I Became My Crush's Amnesiac Darling Wife

It took me a whole day to sort through the mess in my head. Bit by bit, the facts arranged themselves into something I could almost grasp.

It seemed I really had lost my memory.

I was still me. Kurt was still Kurt. The only difference was that—we were married, and we had a son.

But the silent presence of that divorce agreement on my bedside whispered another, harsher truth: our marriage had gone wrong.

The question that crawled into my mind was ugly and immediate—had I cheated?

No. How could that even be true? Why would I leave someone like Kurt, who was handsome and brilliant, for another guy? Had my brain short-circuited?

Where had things gone off the rails? How could I get my memory back?

I scratched at my head in agitation; my thoughts were a blank slate and that made me feel frantic and hollow.

"Mom."

A timid knock, and then the door cracked open. My little boy's shy, adorable face peered in.

"Daddy said you need to disinfect your hand. This is the disinfectant. He wants you to do it yourself."

His small hand clutched a bottle of iodine. I reached out, motioning him in.

"Mommy's hand hurts a bit. Can you bring it over for me?"

He hesitated for a beat, then nodded and scampered to the bedside, setting the bottle on the nightstand.

I lifted him onto my lap with my free arm and studied his features. His eyes were round and bright, just like mine. His nose and the sharp angle of his face were unmistakably Kurt's: a perfect, handsome oval. This was our son.

I couldn't help myself. I buried him in my arms and planted a loud, affectionate kiss on his cheek. He smelled like baby lotion and milk, simply irresistible.

His face flushed instantly. For two seconds he stiffened, then wrapped his little arms around my neck and hugged me back tight. He pressed his cheek to my shoulder and whispered, "Mommy, you smell nice."

My heart melted. The sight of him wrapped in my arms was pure, human sweetness.

We were lost in that small, perfect moment when the door opened and Kurt appeared. The boy lit up.

"Daddy!"

He darted into Kurt's arms, spreading his arms wide to be scooped up. Kurt looked like he'd just stepped out of the shower—casual loungewear clinging in a way that made him look effortless and lazy and dangerously attractive. Damp strands of hair clung to his forehead; a bead of water rolled down his neck into his collar.

My pulse spiked. But Kurt's first words extinguished whatever flutter I'd allowed myself.

"Emma, don't you think it's a little late to start treating Max well?"

"I didn't—" I started, but his cold expression told me I might as well stop talking. Whatever I said, he wouldn't believe it.

So I kept quiet.

"Never mind. I'll go." I left the study.

Max peeked from Kurt's neck and glanced at me. Seeing Max act so intimate and natural with Kurt made my heart ache. I was married with a husband and son, and yet my husband didn't love me; he wanted a divorce. Even my son clung to his father.

If that was the case, why had we ever married? Why had we had a baby?

Outside, the full moon hung high. The night breeze stirred my emotions into a tangle. Nothing seemed to have changed—except me.

…

The master bedroom had one oversized bed. The décor was spare—black, white, and gray. Everything was immaculate, with a faint scent of gardenia drifting through the air. I remembered that scent. It was something I liked.

I went to the walk-in closet for a nightgown and blinked. The entire wardrobe was a wall of black—men's clothes, all of them.

Left with no other choice, I knocked on the study door. "Kurt… Honey, sorry to bother you."

Kurt paused from his laptop, adjusting the gold-rimmed glasses on his nose. He looked tempting and forbidding at once.

"Do you know where my sleepwear is? I searched the master closet and couldn't find it."

He stared for a few seconds without answering. Just when I assumed he wouldn't, he stood and walked toward me. He stopped directly in front of me. He was half a foot taller than me. He smirked, hands in his pockets.

"Planning to play the amnesia act for real?"

My throat tightened. If I told the truth he wouldn't believe me. Luckily, he didn't make things harder—he crossed the room and walked away. I stood there, flustered.

He glanced back with the faintest of looks. "Not coming?"

I hurried to him and kept a respectful distance. "Thank you."

Two minutes later, I opened the wardrobe to grab a nightgown and slammed it shut so hard my face heated with embarrassment. The clothes inside—thin, revealing pieces that belonged more to a nightclub than a bedroom—made my cheeks burn.

Had I really—after graduation, after marriage—started dressing like that?

Kurt remained planted, watching.

I flipped through everything and couldn't find a single respectable piece. Frustrated, I turned to him and asked, "Honey, which do you like me in?"

His eyes darkened. He snorted and left the room, slamming the door so loudly I jumped. Men and women were puzzles; apparently, men were the harder ones.

I took a shower, threw on a coat, and went to Max's nursery. It was cozy and tenderly arranged; Kurt clearly cared. Max was asleep with a stuffed toy. I smoothed his blanket and gently withdrew his thumb from his mouth, dabbing it with a tissue. For the first time since waking, mothering felt real.

I knew his name—Max—but not his age. Our marriage certificate showed we'd been married four years; Max must be around three. I stroked his hair and left, closing the door behind me—only to find Kurt standing directly in front of me when I turned.

We were so close I could have touched his jaw with my fingertips. My back pressed against the doorframe, and he didn't step back.

My heart thudded as if trying to leap out of my throat. "Are you done with your work?"

"Mhm." The air between us was awkward.

"Are you… going to sleep?" I asked.

He didn't respond.

I tightened my coat around me, hoping it hid the revealing nightgown beneath.

"I'll go rest, then," I said, sidling toward the bedroom and diving under the covers like an escape artist.

Not long after, Kurt entered. He paused at the bedside, staring. The way he looked at me made the back of my neck prickle.

"Honey, which side do you usually sleep on?"

No answer. It felt like Kurt's personality had shifted into something colder over the years—silent, watchful.

I lifted the covers and offered, "You choose."

He moved to the other side, slammed the bedside lamp closed, and the room fell into ink-black darkness. I wasn't night-blind, or I'd have been furious.

I lay there, listening to the steady cadence of his breathing, and yet I couldn't sleep. My mind was a tangled kettle of incoherent steam. My arm throbbed from the injury and from the coat rubbing against it.

I shifted slightly; no reaction.

I sat up to pull the coat off. In the instant I removed it, Kurt's eyes snapped open. He rolled over, pressed down, and pinned me beneath him. He leaned in until our breaths tangled.

"Kurt, you're still awake?" I whispered.

"What are you trying to do?" he asked.

"What?"

"You wanted to get married. You schemed for a divorce. Now you sleep beside me again, trying to seduce me. Emma, I don't have time to play your games. What do you want? Say it plainly."

"Seduce?" The word hit coldly. I looked down and realized how revealing my nightgown was; no wonder he'd interpret my actions as seduction.

"I… I didn't mean that. I'm sorry." I reached for the coat I'd tossed on the floor.

Kurt moved away and rose from the bed. Before leaving, he said, "Emma, whatever you're thinking, I have no more feelings for you. Whether you're faking amnesia or trying to seduce me, it's meaningless to me now. Tonight I'll sleep in the guest room."

He left. The vast silence swallowed me; only sorrow remained.