My husband is one of the world’s leading hypnotists. But when the woman he could never forget killed someone in a car accident, he hypnotized me to clear her name. “Clara is fragile,” he whispered, his voice a soothing poison. “She’s terrified of prison. Just forget this memory and take her place. When you get out, I’ll make it up to you.” Our five-year-old son nodded along. “Besides, you’re just a useless housekeeper. When you go to jail, Aunt Clara can finally be my real mom!” A serene smile touched my lips. I gave them their wish. I forgot them completely. But now that I’m free of them, my memory wiped clean, they stand at my door every day, begging me to just look at them one more time. 1 After serving eleven months, I walked out of the prison gates. My husband, Adrian, was waiting for me with our son. “Let’s go home. We’re here to pick you up.” He patted the little boy’s shoulder. “Leo, go help your mother with her things.” “No way!” Five-year-old Leo ducked behind his father, sticking his tongue out at me. “She’s a convict, not my mom! My mom is Aunt Clara.” He tugged on Adrian’s sleeve. “Dad, isn’t it Aunt Clara’s birthday today? Let’s go celebrate with her. I don’t want to see some jailbird.” Adrian’s face paled. He shot me a panicked look. “Evelyn, he’s just a child. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. Don’t take it to heart.” I shook my head. “I won’t. He’s just a boy with a father who never taught him any manners.” “What?” Adrian froze, his eyes snapping to mine. “Evelyn, how can you say that? This is Leo.” Leo burst into tears. “I don’t want a convict for a mom! I want Aunt Clara! Dad, let’s go! Send her away! We don’t want her home!” He wailed, watching me through his tears. When he saw my expression was nothing more than a mild frown, he cried even louder. Adrian was flustered. “He’s crying. You should comfort him. You used to dote on him more than anything.” He was right. The person I supposedly doted on was calling me a convict and rejecting me as his mother. It was a good thing I couldn't remember them. How agonizing would it be to be stabbed in the heart by the people you love most? “I don’t remember you,” I said. “Adrian, let’s get a divorce.” It was the only logical path. We go our separate ways, and everyone is better off. Adrian went rigid. A stiff, forced smile stretched his lips. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not getting a divorce. You’re just suffering from temporary amnesia due to the trauma. You’ll remember soon.” He leaned closer, his voice confident. “We are the people you love most in this world. Once you remember, you won’t be able to leave us. Let’s go home. You need to rest.” He brought me to a three-story villa. I scanned the property, but it stirred no memories. If it weren’t for the fact that the house was filled with things I recognized as my own personal habits and preferences, I would have doubted I’d ever lived there at all. So, I really had lost my memory. No wonder I couldn’t recall the details of the car accident. I explored the villa, trying to jog something loose. As I pushed open the door to a cluttered attic, a figure who had been sneakily following me lunged forward, shoving me inside. I crashed into a pile of junk, and boxes and old furniture came tumbling down on top of me. An old chair leg struck my forehead, and a sharp, hot pain made me break out in a cold sweat. Clutching my head, I looked back at the culprit standing in the doorway. “You really are a spoiled little brat. Is your father dead? Is that why you turned out like this?” Leo’s face, which had been pale with shock, twisted into a look of disgust when he heard me insult his father. “It’s your own fault for coming back today. It’s Aunt Clara’s birthday. Dad and I are celebrating with her. You’re not going to ruin it!” With that, he stepped back and slammed the door shut. I heard the distinct sound of a lock clicking into place. A sense of dread washed over me. I scrambled to my feet and banged on the door, telling him to open it, but Leo just giggled and ran off. “You’re a bad woman! You can just stay in there forever!” 2 I kicked the door in frustration as the attic was plunged into darkness. Almost immediately, a wave of discomfort washed over me. The enclosed space felt like drowning, stealing the air from my lungs. I slid down the door, slumping to the floor as the world spun around me. A phantom hand seemed to be squeezing my throat. “Open the door…” I rasped, weakly pounding on the wood. The suffocating panic was so overwhelming that I could no longer feel the throbbing pain in my forehead. My eyes fluttered shut, and I fell into unconsciousness. When I woke up, I was in a hospital. My head was bandaged. A thin, lanky boy was standing over me. “You’re awake. Do you want some water?” His eyes were clear and bright as he leaned down. The clothes he wore were faded from countless washings. When he noticed me staring, he grew visibly flustered. A small smile touched my lips. “Did you save