.

He doesn’t explode.

Doesn’t argue.

He just steps closer.

Close enough that I can smell him.

Clean.

Expensive.

Warm.

“You didn’t leave,” he says quietly.

“I was trying to.”

“Trying isn’t the same as doing.”

His confidence unsettles me.

“You don’t get to decide what I meant.”

“I don’t,” he agrees calmly. “But I do get to decide whether I sign the papers.”

My heart skips.

“You didn’t.”

“No.”

“Why?”

He studies me like I’m an equation he refuses to miscalculate.

“Because grief was talking. Not you.”

Grief?

My breath catches.

“What grief?”

And that—

That’s the first time he hesitates.

“You had a miscarriage.”

The world stops.

The word doesn’t register at first.

Miscarriage.

No.

No, that’s not possible.

“I was pregnant?”

“Yes.”

His voice is softer now.

Careful.

“How far along?”

“Twelve weeks.”

My chest tightens so suddenly I gasp.

I don’t remember being pregnant.

I don’t remember losing a baby.

But my body—

My body reacts like it does.

Like it knows.

“That’s not true,” I whisper.

His eyes darken with something raw.

“I would never lie about that.”

My vision blurs.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“You just woke up yesterday.”

“Why didn’t I remember?”

“Because your mind is protecting you.”

His hand lifts slowly.

Like he’s asking permission without words.

When he brushes his thumb against my wrist—

Electricity shoots up my arm.

My breath hitches.

And I hate that it does.

“I don’t feel anything,” I say quickly.

His thumb stills.

A flicker of something dangerous crosses his face.

“You will.”

The certainty in his voice makes my pulse race.

“You’re very confident.”

“I don’t gamble when I already know the outcome.”

“I’m not a case you can win in court.”

“No,” he agrees softly. “You’re my wife.”

There it is again.

That word.

Wife.

“I don’t remember loving you.”

“You did.”

“How do you know?”

His gaze drops briefly to my lips.

Then back to my eyes.

“Because you loved me like it was war.”

My breath stutters.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“It will.”

Footsteps approach outside.

A nurse knocks lightly before entering.

“Mr. Reyes, the neurologist is here.”

He nods once.

Then looks back at me.

“I need to take this call.”

“Business?” I ask without thinking.

“Yes.”

“So even now—”

He cuts me off gently.

“It’s about you.”

I blink.

“What?”

“I postponed a merger this morning.”

My stomach flips.

“A merger?”

“Two hundred million dollars.”

He says it like it’s nothing.

Like that’s normal.

“I don’t care about your money.”

“I know.”

His eyes soften just slightly.

“That’s why I married you.”

Before I can respond, his phone vibrates.

He checks the screen.

Something dark passes over his expression.

“What?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer immediately.

“Marcus is here.”

My heart jumps into my throat.

“He came?”

“Yes.”

“How did he know?”

A beat.

“I called him.”

Relief floods me.

“At least you did one decent thing.”

Something sharp flashes in his eyes.

“You’re still my wife.”

“And?”

“And that means I don’t let another man walk in here without knowing exactly why.”

Control.

There it is.

Cold.

Strategic.

“Are you going to tell him to leave?”

“No.”

The answer surprises me.

“But I will be in the room.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t trust him.”

Anger sparks in my chest.

“You don’t get to decide who I trust.”

His jaw tightens.

“You don’t remember what he did.”

“What did he do?”

Silence again.

“You’ll remember.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting right now.”

Before I can argue, the door opens.

And there he is.

Marcus.

Exactly the way I remember him.

Warm smile.

Soft brown eyes.

Comfort.

“Alessa,” he breathes.

Tears sting my eyes instantly.

He rushes to my bedside.

Grabs my hand.

“God, when I heard—”

His thumb brushes my knuckles.

Familiar.

Safe.

And yet—

It doesn’t feel the way it used to.

Why doesn’t it feel the same?

“I’m okay,” I whisper.

“You scared me.”

“I don’t remember anything after 2021.”

His smile falters.

Then returns quickly.

“That’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”

We.

The word feels gentle.

Different from the way Adrian says it.

Behind him, Adrian stands still.

Watching.

Assessing.

Like this is a negotiation table.

“Thank you for coming,” Adrian says calmly.

Marcus turns.

The warmth in his expression cools instantly.

“Of course I came.”

A silent war passes between them.

Old.

Deep.

“You can give us a moment,” Marcus says.

Polite.

But a challenge.

Adrian doesn’t move.

“She’s my wife.”

The words slice through the room.

Marcus stiffens.

“That doesn’t change the past.”

“No,” Adrian agrees evenly. “But it defines the present.”

My pulse pounds.

“Stop,” I whisper. “Both of you.”

They go quiet immediately.

I look between them.

One man I remember loving.

One man who claims I loved him more.

And I don’t know which version of myself is real.

Marcus squeezes my hand.

“We had a life planned,” he says softly.

Adrian’s voice cuts through the air.

“So did we.”

I feel like I’m standing between two timelines.

Two futures.

Two men who believe I belong with them.

But I don’t belong anywhere.

Because I don’t remember choosing.

And if I don’t remember choosing…

How do I know who I’m supposed to love?

As the tension suffocates the room, the neurologist steps inside and says the one sentence that changes everything.

“Mrs. Reyes, memory recovery isn’t random.”

All three of us look at him.

“It’s triggered.”

And suddenly—

Adrian’s expression shifts.

Like he already knows exactly how he’s going to make me remember.