Woman Rescues a Man Who Has Lost His Memory and Lies to Him That She is His Fiancée – Story of the Day

It happened when I suffered a severe head injury due to a robbery attack. When I regained consciousness at the hospital, I remembered nothing, and some girl assured me she was my fiancée. I had no choice but to believe her. When we came home, weird things began to occur: at first, my dog attacked her, then she didn't know where stuff was placed, and eventually, I found photos of an unfamiliar girl in the attic, which my fiancée had been hiding.

My name is James. I am 30 years old and have lived the life of an ordinary banker. Every day was meticulously planned, a clear routine I had crafted for myself that offered comfort and predictability. But that Tuesday, a day that started like any other, was about to flip my world.

Per my daily schedule, I arrived at the train station at 8:30 a.m. My train was due at 8:45, and I valued these fifteen minutes. They were my little island of peace before the bustling day ahead.

The morning was unusually warm for November, a gentle breeze wafting through the air, carrying the faint sound of the city waking up. I found my usual spot on the platform, away from the crowd, and pulled out the book I'd recently bought.

It was about a neurosurgeon who had decided to pen down his extraordinary experiences. The stories were captivating, offering a glimpse into a world so different from my structured life in banking.

As I was engrossed in a particularly intense chapter, my phone buzzed with a new message. It was from my fiancée, the love of my life. You see, I didn't have a family - not in the traditional sense.

My father passed away when I was just sixteen, and three years later, I lost my mother, too. Being an only child, I often felt the weight of loneliness. But my fiancée was my rock, my family, my everything.

Her message was a simple declaration of love, telling me how much she missed me, even though I had left home twenty minutes ago. Smiling to myself, I typed back a quick 'I love you too' and returned to my book.

Absorbed in the world of surgical miracles and life-and-death decisions, I didn't immediately notice the two men approaching me. They had a rough look about them, the kind that instantly set off alarm bells in my head. They were talking loudly, their voices growing clearer as they neared me.

"Hey, man," one of them yelled, breaking the morning calm. His voice was harsh and demanding.

As they moved closer, I could feel their eyes scanning me from head to toe. Something was unsettling about their gaze, something that made me uneasy. "Any problems, guys?" I asked, trying to sound polite yet firm. I sensed trouble brewing, and my instinct was to defuse the situation.

They exchanged a look, a sly grin spreading across their faces. "That's for you to tell us, man," the taller one replied, his tone mocking. It was clear they weren't here for a friendly chat.

Suddenly, the shorter guy lunged forward and grabbed my bag, tugging it downward. I gripped it tightly, refusing to let go. "What's in here?" he demanded, his eyes fixed on the bag with a greedy curiosity.

I tried to reason with them, hoping to avoid any escalation. "Listen, guys, I don't want any trouble. Let's let go of my bag, and we can all walk away peacefully."

Their response was immediate and forceful. "No, it doesn't work like that. Give us the bag, and we'll leave," the shorter one insisted, his grip on the bag tightening. But I wasn't about to give in. This was more than just a bag; it was a matter of principle of not letting myself be bullied.

We were locked in a tense struggle, pulling back and forth on the bag. It felt like a test of strength; we were determined not to lose. I tried to keep my hold, but these guys were tough.

Just then, out of nowhere, a girl started walking towards us. She looked concerned, maybe even a bit scared, as she hurried closer. The guys, noticing her approach, seemed to panic. They didn't want a witness to what they were doing.

In that brief moment of distraction, the grip on my bag loosened. One of the guys let go, maybe afraid of getting caught. I should have been relieved, but instead, I lost my balance. The world seemed to tilt, and I fell before I could steady myself.

I hit the track hard. There was this loud bang as my head smacked against the solid ground. Pain shot through me, sharp and intense. Then, everything started to blur. My vision went fuzzy, like a TV losing signal.

Sounds around me became distant, echoing as if I were underwater. I could hear voices, but they made no sense, just muffled noises fading in and out.

In those last few moments of consciousness, I remember feeling scared. It wasn't just the pain or the fall but the uncertainty. I didn't know what was happening, why, or what would come next. And that fear, that unknown, was the worst part.

As I slipped away, lost in the darkness, I just hoped someone would find me and help me. But even that thought was fleeting, disappearing as I drifted into unconsciousness.

I woke up to a world that was blurred and unfamiliar. My eyes slowly opened, but everything was hazy. I blinked, trying to focus and make sense of the shapes and colors that danced before my eyes. Slowly, the fuzziness began to recede, like mist lifting on a chilly morning.

