He Faked Amnesia for Her, I Left Without Goodbye

Ambrose kicked my suitcase, sending it flying, clothes scattering across the floor like broken dreams.

He grabbed my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. “I’m talking to you. Are you deaf?”

I stared at him, my voice unnervingly calm. “Since Millicent’s pregnant, let’s just get a divorce. I’ll move out, and you can take care of her.”

For a moment, he froze, and then, in a flash, his rage erupted. He slammed me into the wall. “Jasmine! What are you pretending now?!”

His breath was hot against my face. “Don’t worry. As long as you behave, the title of Mrs. Walker will always be yours.”

I let out a hollow laugh, the sound echoing through the room. Tears rolled down my cheeks.

For eight years, what had that title ever given me except mockery?

I had studied Michelin-star cuisine for him, only to watch him flirt with other women at restaurants. I had tried to dress the way he liked, only to overhear him mock me on the phone, calling me a cheap knockoff.

For a brief second, his expression softened, but it vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by cold indifference. “Jasmine, don’t mistake my kindness for weakness.”

I bent down to pick up my scattered clothes, and my fingers brushed against something. It was a photo, half-hidden in the suitcase. It was from when we first got married. In that picture, Ambrose was smiling at me with a warmth that seemed genuine, a love I could hardly believe ever existed.

Just as I was dragging my suitcase toward the door, my phone rang.

“Hello? Is this the family of Olivia Easton? She took a fall and was brought to our hospital. We suspect she has a cerebral hemorrhage and may need emergency brain surgery. Please come as soon as possible.”

The blood drained from my face.

I spun around, my nails digging into my palm. “Ambrose! Can I borrow a hundred thousand? My grandmother…”

Years of being the perfect wife, obedient and dutiful, had never prepared me for this. Now, when I needed help the most, I realized I didn’t even have a hundred thousand to my name.

His dark expression shifted into one of amusement. Slowly, he loosened his tie. “Oh? What a coincidence.”

Millicent had somehow sidled up to him, drawing circles on his chest with her finger.

“Sister Jasmine,” she said in her syrupy voice, “I just heard last week that your grandma’s in great shape, still dancing in the village square!”

She tilted her head, offering a fake, innocent smile. “Lying about your grandma to get money? That’ll bring bad karma.”

Ambrose’s gaze turned cold.

He pulled a stack of checks from his wallet, waving them in front of me. “A hundred thousand, sure.”

A cruel smile curled at the corners of his lips. “But first, go buy us some condoms.”

I bit down hard on my lip, the taste of blood flooding my mouth.

“Fine.” The word was squeezed out through clenched teeth. Behind me, Millicent chirped, “Make sure they’re strawberry-flavored.”

I rushed out into the pouring rain, tears, and rainwater blurring my vision. The clerk at the convenience store gave me a strange look, but I no longer cared.

When I returned, panting and soaked, the lights upstairs were on. I could faintly hear Millicent’s coquettish giggles and Ambrose’s low groans.

Suddenly, the door opened. Ambrose leaned lazily against the doorframe, looking down at me.

“Go wash Millicent’s underwear.”

His voice was light, almost casual, but it cut through me like a knife.

I clenched my fists; my head lowered as I walked to the bathroom.

Cold water ran over my fingers as I mechanically scrubbed the lace fabric, the sounds from upstairs growing more humiliating with each passing second.

Finally, I trembled as I knocked on the bedroom door.