A woman rescued a man who had lost his memory and informed him that she was his fiancée.

I had amnesia following a robbery, and when I woke up, a girl was claiming to be my fiancée. Strange hints began to appear when she got home, such my dog’s animosity against her, her lack of familiarity with our house, and concealed pictures of an unknown person in the attic. There was a problem.

James, a 30-year-old banker, is my name. Up until a Tuesday when everything changed, my life consisted of the same rituals every day. Like every morning, I arrived at the train station at 8:30 and savored the quiet before my day began.

I took a seat away from the mob in my normal position on the platform and got to work on my book. Something buzzed on my pocket phone. My fiancée, who had become my primary source of love and support after my family passed away, had sent me a note.

The note said, “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” I retorted, before returning to my reading.

As I read, two men came up to me. I tried not to get too worked up about them even though they gave out a bad vibe.

“Hey, man,” exclaimed one of them. They drew nearer and looked me over.

“Guys, any problems?” I asked, trying to sound authoritative but courteous at the same time.

“You should tell us that, man,” scoffed the taller one. They were obviously not in for a lighthearted conversation.

That guy who was shorter tried to take my luggage. “What’s inside this?” he insisted.

“Guys, I don’t want any trouble. Listen up.” “Let’s just stroll away,” I said, gripping my belongings tightly.

“No, that is not how it operates. The shorter one urged, “Give us the bag.” I resisted giving in. This concerned a matter of principle. While we were fighting over the bag, a worried-looking girl came over.

Her approach startled the men, who momentarily relaxed their hold on her. However, the quick movement caused me to lose my equilibrium, falling onto the track with a severe knock to my head.

I felt so much pain that my vision became fuzzy.

It was a hospital where I awoke. First, everything was hazy. A white-coated man leaned across me. I realized he was a doctor. The space was cold and clinical.

Then I noticed her—a stunning young woman clutching my hand. She was unfamiliar with me, but she clung to me as though we had shared a lifetime of memories.

The doctor shined a light in my eyes, but the girl’s anxious countenance caught my attention instead. Her name escaped me, but she made an effort to console me.

Gradually, words began to make sense, much like a radio tuning in to its station. The doctor said, “Sir, do you understand what I’m asking?”

I stammered through my response, “I didn’t hear you.” When I attempted to swallow, my throat felt like a desert.

“Remember what your name is?” He did not give up.

“James,” I replied, a glimmer of clarity piercing my bewilderment.

“And when were you born?” he asked. I found the figures very easy to understand.

I frowned as the doctor asked more detailed questions, such what color the sky was and who the president was, and some of the answers came back more quickly than others. I could remember certain aspects of my life, like my street and the feel of a dog’s fur, but many other facts eluded me.

“You’ve been in a coma for five days due to a traumatic brain injury,” the doctor went on to say. He continued, but I wasn’t able to understand all of the medical jargon.

“Who is this?” I said, turning to face the girl next to me, whose presence was both reassuring and perplexing.

“James, it’s me, Lucy,” she said, tears streaming down her face, but her name spurred no recognition.

“Lucy—who?” Squinting my eyes at her face, I repeated.

“Your fiancée,” she added, displaying a ring that I didn’t understand.

I felt bewildered and told the doctor, “I don’t know her or that ring.”

The doctor said, “You might have amnesia,” and promised more examinations and consolation.

Lucy turned to face me again, her troubled eyes fixed on me. She asked, “Do you not remember me?” which only made my bewilderment worse.

I said, “No, sorry,” and closed my eyes.

I was physically fine, according to the tests the physicians did later, but they were unable to determine the cause of my forgetfulness. I was left feeling even more disoriented and confused because it might be either temporary or permanent. Our somber silence was not lessened by Lucy’s attempts to hide her dejection.

I was released from the hospital after two weeks. I was excited to be there, but I was also nervous about what was ahead. Lucy told me stories about our life, but they seemed to be stories from someone else’s perspective, which further distanced me from her.

I thought that coming home would help Lucy recognize me, but as soon as we got to my house, I knew where I lived. It didn’t make me joyful, though, because it just brought my memory gaps to light.