The first clear image that came into focus was a man leaning over me, wearing a crisp white coat. A doctor, I realized, as my brain struggled to catch up with my surroundings.

I looked around, taking in the stark white walls and the beeping machines beside me. The unmistakable smell of antiseptic filled the air. It was a hospital ward, sterile and impersonal. My heart started to race. How did I get here?

Then I noticed her. To my left sat a girl so beautiful it almost took my breath away. But her face was a mystery to me. She was a stranger, yet she held my hand as if we shared a lifetime of memories. Her grip was tight, and her fingers intertwined with mine in a silent promise of support.

The doctor was doing something with a flashlight, shining it into my eyes. I squinted, the light too bright against the dull ache that was building in my head. A dull, persistent buzzing noise filled my ears, making it hard to focus on anything else.

The girl, the stranger, looked worried. Her brows were furrowed, her eyes full of concern. She was saying something, her lips moving, but her words were lost to me.

She reached out and gently stroked my head, a gesture that should have been comforting but instead filled me with a sense of unease. Who was she?

The words began to make sense like a radio tuning into a frequency. The doctor's voice was a calm, steady presence in the room. "Sir, sir, do you understand what I am asking?" he prodded gently.

His voice seemed to come from a distance, muffled and faint. "I didn't hear," I managed to reply, each syllable a herculean effort.

"Do you remember your name?" he asked, his tone patient yet insistent.

"James," I said, relief passing through me. It was one thing I knew, one anchor in the sea of confusion that was my mind.

"And your date of birth?" he continued. I rattled off the numbers, surprised to find them readily available in the haze that clouded my thoughts.

The doctor went on to ask more questions. Some were easy, like the sky's color or the current president's name. Others, though, felt like trying to grasp smoke. What was my job? How did I end up here? Each unanswered question added to the growing pit of worry in my stomach.

I could remember bits and pieces - the street where I lived, the feel of a dog's fur under my fingers. But these memories were like puzzle pieces with no picture to guide their assembly. Faces, names, places - they were all shrouded in a mist I couldn't penetrate.

The doctor, watching me struggle, finally explained. "You've been in a coma for five days. You sustained a traumatic brain injury." His words were clinical and detached, but they landed like a ton of bricks.

Five days. Five whole days lost to the void. And with them, it seemed, went chunks of my memory. The realization was like a cold wave crashing over me.

I was adrift, untethered from the life I had known. The doctor's face blurred as he spoke about potential memory problems, the words floating around me, unmoored and ungraspable.

Confused, I turned to the girl beside me, her hand clasped tightly in mine. Her presence was a puzzle I couldn't solve. "Who is this?" I asked the doctor, nodding towards her.

The girl's reaction was immediate. She covered her face with her hand, and tears began to flow. Her distress was evident, but I had no idea why.

"James, it's me, Lucy," she said between sobs. But her name didn't ring any bells in my mind. Lucy... who?

"Lucy... who?" I echoed, my voice laced with confusion.

"Your fiancée," she replied, holding up her hand to show a ring. But the ring, just like her, meant nothing to me. I stared blankly at it, then back at her tear-streaked face.

I turned to the doctor, bewildered. "I don't know her or that ring," I admitted my voice a mixture of confusion and frustration.

The doctor nodded, a look of understanding crossing his face. "You might have amnesia due to the injury," he explained. "We'll need to run some tests to be sure. But don't worry, everything will be fine."

He left the room, and suddenly, it was just the two of us – me and this woman, Lucy, who claimed to be my fiancée.

Still holding my hand, Lucy looked into my eyes, searching for something. "Do you really not remember me?" she asked, her voice quivering with emotion.

"No, sorry," I replied, feeling a pang of guilt for the pain etched on her face.

The doctors came later, conducting tests – scans, questions, flashing lights. They confirmed what the first doctor had suspected. I had amnesia. My memory was like a book with pages torn out, incomplete, and confusing.

Lucy's despair was palpable. She tried to mask it, but her eyes gave her away. And I felt a deep sense of shame in my state of forgetfulness. How could I not remember my fiancée? It was as if I had lost a part of myself and, with it, a part of our shared history.

The room felt smaller, the silence heavier. Lucy sat there, a stranger to me, yet bound by a ring and a title I couldn't recall.

I wanted to comfort her, to say something that would ease the pain, but what could I say? I was a stranger to myself and her. The realization was a heavyweight, a burden I wasn't prepared to carry.

After spending what felt like an eternity in the hospital, two weeks to be exact, the day finally came for me to go home. It was strange leaving the hospital.

Part of me was relieved, eager to see something other than the sterile white walls and hear something different than the constant beeping of machines. But another part of me was scared.