me? Thank you.” The boy shook his head quickly, stammering, “N-No need. I was just delivering a package and heard a noise from the attic, so I called the police.” He pointed towards the door, where two police officers were standing. “Well,” I said, turning back to him, “either way, you’re the one who found me. Thank you for saving my life.” The boy’s face turned bright red. He waved his hands dismissively and hurried out to get the officers. They explained the situation, I expressed my gratitude, and they left. I learned that the boy who saved me was eight years old. His name was Sam Lee. His parents had passed away two years ago, and he was supposed to go to an orphanage, but he had run away. He survived by running errands and delivering packages for people in the neighborhood for a few dollars. I was speechless. After a moment, I looked at him and asked, “Sam, would you like to come home with me?” He looked up, his eyes wide and hopeful. “Can I?” “Of course.” He nodded frantically. “Yes, I want to. I really do.” “Good. We’ll go home as soon as I’m done here.” After my IV drip was finished, I took Sam back to the apartment my parents had left me. It was a cozy three-bedroom, not huge, but warm. Sam was a whirlwind of help, carrying boxes and cleaning rooms without a single complaint—a world away from a certain brat I knew. A wave of contentment washed over me. This was the kind of son I should have had. After we finished unpacking, I went to the kitchen and made a pot of braised pork rib noodles. The rich aroma filled the small apartment, and Sam’s eyes lit up. “It smells amazing.” He took a bowl and filled it to the brim with pork ribs, placing it in front of me. “You’re hurt. You need to eat lots of meat to get better.” Then he sat down and served himself a small portion of plain noodles, eating them quietly. I looked at the stark contrast between our bowls and couldn’t help but ruffle his hair. “I need to recover, but so do you. You’re a growing boy. You need meat even more than I do.” I spooned a generous helping of ribs into his bowl. Sam let me fuss over him, his face flushing a happy pink as he nodded. “Okay. Thanks, Mom.” A week passed. I completed the adoption paperwork for Sam and enrolled him in a local school. He was officially Sam Evans now—coincidentally, the same last name as his birth mother. I figured it was fate. That weekend, I planned to take him shopping for new clothes. But early that morning, my phone began to ring, shrill and insistent. Adrian’s cursed name flashed across the screen. 3 I hung up without a second thought. He called back twice more, and I rejected them both. A moment later, two text messages came through. It was Adrian. “Where are you?” “The housekeeper said you haven’t been home all week. Where did you go?” Where I went was none of his damn business. I promptly blocked his number. It took him an entire week to notice I was gone. If Sam hadn’t found me, I would have been dead in that attic. I blocked every possible way he could contact me, then took Sam to the mall. We both picked out several new outfits. As we were about to leave, Sam’s gaze fell on a display of matching parent-child outfits in the window. “Want to try them on?” I asked, a smile tugging at my lips. He nodded shyly. “Alright, let’s go try on our matching outfits.” I changed quickly and waited for Sam outside the dressing room. And just my luck, that’s when I ran into Adrian and his entourage. He saw me and froze. “Evelyn? What are you doing here?” I ignored him, my gaze sliding away indifferently. Adrian’s expression faltered, a hint of guilt in his eyes. “I know about what Leo did, locking you in the attic. I’ve already punished him. I’m making him apologize.” He motioned for Leo, who shuffled forward and mumbled a half-hearted, “Sorry.” I laughed softly. “Locked me in an attic for what could have been a week, and a simple ‘sorry’ is supposed to fix it? Why not wait until I’m dead and burn some paper offerings as an apology instead?” Adrian’s face stiffened. He clearly hadn't expected me to be so confrontational. Leo’s face was pale as he stared at the floor. Clara, the woman standing beside them, stepped forward as if she couldn't bear to watch. She took my hand, her voice soft and persuasive. “Sweetie, Leo didn’t do it on purpose. Why make things so hard on a child? Blame me. After my birthday, I begged them to take a week-long trip with me. That’s why we didn't realize you were gone.” She smiled sweetly. “How about this? You just got out of prison. We’ll throw you a welcome home party. It’ll be our apology and a way to wash away all the bad luck. What do you think?” Adrian’s face lit up. “That’s a great idea, Clara. Very thoughtful.” Neither of them noticed how the surrounding shoppers and store clerks took a subtle step back, their eyes now filled with a mixture of fear and disgust as they looked at me. I sneered. So, they locked me in an attic and ran off to play with the other woman? I yanked my hand away from Clara’s, disgustedly