After I Left, My 'Face-Blind' Husband Suddenly Remembered Me

"You've been in a coma for a week and no one came to see you. I don't know what your family is thinking—a whole week and they didn't even notice."

Her words hit me like a plunge into ice water. My body was already cold, but now I couldn't feel temperature at all.

I tested the waters.

"Not a single person?"

The nurse's voice hardened with anger.

"No. Especially that pinned contact of yours—we called him thirty times and he hung up thirty times. The last call finally went through. He answered and asked who it was. Obviously doesn't care about you at all."

Back then, my only pinned contact was Aiden.

The anesthesia kicked in. My clenched fist loosened, and as consciousness blurred, a suffocating pressure seized my throat—like drowning in a tank of water, unable to catch my breath.

In that tank, I saw eighteen-year-old Aiden carrying my fainted body to the nurse's office, then secretly stuffing breakfast into my backpack.

I saw nineteen-year-old Aiden earning his first paycheck and buying me a real down jacket.

I saw twenty-year-old Aiden kneeling before his parents, holding me, saying he wanted to marry me.

What did he say back then?

One life. One world. One person.

Liar.

The light went out. I sat up from the bed and stared at the shapeless lump of flesh in the trash can.

I exhaled.

The car I'd booked arrived on time. I went back home and paid my respects to my adoptive parents—Hudson and Madison Henson, Aiden's mother and father.

I explained everything: I couldn't get pregnant anymore. I couldn't marry and become someone's wife. I had no fate with Aiden. Then I placed the black card on the table—the ten million dollars from the night I registered my marriage, returned to repay the debt of raising me.

Hudson and Madison shook their heads and sighed.

"Your household registration has already been transferred out. We have no relationship anymore. From now on, go far away. Just pretend you don't know us."

I kowtowed hard, turned, and left—stepping into the car of the man I'd married that night.

David Gilbert.

At that same moment, Aiden was on the phone arranging the wedding venue with someone else, discussing dress styles.

Just as he was about to call and consult me, he saw the selfie I'd posted—announcing that I was holding a marriage certificate with another man.