Lucy opened the door, and my dog Luther welcomed me with an endless supply of enthusiasm. His elation was a fleeting feeling of happiness. Even though I knew him, he instantly began to shy away from Lucy and start barking at her.

Given that dogs are notorious for assessing a person’s character, Luther’s actions seemed like a red flag that I couldn’t ignore. Even after attempting to settle Luther down, I still apologized to Lucy, saying, “I’m so sorry.”

Her attempt to dismiss it simply increased my sense of unease.

There was a contradiction between familiarity and foreignness inside the house. Even though it was mine, I had the impression that I was entering someone else’s life. In addition, Lucy’s presence didn’t seem to match with the disjointed recollections I was having trouble reconstructing.

Are there any pictures you have of us? I asked, thinking that maybe something might bring up a recollection.

Lucy gave a headshake. She shrugged and stated, “We don’t have any joint photos,” describing how uncomfortable she was with taking pictures. Though I found it odd, I had no grounds for mistrusting her.

As the evening went on, I saw that Lucy didn’t seem familiar with the kitchen, which was odd for someone who was supposed to live here. My suspicions were not much eased by her explanation that we had only recently moved in together.

My suspicions were heightened after supper by the fact that Lucy was reluctant to search our wardrobe for a towel and by the fact that there were no personal belongings with her. I found an embroidered towel with the letter “E” on it, and it gave me a hazy feeling of familiarity, but she wouldn’t accept it.

Her behavior and the missing parts in our house created an inconsistent impression.

The contradictions in Lucy’s account, Luther’s unanticipated response, the lack of pictures, and now the enigmatic towel all suggested a different reality from the one Lucy painted.

With the sound of the shower playing in the background, I stood there lost in contemplation and couldn’t get rid of the feeling that important aspects of my life were missing.

I strolled into our living room, observing the objects, books, and furniture that were both familiar and strange at the same time. Even though everything was familiar, there was a strong feeling that something was still missing.

I closed my eyes as I sat there on the couch, expecting to see a flicker of memory, but all I saw was a thick blackness. The sudden quiet of the shower brought me back to the present and made me think about the front I had to put up for Lucy.

“We’re out of shampoo,” she remarked as she came to. I’m going to purchase some.

Why not wait till the morning? I asked, perplexed.

She pleaded, gently but firmly, “No, I have to leave now.

Even though the convenience store was close by, it took her a while to get back. When she eventually returned, I was in bed and she moved around the room silently. Once more, the shower ran, and the strange smell of shampoo left more questions than it answered.

The following morning, as Lucy was cooking, I was absorbed in my thoughts at the kitchen table, listening to the rain outside. I noticed a “Spain” magnet on the refrigerator, and it brought back a hazy memory of my visit.

“I wish I was in Spain right now. I thought out loud, more to myself than to Lucy, “No rain or cold.”

She surprised me with her remark. With her back to me, she replied, “Probably, I have never been abroad,” as she carried on preparing.

Her remarks disturbed me. Though hazy, my memories of laughing, strolling through a zoo, and Spain felt real. Lucy wasn’t with me, though.

There was awkward stillness while we ate breakfast. I started to feel uneasy in my stomach after Lucy departed for work. My fragmented memories combined with the contradictions in our stories caused me to doubt everything I had previously believed to be true.

By myself, with only the rain for company, I thought about how difficult it would be to piece together my past. I looked through the entire house for pictures in the hopes that one would spark a memory. I eventually found myself in the attic.

I looked everywhere, but I couldn’t find any pictures. Luther shocked me by following me. His barking filled the small room with a deafening echo.

“Luther, be quiet.” I tried to soothe him, but he was so excited that a box fell from a shelf and hit me. I coughed at the cloud of dust filling the attic, rubbing my weary head. Upon clearing, I noticed that pictures had overflowed onto the ground.

I looked through them with great anticipation and saw pictures of a young, blond woman whose image made me remember something. Although I didn’t know who she was, I recognized her far more than Lucy did.

I showed Lucy the discovered photos when she got back from work. Her expression changed from one of amazement to anxiety.

Her voice faltered as she questioned, “Where did you get this?”

