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“You’re My Wife”

last update Petsa ng paglalathala: 2026-03-20 12:19:50

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.

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  • UNTIL YOU REMEMBER ME   EPILOGUE: The Life We Chose To Remember

    (Adrian) Six months later, the penthouse was no longer quiet. Laughter echoed through the glass walls as our daughter, Angelica, let out a tiny, indignant cry from her bassinet. Alessa laughed softly, picking her up with the ease of a woman who had already mastered the art of soothing storms. She rocked her gently, humming the same melody she used to sketch to, while I stood at the kitchen island watching them — my wife and our child — the two people who had rewritten every truth I once tried to control. The grand wedding had been the beginning. The media had called it the story of the year: the power couple who divorced in public, fought through scandals and secrets, and chose each other again in front of the world. But the real story happened in the quiet moments no cameras caught. Alessa had moved back fully after the wedding. We kept the penthouse but changed it together — opening the nursery door, painting new colors, filling the space with sketches of the future instea

  • UNTIL YOU REMEMBER ME   The Grandest Wedding We Ever Chose

    (Adrian) The estate was alive with lights and cameras. I had invited my colleagues — the senior partners, associates, even a few rivals who had become reluctant friends over the years. The media had been carefully managed but deliberately allowed in. This wasn’t a quiet ceremony hidden from the world. This was our public declaration. The grandest wedding New York had seen in years — not because of extravagance, but because it was real. Because after all the scandals, the divorce, the public accusations, and the silence, we were choosing each other in front of everyone. White flowers lined the long aisle leading to the sunroom overlooking the river. Lights twinkled through the trees like stars brought down to earth. Reporters and photographers stood at a respectful distance, flashes popping as Alessa appeared on her father’s arm. She was breathtaking. Her dress flowed elegantly over her pregnant belly — four months now, the curve proudly visible and celebrated. The fabric c

  • UNTIL YOU REMEMBER ME   The Video That Called Me Home

    (Adrian) I was in the middle of reviewing contracts when the notification came from Alessa’s verified account. No dummy profile this time. Just her real name. My heart slammed against my ribs as I opened the message. The video loaded — longer, bolder, more intimate than anything she had sent before. She was in our bedroom. The lights were low but not completely off. She wore black lace — delicate, intricate, with soft fluffy accents along the edges that made her look both innocent and sinful. The thong was pulled aside just enough. She had a new toy — thicker, slightly curved — and she was using it on herself with slow, deliberate strokes. Her hips rolled, back arching, fingers circling her clit while the toy disappeared deep inside her. The camera caught every glistening detail, every tremble in her thighs, every soft moan she didn’t try to hide. I was instantly hard. The video awakened every sense I had. The sound of her wetness. The way her body flushed. The way she loo

  • UNTIL YOU REMEMBER ME   The Announcement I Never Thought I’d Make

    (Adrian) I called the senior partners into the main conference room that afternoon. The nausea had settled into a manageable hum after the morning’s wave, but my hands still trembled slightly as I stood at the head of the long table. The city skyline stretched behind me through the glass walls, the same view that had witnessed so many late nights, so many curated truths, so many times I had chosen empire over everything else. They looked at me with a mix of curiosity and concern. I had been absent more than usual lately, the persistent sickness becoming office legend after the judge’s teasing remark in court. Daniel, my old friend from law school, leaned back in his chair with a raised eyebrow. “You look like you’re about to resign, Reyes. Or announce you’re actually pregnant.” A few chuckles rippled around the table. I let them have the moment. Then I took a slow breath and spoke. “I’m getting married again. To Alessa.” The room went still. “And she’s pregnant,” I c

  • UNTIL YOU REMEMBER ME   The Penthouse That Felt Like Home Again

    (Alessa) I drove my own car back to the penthouse. Adrian followed a short distance behind in his, respecting my need to have control over at least this small part of the journey. My hands stayed on the wheel, one occasionally drifting to rest on my belly, feeling the subtle curve that was becoming impossible to hide. Two months and three weeks. Our baby. The one I had hidden for so long out of fear, shame, and the childish belief that I had to face everything alone. When we reached the underground parking, I pulled into my usual spot. Adrian parked beside me. We stepped out almost at the same time. He came around to my side, not touching, just present — the man who had followed me through dark rooms and rainy streets, the man who had known it was me all along. The elevator ride up was silent. His fingers brushed mine, not quite holding, giving me space but staying close. When the doors opened into the penthouse, the familiar scent of home hit me — clean lines, soft lighting

  • UNTIL YOU REMEMBER ME   The Father Who Never Trusted Me

    (Adrian) Alessa drove her own car to the estate. I followed a short distance behind, watching her taillights through the early morning mist. She had insisted on taking her vehicle after we left the quiet street where we had reunited in the backseat. I didn’t argue. After everything, she needed to feel in control of at least this much. When we arrived, the gates opened without question. Eduardo Valez stood on the front steps, arms crossed, his expression a careful mask of controlled concern. He had aged since the last time I had seen him — more silver in his hair, deeper lines around his eyes. The man who had built an empire with precision now looked at me like I was the collapse he had always feared. Alessa parked her car and stepped out. I pulled up beside her and joined her. She stayed close to my side, her shoulder brushing mine. Eduardo’s gaze moved from her to me, then settled on the subtle curve of her belly. He didn’t speak at first. He simply studied us, the silence

  • UNTIL YOU REMEMBER ME   The Color That Never Faded

    
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  • UNTIL YOU REMEMBER ME   The First Color

    
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  • UNTIL YOU REMEMBER ME   The Point of Staying

    
 (First Person – Adrian) They all said the same thing. Three senior partners and two board members sat across from me that morning and delivered the same verdict with careful, professional sympathy: “File for dissolution. Cite her post-traumatic condition, the memory loss, the documented sleep

  • UNTIL YOU REMEMBER ME   Just A Kiss

    
(Adrian) Just a kiss. That was all it had been — one stupid, desperate test in a bar I should never have entered. And yet Alessa was treating it like the end of our entire world. I learned what she had done through the court’s notification system. As a lawyer, I had alerts set up for any filing

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