brushing off my new clothes. “What could possibly be more unlucky than running into you? My husband and son are tangled up with you. If you like them so much, tell him to divorce me. I’ll gift-wrap them both and send them over to you.” Clara’s face turned ashen. She never imagined I would be so blunt in public. The crowd’s scornful gaze immediately shifted from me to her. “Oh, she’s the other woman. So shameless, hooking up with someone else’s husband and son.” “Look at them. I honestly thought they were the family.” “The man’s no good either. Parading his mistress in front of his wife. How pathetic.” “So trashy. If I were the wife, I’d be furious.” Listening to the whispers, Adrian’s expression turned ugly. “What nonsense are you spouting? There’s nothing going on between Clara and me! Go home and reflect on your behavior, now!” Clara’s eyes welled with tears as she explained weakly, “Sweetie, you’ve misunderstood. I’m not trying to take Adrian and Leo from you. I just… I can’t bear to see them so lonely.” “Bullshit! You shameless homewrecker!” someone from the crowd yelled, spitting in her direction. 4 “The husband yells at his wife to protect his mistress, and the mistress makes pathetic excuses. Are you two even human?” “Scumbags like you deserve each other. Get lost before you blind us all!” Assailed by the crowd, Adrian and Clara looked increasingly cornered. Clara looked like she was about to faint. Leo, his face red with anger, rushed forward. “Don’t you bully Aunt Clara! Apologize to her!” He lunged at me. But before he could touch me, another small body slammed into him, knocking him aside. “Mom, are you okay?” Sam stood in front of me like a protective lion cub, glaring at the three of them. I shook my head, stroking his hair. “I’m fine, sweetie. Don't worry.” “Mom?” Leo scrambled up from the floor, his face a mask of disbelief. When his eyes landed on our matching outfits, his expression morphed into one of shock and heartbreak. Suddenly, he launched himself at Sam, scratching and hitting him. “Who’s your mom? She’s my mom! Stop calling her that!” he shrieked. “You’re not allowed to wear matching clothes with her! Go away! Go away!” He tore frantically at Sam’s new shirt. Sam, who had been about to fight back, froze when he heard Leo’s words, letting the blows rain down on him. That silly boy. I strode over and pulled Leo off him. “Your mother is over there. Don’t get confused.” I held Sam close and glared at Adrian. “Control your little demon. If he causes any more trouble, I’m calling the police.” Adrian’s jaw was tight. “Evelyn, he’s your son!” Sam immediately wrapped his arms around my waist and shot them a defiant look. “I’m Mom’s son.” Leo looked like he was about to attack again, but Adrian held him back, shaking his head at me in disappointment. “Evelyn, you’re being completely unreasonable. When you get your memory back, you’re going to regret this.” “That’s right, sweetie,” Clara chimed in, comforting the crying Leo. “Even if you’re jealous that Adrian and Leo are nice to me, you shouldn’t just pick up some stray off the street and call him your son. Think of how much that hurts Leo!” I looked at her coldly. “Where’s your father?” “What?” She was taken aback. “I asked where your father is,” I repeated patiently. “I’d like to find him, slap him across the face, and ask him how he raised a daughter with no class, throwing around words like ‘stray.’” “You! How dare you say I have no class?” Clara sputtered, her face crimson. “I’m talking about you, Miss Other Woman.” A smirk played on my lips as I took Sam’s hand and started to walk away. I called back to the sales clerk, “This man is paying for our clothes. His son ripped my son’s shirt, so he owes us a new one. My outfit is for emotional damages.” Behind me, I could hear Leo’s heartbroken sobs. “You don’t remember me? Well, I don’t like you anymore! I never want to see you again! Waaaaah!” I didn’t even bother to turn around. Back home, Sam apologized guiltily. “Mom, I’m sorry. I made my… I made that boy sad. Maybe you should go check on him?” “What does that have to do with you?” I said, exasperated. “He started it. What’s wrong with me protecting my own son? Besides, he’s the one who didn’t want me. He’s not lacking for attention. You, on the other hand… does that long scratch on your neck not hurt?” I pulled him over to treat the wound. The tears he had been holding back all day finally fell. That night, I got a call from an unknown number. It was Adrian, using the housekeeper’s phone. “Evelyn,” he said, his voice demanding, “Leo is sick.” “Oh.” “‘Oh’? What’s that supposed to mean? Aren’t you worried? Aren’t you coming to see him?” “I’m not a doctor. Is he going to magically get better if I look at him? Is there anything else? If not, I’m hanging up.” I disconnected before he could reply, catching the sound of a child’s crying just before the line went dead. But what did that have to do with me? Another week went by.
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