He Faked Amnesia for Her, I Left Without Goodbye

After they drew my blood, he walked out without sparing me a glance.

I lay there on the cold hospital bed, shivering between waves of fever and chills. My body trembled uncontrollably until darkness swallowed me whole.

When I woke again, night had already fallen outside the window.

The IV bag still hung beside me, half full of nutrient solution. Just outside the door, I heard Alora Walker’s piercing voice echoing through the hallway.

“Bitch! Can’t even bear a child, and now you want to curse the entire Walker bloodline?”

The door burst open with a violent kick.

Before I could even whisper the word “Mom,” her hand struck across my cheek. The sting shot through my skull, leaving me dizzy and stunned.

“You want a divorce so badly? Then get out! Now!” Her usual gentle mask had twisted into something ugly and cruel. “If it weren’t for your family’s connections, do you really think we’d let a barren hen like you into our home?”

My lips moved, but all I could manage was a hoarse, “I’m sorry, Mom.”

She didn’t look back. After striking me, she stormed off toward Millicent’s ward.

My fingers instinctively brushed my lower abdomen.

There had once been a child there, too.

That day, Ambrose had insisted I join them for a “fun” racing game.

I remembered how Millicent had turned to me with a wicked smile. And then, without warning, she floored the accelerator and crashed her go-kart straight into mine.

I tumbled to the ground in agony, clutching my stomach, while Ambrose’s voice rang cold in the air, calm and careless.

“She’s just a kid. Don’t take it so seriously. She was only playing.”

They left me lying there at the edge of the track, like discarded debris, without even glancing back.

I lost the baby. While I was confined to a hospital bed, recovering from the miscarriage, Millicent sent video after video of her and Ambrose vacationing in the Maldives. Laughing. Smiling. As if nothing had happened.

But there had been good days once.

When we first got married, Ambrose would bring home desserts from my favorite bakery. Even when he worked late, he’d quietly tiptoe through the door, careful not to wake me. Back then, I really believed this marriage, arranged by our grandparents, might grow into something real. A home. A future.

But my father saw wealth and wanted more.

Believing I had married into gold, he shamelessly asked the Walker family for money. Again and again.

Then came that one roadshow.

He barged into the event, drunk and loud, shattering everything I had worked for.

“Ambrose! My daughter married you, and this is how you treat your father-in-law? Give me five hundred thousand, or I’ll tell the media she’s in love with someone else!”

The entire event collapsed in chaos. My reputation along with it.

And when he died in a drunk driving accident not long after, Ambrose didn’t even show up to the funeral.

All of it came rushing back, every moment, every wound. Tears streamed silently down my face.

That night, a high fever consumed me. My body burned at 39 degrees. In my fevered haze, I thought I saw him sitting by my bed, brows drawn in concern.

But when I opened my eyes, there was no one there.

I scrolled through my Instagram feed, my heart sinking as I saw Millicent’s latest post. Ambrose had bought her a yacht. And to make it worse, he’d named it after her, Millicent.

Before I could even process it, my phone rang, shattering my thoughts.

“Hello, Mrs. Walker. This is Evander Russell from Orion Banquet Planning,” a cheerful voice greeted me. “President Walker specifically instructed us to reserve the finest venue for your baby’s hundred-day banquet and arranged a professional photography team…”

I didn’t let him finish. I hung up the phone, feeling a lump form in my throat as if my words had been swallowed by thick cotton.

The day I was discharged came, but no one came to pick me up. I hailed a cab, dragging my recovering body back to the villa.

When I pushed open the door, I found Millicent lounging on the sofa, sipping vegetable soup. A servant knelt before her, gently massaging her feet.

“Oh, you’re back?” she sneered.

Then, Ambrose appeared, descending the stairs. His frown deepened when he saw me. “Jasmine, from today on, you’ll be in charge of preparing Millicent’s meals. She’s been struggling with severe morning sickness, and you need to…”

Before he could finish, I turned and walked straight toward the basement, not sparing him a glance.