“In the attic,” I said, keeping a careful eye on her.

Her lips pursed, “Why did you go up there?” she said.

“I searched for anything that would aid in my memory.” “Do you know who this girl is?” I questioned, pointing to the pictures. I figured you might be familiar with her.

Lucy paused, and I noticed that she swallowed. “This is my sister who passed away,” she said, letting out a breath. I said I was sorry, and she requested me to put the pictures back in the attic. I easily complied with her requests.

Lucy mentioned a last-minute meeting with a friend after supper. “She just gave me a call.” She apologized for not bringing it up earlier and departed with a fleeting kiss.

Once more, she arrived home far too late.

That night, I had a vivid dream that took me to a sunny zoo where Lucy’s sister, the child in the photos, was by my side. The warmth of the day and our mutual laughter felt so very genuine.

When I woke up from the dream, I realized these were real memories coming back, not just tricks of the imagination. The weight of this realization was heavy on me as I lay next to Lucy, but I was at a loss for what to do.

I made an effort to seem normal the next day, but I couldn’t help but think about my dream. Even though our refrigerator was stocked, Lucy had to go outside later that evening—this time for groceries. I’d had enough and made the decision to follow her.

I started to doubt my sanity when Lucy stopped at the grocery shop, but she didn’t go home after. Rather, I followed her to a remote, run-down home. I hid my car and watched her come in carrying a small suitcase.

As I walked up, my heart skipped a beat as I saw, through a window, Lucy and the girl who was supposed to be dead in the pictures, both very much alive, but strapped to a chair. I recoiled from the glass in amazement at what I saw.

I gave up and decided to hide for a bit. Lucy went outside, and I went inside to find the girl.

“James!” was her first reaction to seeing me. I was confused, but I could also feel her relief and recognition.

“From where do you know me?” Shaking my voice, I questioned. Nevertheless, I moved in closer to free her. Her frail hands reached directly for my face.

“Is it true that you can’t recall me?” There was a wave of faint familiarity but no clarity when she touched me.

I admitted, “I have partial amnesia.”

She identified herself as my true fiancée, Emma. I started to believe her when fragments of my disjointed memory started to come together. She described how Lucy had enticed and imprisoned her under the guise of bringing her to me; this was all part of a plan that coincided with my going into a coma.

“She told me how she dreamed that you would be hers as she watched you every morning at the station. She then had this opportunity.

Emma’s statements cut through the falsehoods I had been told like daggers. I decided, “We need to call the police,” and I took up her small, fragile body.

I remembered my phone was in the car, which sent a wave of terror through me, but before we could do anything, Lucy showed there, waving a gun. “James, put her down on the ground,” she sternly ordered.

I did as I was told, carefully placing Emma on the floor while I looked about the home for a way out.

“You know that we were supposed to live together even though I was supposed to kill her?” Declared Lucy. I tried to reason with Lucy despite my concern, but she had other ideas.

I pretended to agree, edging closer to Lucy in an attempt to gain time. I responded, “Of course we will,” and reached for the firearm. However, she saw my move coming and shot me in the leg. I was falling and the pain was instant and excruciating, but I was driven further by desperation as Lucy turned the gun on Emma.

Using a loose board as leverage, I got up and, in a rush of adrenaline, hit Lucy, rendering her unconscious. I found her phone and promptly locked her up after securing the gun.

The paramedics and cops showed up quickly. My injuries was attended to quickly, and Lucy was placed under arrest. After that, Emma and I were led to the police station so we could make our statements.


We observed Lucy being questioned behind the one-way mirror. The cop interrogated her in great detail, and every word made me feel further colder. She was overly obsessed with me.

She acknowledged that the day her plan started—the day I had my accident—was when she was there.

“Let’s go,” I muttered to Emma after realizing enough. After giving the helpful cops our thanks, we departed. I put my arm around Emma’s shoulders to support my weight while I walked.

As we climbed into a taxi, I told her, “It’s unbelievable what she did.”

“It’s difficult to comprehend why individuals commit such acts. But now that you’re safe, Emma said, holding my hand. “We’ll overcome this. collectively.

I felt a little more hopeful as I nodded.

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