Throughout my stay, Lucy was a constant presence. She was always there by my bed, talking about our life together. She told me about how we met, the little details of our first date, and the day I apparently proposed to her.

It was a story filled with love and happiness, but to me, it was just a story. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't remember it. It made me feel hollow like I was missing a crucial part of myself.

I could see the pain in Lucy's eyes every time she realized that her stories brought no flicker of recognition to my face. It hurt me to see her like that. I was supposed to share these memories with her, but all I could offer was a blank stare.

Lucy was there to take me home the day I was discharged from the hospital. As we left the hospital, I felt a mix of emotions swirling inside me. I was happy to finally be leaving but also nervous.

There was a small glimmer of hope in me, though. Maybe being in my home, surrounded by my things, would help bring back some memories.

A wave of familiarity washed over me as we approached the house. I recognized the place, but it felt distant, like looking through a window at a scene from someone else's life.

We exited the car, and Lucy reached for the keys in her purse. The sound of the keys jingling was oddly comforting, a regular sound in the sea of unfamiliarity that was my life now.

Lucy unlocked the door, and a bolt of energy rushed towards me as it swung open. It was Luther, my dog. I didn't remember getting him, but I knew he was mine. He was a big, energetic dog, leaped on me, his tail wagging furiously. He licked my face, and momentarily, his excitement made me smile.

But then something odd happened. Luther's demeanor changed as soon as he saw Lucy. He started barking loudly, growling at her like she was a stranger. He lunged towards her, and Lucy screamed, stepping back in fear.

It was so unlike Luther to behave like this, especially towards someone who supposedly lived with us. I had to act quickly. I grabbed his collar, pulling him away from Lucy. He resisted initially, but I managed to lead him into the house and locked him in a room.

I turned to Lucy, who was visibly shaken. "I'm so sorry," I said, wrapping my arms around her. "I don't understand why he acted like that."

Lucy tried to smile, but her eyes were still wide with shock. "It's okay, maybe he's just not used to me yet," she said, her voice trembling.

But her words didn't make sense to me. If we had been living together, Luther should have recognized her. His reaction was puzzling, stirring a sense of unease in me.

Dogs are usually good judges of character, and Luther's behavior seemed like a red flag. Yet, I brushed these thoughts aside, attributing them to my confused mind.

I took her hand, offering a reassuring squeeze, and we walked into the house together. As we stepped inside, I was enveloped by a sense of familiarity mixed with strangeness. The house was mine, but it felt like walking into a scene from someone else's life.

Lucy, who was still a mystery to me, seemed out of place in this setting. Yet, over the past two weeks, I had started to get used to her presence, trying to connect the dots between her stories and my lost memories.

I looked around, hoping that anything in the house would trigger a memory, a flash of recognition. But nothing came.

It was like flipping through a book with blank pages. I noticed something odd – no photos of Lucy and me anywhere. In a house that was supposedly ours, it struck me as strange.

"Lucy, do you have any photos of us? Maybe seeing them would help jog my memory," I asked, hopeful.

Lucy hesitated for a moment before answering. "We don't have any joint photos," she said, avoiding my gaze. "I don't like to be photographed."

I found it odd. Lucy was the beautiful person you'd expect to see smiling in pictures. Her reluctance to be photographed puzzled me, but I chose not to dwell on it. Maybe she was just camera-shy, I reasoned.

Yet, deep down, something didn't feel right. In a home where I expected to see traces of our life together, the absence of photographs created an emptiness, a gap I couldn't fill. It was another piece in the puzzle of my past that just didn't fit.

Despite the oddness of the situation, I tried to push these thoughts to the back of my mind. I was grappling with enough confusion and frustration as it was.

I needed to focus on recovery, on piecing together the fragments of my life, not on the peculiarities that seemed to keep popping up.

Still, as I sat down, trying to make myself comfortable in my living room, I couldn't shake off the feeling that something was amiss.

Something felt off as Lucy moved around the kitchen preparing dinner that evening. I watched her open one cabinet, then another, her brow furrowed in confusion.

She seemed to be searching for something, pulling open drawers only to close them again, a look of frustration passing over her face.

"It feels like you don't know where everything is," I observed, leaning against the doorway.

Lucy paused, turning to me with a small, embarrassed smile. "We've only recently moved in together, you know. I'm still getting used to where everything is," she explained, her voice tinged with unease.

I nodded, trying to accept her explanation. But deep down, it struck me as odd. Wouldn't she have been more familiar with the kitchen if we had lived together? I brushed the thought aside, not wanting to add to the confusion that had already filled my mind.

