Waking Up to Five Years Later

Alicia Reinfield's eyes burned with loathing as they fell on me, her voice laced with sharp discontent.

"Kurt, do you really think pretending to have amnesia will erase everything that happened?"

Amnesia? Pretending?

Before I could process her words, she had already risen and walked away. The faint breeze stirred by her nightdress brushed against me, yet I remained frozen in place.

After we got together, we had been the kind of couple everyone envied. So why did her words sound as though our love had long since shattered? And if it had… why weren't we separated?

My gaze drifted back to the mirror. That hideous, winding scar seemed to conceal a secret I could not grasp. No matter how hard I tried, my memory offered nothing. In the end, I could only decide to confront Alicia and demand the truth.

After showering, I pulled on the only outfit hanging in the wardrobe—a plain gray tracksuit.

In the dining room, Alicia sat with a boy who looked like a miniature version of me, quietly eating breakfast.

I couldn't hold back my exclamation. "Wow! The kid looks exactly like me!"

Back in the bedroom, I had already noticed a framed photo of a family of three on the nightstand. Yet in the picture, all three faces were stiff and unsmiling.

My words had barely left my lips when the boy's sharp, cutting gaze fixed on me. His eyes—so chillingly identical to Alicia's—pierced straight through me. But he was still a child; the moment he looked at me, his composure cracked.

In a deliberately mature tone that clashed with his kiddy voice, he scoffed, "Why are you wearing something so childish?"

I glanced down at my tracksuit, bewildered.

Childish? This was just the simplest outfit any twenty-three-year-old guy would wear.

Before I could argue, Alicia shot him a look.

"Jake Deacon!"

At the sound of his full name, the boy instantly fell silent, bowing his head and resuming his meal.

My startled gaze flicked between the two of them, and only then did I understand why the kid didn't behave like a child his age.

With a soft sigh, I looked at Alicia, half reproachful.

"Baby, aren't you being a little too strict with our son?"

To my surprise, she let out a cold, derisive laugh.

"Kurt, I thought you were pretending to have amnesia? How do you still remember he's your son?"

Her words dripped with hostility, her eyes pressing down on me with suffocating force.

I didn't dare say more, afraid that one wrong word might ignite her fury.

Just as I moved to sit down, I realized something—no one had prepared breakfast for me.

I turned toward the housekeeper bustling in the kitchen. "Why isn't there any food for me?"

But she ignored me completely, busying herself with tidying up.

Wasn't I the man of this house? Then why was the housekeeper treating me like I was invisible?

Anger began to rise, but before I could speak, Alicia and our son had already finished their meal.

Setting down his bowl and spoon, Jake finally asked, "Mom, are you going to visit Jacob today?"

The moment I heard that name—Jacob—my brow furrowed instinctively, my chest tightening as if the air had been sucked away.

Forcing down the discomfort clawing at me, I demanded, "Who is Jacob?"

Both mother and son turned to look at me, their expressions a tangled mix of shock and something far more complicated.

I couldn't understand their reaction, but my body recoiled, as though every fiber of my being rejected the very mention of that name.

Alicia gave me a long, penetrating look, then stood and left without a word.

As my son passed behind me, he paused, his voice still brimming with contempt.

"Kurt, pretending not to know Jacob is pushing it too far."