Fake Amnesiac

Ambrose Miller forgets about me after an accident. He mistakes the perpetrator for me. He calls me a maid and forces our daughter to call the perpetrator "Mom".

The doctor tells me it'll be beneficial for his recovery to go along with him. Later, I overhear him laughing while talking to someone.

"I never would've expected to run into Maryanne again. Pretending to be an amnesiac is just a way to make up for lost time. I'll use a month to make up for the five years we've been without each other. I'll die without regrets."

I look down at my maid uniform as tears stream silently down my face.

I choose to leave so he and his true love can be together. However, Ambrose loses his mind that night and tearfully begs me to return.

"She actually believes that you have amnesia. Mr. Miller, you know how to keep your wife in check well."

"I had a doctor friend vouch for me. Giselle felt too sorry for me to suspect anything. She was so eager for me to recover quickly that she took on the role of a nanny, cooking and cleaning every day. It's hilarious."

A burst of laughter drowned out Ambrose Miller's voice.

I stood at the door and trembled all over while clutching the hem of my nanny uniform.

Ambrose had called me earlier on to deliver some documents for him at this banquet.

The driver responsible for the accident, Maryanne Brown, sat right beside him, ordering me to pour drinks and serve food, mocking me as much as she could.

I endured it all in silence and even secretly texted some of the guests so that they could cover for me.

If I hadn't forgotten my phone and come back for it, I probably would have never found out that Ambrose's "amnesia" was nothing but a lie.

My mind was in turmoil. I fled as fast as I could.

The moment I stepped into the house, my daughter called out in a cheerful tone, "Mommy!"

Then, her face paled as if realizing something. She quickly covered her mouth, nervously glancing around to make sure no one was there before letting out a relieved sigh.

Seeing how anxious she was, I was heartbroken. Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably.

To make his act more convincing, Ambrose had not only pretended not to know me—he'd even refused to acknowledge our daughter, Alexis Carter, as well.

He'd told her that Maryanne was her real mother. Every time she called me "Mommy", he would fly into a rage.

She was only six years old, yet like me, she'd become nothing more than a prop in their grand "reunion" performance.

I held her tightly as my heart filled with guilt. She reached up with her small hands and gently wiped away my tears.

"Mommy, don't be scared," she whispered. "Daddy and that bad lady aren't here. No one will scold me."

A sharp pain twisted inside me. I hugged her