After dinner, which passed in a blur of small talk and forced smiles, I noticed Lucy rummaging through the closet in our bedroom. She seemed to be looking for something, her movements hesitant and unsure.

"Looking for something?" I asked, curious.

Lucy jumped slightly, startled. "Oh, just a towel," she replied a little too quickly.

I walked into the bathroom and opened the closet. Among the stacks of towels was one that caught my eye.

It was pink with a letter 'E' embroidered in purple thread. For some reason, this towel felt familiar, almost comforting. My heart skipped a beat as I held it.

I couldn't place it, the memory just out of reach, so I put the towel back and took out a plain white one for Lucy. "I always keep towels in here," I said, sounding casual.

Lucy took the towel, a flicker of something crossing her face. "Right, I just forgot," she said, her voice lacking conviction.

As she headed for the shower, I stood there, holding the doorframe, lost in thought. Questions swirled in my head, each one deepening the mystery that my life had become.

I tried to piece together the fragments, but they wouldn't fit. The more I thought about it, the more everything felt wrong. Lucy's behavior, the lack of photos, the strange reaction of my dog, and now this towel with an 'E' – a letter that held no meaning for me, yet felt so important.

While Lucy was in the shower, the sound of water running in the background, a strange feeling gnawed at me. Something was missing in the house.

It was more than just the absence of photographs or Lucy's unfamiliarity with the kitchen. It was like a puzzle with a crucial piece lost, leaving the picture incomplete.

I walked around the living room, examining the furniture, the books on the shelves, and the trinkets we had collected. Everything was in its place, yet nothing felt right. The house was mine. I knew that much.

The address, the color of the walls, the creaky floorboard near the kitchen - these details were familiar. But beneath the surface of this familiarity, there was a void, a sense that something significant was missing.

The doctor had warned me about this. He said that with amnesia, it's common to feel like you're forgetting something significant.

But knowing that didn't make the feeling go away. It was like trying to remember a dream upon waking - the harder you try, the further it slips away.

I sat on the couch, closing my eyes, trying to make the memories surface. But all I found was darkness, a blank space where my past should have been. It was frustrating and scary. My life was like a book with torn-out pages; I could not know what those pages held.

The sound of the shower stopped, snapping me out of my thoughts. Lucy would be out soon, and I didn't want her to see my turmoil. I had to stay strong, both for her and for myself. But as I plastered a smile on my face, preparing to pretend everything was normal, I couldn't help but feel lost in my own home.

As Lucy emerged from the shower, she mentioned casually that we were out of shampoo. "I'll go buy some," she said, reaching for her purse.

I was surprised. "Can't it wait until morning?" I asked, knowing the store was just around the corner and it was getting late.

"No, I need to go now," Lucy insisted, her tone firm yet gentle.

I watched her leave, feeling a mix of confusion and concern. It was just shampoo, after all.

An hour passed, and Lucy still hadn't returned. This was unusual. The store was closed; it shouldn't have taken this long. I rechecked the clock, the hands ticking away, marking the slow passage of time. My eyelids grew heavy, sleep beckoning.

Just as I was about to drift off, the sound of the door opening jolted me awake. Lucy was back. She moved quietly, careful not to wake me though I was already awake.

I watched her change into her nightclothes and slip into bed beside me. The scent of a different shampoo wafted from her, one I didn't recognize.

Lying there in the dark, I thought about the day's events. Luther's aggression towards Lucy, the missing photographs, her unfamiliarity with our home, and this unusual late-night store trip.

I tried to rationalize it - maybe she was just as unsettled by my memory loss as I was. Perhaps she needed some time alone to process everything.

But deep down, I couldn't shake off the feeling that something was wrong. It was like a puzzle with missing pieces, and the more I tried to fit everything together, the more apparent the gaps became.

I trusted Lucy, or at least I wanted to. She had been my rock these past two weeks, constantly in my life's whirlwind of confusion. But trust, much like memory, was a fragile thing. As I lay there in the dark, next to the woman who claimed to be my fiancée, I couldn't help but wonder if I really knew her at all.

The night stretched on, and sleep eventually claimed me. But even in sleep, my mind was restless, turning over the day's events, searching for answers in the darkness. I hoped that morning would bring some clarity, but a part of me feared what the light might reveal.

As Lucy busied herself with breakfast the following day, I sat nursing a cup of coffee at the kitchen table. Rain drummed against the windows, calming, steady, rhythmic sound. I was grateful for the excuse to stay indoors and not face the world just yet.

