Memory Restored, Love Destroyed

After I suffer from a miscarriage, Jude Dixon, my psychiatrist husband, hypnotizes me and seals my memories so that he can take his depressed patient, Maddie Pittman, on a vacation.

For the next three months, Jude and our son, Oliver Dixon, keep Maddie company as they travel around together.

Once they are finally done with the vacation, Jude decides to unseal my memories. Once again, I become a mother and a wife. But now, I no longer deal with the household affairs, nor do I nag their ears off.

At first, Jude and Oliver think that I'm just trying to attract their attention out of spite by playing hard to get. They don't really care about my change in behavior at all.

That is, until they see my post on a forum.

"Help! What should I do when my memories are back, but my feelings aren't? Heck, I can't even relate to the past me! Right now, I feel super nervous and awkward whenever I'm in the same room as my husband and son! What should I do? Please help me!"

Under the covers, I was sleeping soundly when the lights snapped on and flooded my vision with blinding brightness.

Jolted awake, I opened my eyes wide and saw a tall man with a straight posture standing by the door, wearing a pair of silver-rimmed glasses. His expression was utterly cold.

It took a few blinks to realize that this was my husband, Jude Dixon. When he spoke, his voice was steady and emotionless.

"Why are you sleeping in the guest room?"

Clutching the covers, I sat up and forced a dry laugh. "I just got my memories back, so it feels strange. Let's just sleep in separate rooms for now. I need time to adjust."

He nodded as if it didn't matter. "Suit yourself."

Then, he casually added, "You didn't call me today."

I gave him a confused look. "Call you? Why would I? There's nothing I need to talk to you about."

His demeanor cooled further as he replied, "In the past, you would have called me nonstop if I wasn't home by 10:00 pm."

As memories of my past behavior hit me, I cringed so hard I wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole. "I'm sorry. That won't happen again."

Looking at the embarrassing moments felt like an older and more mature version of myself stumbling across my middle-school feed. It was so mortifying that my scalp tingled.

The hypnosis into amnesia had happened because one midnight, I had called one of Jude's patients, Maddie Pittman.

I had called her a slut and accused her of faking depression to seduce another woman's husband. I told her if she was really sick, she should take medicine instead of stripping her clothes and climbing into a man's bed.

When she broke down crying from the insults, Jude took the phone and calmly told me he would be home soon.

I smugly assumed I had chased off a