Waking Up to Five Years Later

When I woke up that morning and happened to glance at the mirror, a scream tore from my throat before I could stop it.

Because on the face I had always taken such pride in, there was now a jagged, horrifying scar.

As terror gripped me, a cool, detached female voice cut through the air beside me.

"What are you shrieking about so early in the morning? Scared by your own ugly face?"

I looked up in shock and realized the voice belonged to my girlfriend, Alicia.

Only—she wasn't the same girl from yesterday. Gone was the youthful innocence I remembered. In its place, every movement, every glance radiated the allure of a mature woman.

The words slipped out before I could hold them back. "Babe… you're gorgeous…"

But Alicia's brows knit together, her gaze colder than ice.

"Kurt, drop the act!"

Act? I was at a loss. Why would she accuse me of pretending?

"Don't call me the way you used to five years ago. It's disgusting."

Five years ago? But… I'm still twenty-three… am I not?

Alicia Reinfield's eyes burned with loathing as they fell on me, her voice laced with sharp dis.

"Kurt, do you really think pretending to have amnesia will erase everything that happened?"

Amnesia? Pretending?

Before I could process her words, she had already risen and walked away. The faint breeze stirred by her nightdress brushed against me, yet I remained frozen in place.

After we got together, we had been the kind of couple everyone envied. So why did her words sound as though our love had long since shattered? And if it had… why weren't we separated?

My gaze drifted back to the mirror. That hideous, winding scar seemed to conceal a secret I could not grasp. No matter how hard I tried, my memory offered nothing. In the end, I could only decide to confront Alicia and demand the truth.

After showering, I pulled on the only outfit hanging in the wardrobe—a plain gray tracksuit.

In the dining room, Alicia sat with a boy who looked like a miniature version of me, quietly eating breakfast.

I couldn't hold back my exclamation. "Wow! The kid looks exactly like me!"

Back in the bedroom, I had already noticed a framed photo of a family of three on the nightstand. Yet in the picture, all three faces were stiff and unsmiling.

My words had barely left my lips when the boy's sharp, cutting gaze fixed on me. His eyes—so chillingly identical to Alicia's—pierced straight through me. But he was still a child; the moment he looked at me, his composure cracked.

In a deliberately mature tone that clashed with his kiddy voice, he scoffed, "Why are you wearing something so childish?"

I glanced down at my tracksuit, bewildered.

Childish? This was just the simplest outfit any twenty-three-year-old guy would wear.

Before I could argue, Alicia shot him a look.

"Jake Deacon!"

At the sound of his full name, the boy instantly fell silent, bowing