When Elyse Montgomery, the rising starlet, was suddenly exposed for having a history of bullying in school, my husband, Raymond Reed, grabbed me by the hair and slammed my head against the wall.

"Elyse is still young. We can't let something like this ruin her future. But you're already an established actress; taking the blame for Elyse won't hurt you much."

Ninety-eight times—my life was hanging by a thread, and eventually, I forgot everything about my past and was led to believe I was the notorious bully everyone despised.

I took the blame for Elyse, transforming from a once-celebrated actress to the town's outcast. The moment I was shoved into traffic by a mob of angry fans, I heard my six-year-old son cheer with delight, "Yay! That meddling witch is finally gone. I want the pretty lady to be my new mommy!"

Miraculously surviving against all odds and beginning anew with a clean slate, the husband and son who had once loathed me now knelt at my door, eyes full of unspoken questions.

"How could you just forget us?"

---

After finishing the discharge paperwork, I returned to my hospital room to find two almost identical men, one grown and one small, standing by my bed.

Noticing me, the smaller one darted over like a firecracker, throwing a fit right in front of me.

"Why are you leaving the hospital today? Today is Elyse's big award ceremony, and it's all your fault! Dad and I can't be there for her!"

"I don't want you as my mom! I told Dad not to pick you up. I want to go to the award show! If you hadn't survived that accident, Elyse could have been my mom!"

His blatant disdain pierced me in ways I couldn't articulate. But more than anything, I was bewildered.

How did I suddenly have this irrational child and a husband who seemed so indifferent? And if they were indeed my family, why hadn't they been with me through my severe injuries and close calls with death, only to show up now when I'm recovering?

Before I could make sense of it all, the loud child on the floor had irritated other patients, drawing complaints.

Squelching my confusion, I asked the man to control his son, only for him to reverse the situation.

"Celine, haven't you always claimed that you love your son the most? How can you stand by now when he's upset like this?"

As he spoke, he tried to pass the still-crying child to me.

"Aren't you aware you're disturbing others? Celine, it's one thing to let yourself down, but don't drag him down with you."

Whispers filled the room, and this unreasonable father-son duo were testing my limits.

Biting back my frustration, I pushed the child away with enough force to send him stumbling. He looked at me in disbelief, momentarily forgetting to cry.

The man, having witnessed the scene, finally spoke, massaging the bridge of his nose with clear irritation.

"Enough... if you have issues with me, don't take it out on the child."

"I mentioned to you before that it's a crucial time in Elyse's career, so I couldn't be here for you. I need to support her now."

"Celine, you know I can't stand women who are petty and argumentative."

"Yeah, Elyse would never be so petty!" The boy chimed in after regaining composure, echoing his father.

In their eyes, my list of offenses was never-ending. I found myself laughing out of anger, visions flashing in my mind of someone pulling my hair, endlessly accusing me of being a ruthless bully.

The father and son continued their commotion. And if I truly embodied the bully they accused me of being, I'd make sure I wasn't a pushover. I raised my hand and slapped the man with all the force I could muster.

His words halted abruptly as a red handprint bloomed on his cheek, a trickle of blood marking the corner of his mouth.

He stood there, stunned, clutching his cheek as if my act of defiance was utterly shocking.

The child, upon seeing his father struck, stomped toward me, threatening to retaliate.

But I swiftly caught his wrists, pinning his small frame against the wall with ease. I grabbed a handful of candies from the bedside cabinet, shoving them into his mouth.

The sweetness made him tremble, but with my hand firmly over his mouth, he couldn't spit them out, managing only muffled protests.

Finally, both of them were silent—the world at last fell into peace.

The young boy, who had been quietly sobbing without shedding tears, was now genuinely crying because of my insistence. He was hiccuping with sorrow, looking truly pitiable. As I gazed at his face, which bore a slight resemblance to mine, an inexplicable wave of compassion surged within me. However, recalling the terrible things he had said earlier, any tenderness I felt quickly faded. I didn't linger on the source of this fleeting sympathy; with a composed expression, I prepared to see them off.

I barely started speaking when the man interrupted me with a sharp slap. He shouted, "Celine, he's your son! How can you treat him like this?" Yet he remained silent about their own actions. His relentless questioning finally exhausted my last shred of patience. I took out my phone and said, "I don't recall having a husband or son. All I know is that your behavior is stressing me out. If you continue to harass me, I won't hesitate to call the police."

"Don't think these tricks—" he began, but stopped abruptly as soon as I dialed the police. Grabbing my phone, he hung up and looked at me with a complicated expression. I responded with a calm face, "You're trespassing on someone else's property, which is an additional offense." Raymond, the man, pinched the bridge of his nose and skillfully navigated to my phone's photo gallery. He unlocked a private album and handed it to me along with his ID.

"We're legally married; we have the documents to prove it," he said. When I browsed the single photo in the album, I furrowed my brows. I had discovered this album shortly after regaining consciousness, but without my memories, the password was beyond me. To my surprise, the solitary photo in the album was our marriage certificate.

With this piece of evidence, I reluctantly accepted the reality that I was married and had a child. Apparently, this man in front of me was my husband, Raymond Reed, and the little one was my son, Isaac Reed. Raymond looked at me with a furrowed brow and asked, "Can we go home now?" I nodded.

During the drive back, as Raymond and Isaac acted as if I were invisible, I felt increasingly uncomfortable. This didn’t seem like a normal marriage at all. While waiting at a traffic light, I seized the moment to delete the wedding photo from my phone. To my surprise, Raymond leaned over, half-curious, peering at me with astonishment.

"You..." he started.

I glanced at him and said, "I didn't see any reason to keep it. Is that a problem?" The atmosphere between us grew tense, but he simply gave me a look that said, "You've got nerve," and fell silent.

We made the rest of the journey home in silence. Upon entering what was supposed to be my home for six years, I immediately noticed it didn’t feel like mine at all. There were hardly any signs of my presence. Instead, the place was filled with items of a distinctly different, yet feminine style, scattered throughout the house.

I shook my head, clearing away the random thoughts. Without my memories, I wasn’t burdened by feelings of unfairness. Raymond retreated to his study as soon as we got home. Isaac was reluctantly pushed forward to show me around and help me reacquaint myself with the house. Displeased with the medicine I had given him earlier, he filled the tour with complaints about my strictness and longed for Elyse Montgomery’s gentle affection.

As I was busy observing my surroundings, I didn’t even look up. "If you like her so much, let her be your mom. Let’s see if she can," I said casually. "As long as I don't divorce your dad, your so-called good mommy will always just be 'the other woman.'" Isaac froze, mouth agape. Perhaps he’d never been spoken to so bluntly before. His eyes reddened, and he seemed momentarily at a loss for a response. I seized the opportunity to stop his complaints.

Turning around, I saw Raymond approaching us with a frown. I handed Isaac over to him. Watching the father and son, who shared such similar expressions, suddenly seemed boring to me. I looked up at Raymond and spoke earnestly:

"Since neither of you seems to like me, why don't we just get a divorce? It would solve all our problems. I get my freedom, you can marry the person you love, and he can have the mom he wants. What do you think?"

Raymond’s face instantly turned cold. He quieted the cheering Isaac beside him before turning to face me. "Celine, do you think marriage is a game you can just end like that? Even if you're not considering us, you should at least think about the child."

I shrugged nonchalantly. "He doesn't seem to want me as his mom, so why should I consider him?" I replied.

Raymond laughed bitterly in frustration. "Forget it. You can stop dreaming about divorce. I won't agree to it."