My gaze wandered around the kitchen, landing on a magnet affixed to the refrigerator. It was vibrant, colored in shades of orange and red, with "Spain" emblazoned across it in bold letters.

The magnet stirred something in me, a flicker of recognition. I was sure I had been to Spain, but the memory was like trying to look through the fog.

I looked out the window again, watching the raindrops race each other down the pane. "It would be nice to be in Spain now. No rain or cold," I mused aloud, more to myself than to Lucy.

Her response caught me off guard. "Probably, I have never been abroad," she said, her back to me as she continued cooking.

Her words struck me as odd. I was sure I had been to Spain, and I had a vague memory of not being alone. Walking through a zoo, the sun's warmth, the sound of laughter - the images were blurry and disjointed, but they were there.

Yet, Lucy's statement contradicted this. Could it be that I was there with someone else? The thought was unsettling.

I wanted to probe further, to ask Lucy about the magnet, about Spain, but I held back. The look of pain on her face whenever I failed to remember something about us was becoming too much to bear. I didn't want to add to her distress.

We ate breakfast in a comfortable silence, the sound of the rain a soothing backdrop. I could tell Lucy was trying to act normal, to make things easy for me, but there was a tension in the air, an unspoken acknowledgment of all that was unsaid between us.

After breakfast, Lucy left for work, her goodbye a little too cheerful, forced. I watched her go, a sense of unease settling in my stomach. The more I tried to piece together my past, the more questions arose.

Left alone, I sat at the table for a long time, lost in thought. The rain continued to fall, a steady reminder of the world outside, a world that felt increasingly distant.

As I sipped the last of my cold coffee, I realized that recovering my memories would not be easy. Each new day seemed to bring more confusion and more doubts.

But I was determined to find the answers, to reclaim the lost pieces of myself. For now, though, I could only wait and hope that the rain would eventually stop and the sun would shine again on my fragmented memories.

Motivated by a deep longing to rediscover my past, I decided to search for photographs around the house. Maybe, just maybe, they could spark a flicker of memory, a glimpse into the life I had forgotten.

I scoured every nook and cranny, opening every cabinet and shuffling through shelves and drawers. But to my dismay, I found none. Not a single photo.

That's when it hit me - the attic. I often stashed random bits and pieces there, things I didn't have immediate use for but couldn't bear to throw away.

The attic was like a forgotten treasure trove, and I harbored a faint hope that maybe I had put some photographs there.

As I climbed the creaking stairs to the attic, my heart pounded with anticipation and anxiety. The attic was dusty, filled with the scent of old books and forgotten memories.

I approached a cabinet crammed with trinkets and began rummaging through the shelves. But again, my search yielded nothing but disappointment - no photographs.

Just then, I heard the familiar sound of paws on the stairs. Luther, my faithful dog, had followed me. His presence was comforting, yet his loud barking in the cramped space of the attic was not.

"Luther, quiet," I tried to calm him, but he was too agitated. Suddenly, he leaped up, placing his front paws on the cabinet, which swayed dangerously under his weight.

"Hey, get down!" I pushed Luther away gently. In the chaos, a precariously perched box on the top shelf tumbled down, hitting me squarely on the head. "Ouch," I cried out, more from surprise than pain.

Curious, Luther sniffed at the fallen box. Something spilled out onto the floor as he nudged it with his nose. My heart skipped a beat. Photographs!

I sat on the dusty attic floor, the forgotten box now open. Eagerly, I began sifting through the photos.

Many of them were of me alone or with my parents while they were still alive. But then, amidst these familiar faces, I saw her - a young blonde woman smiling broadly, her eyes sparkling joyfully.

Something stirred within me. She looked so familiar, yet I couldn't place her. I found a few more photos of this mysterious girl. Each image seemed to pull at a string in my memory, yet the connection remained frustratingly out of reach.

The more I looked at her, the more confident I felt she was important to me. I sat there, surrounded by past fragments, feeling closer and further away from the truth.

Luther, sensing my distress, came over and nuzzled against me, offering his silent support. I patted his head, grateful for his presence. The mystery of my past was deepening, and I knew I needed to find the answers. With its dusty secrets, the attic seemed to hold more questions than answers.

When Lucy returned from work that evening, I was determined to unravel the mystery of the photographs I had found in the attic. They lay on the table, a silent testament to a mysterious part of my life.

Lucy walked in, her eyes tired from the day. When she saw the photos, her expression shifted to surprise and nervousness. "Where did you get this?" she asked, her voice slightly shaky.

"I found them in the attic," I replied, observing her.

"Why did you go up there?" Her tone was more curious than accusatory.

"I was looking for anything that might help me remember." I gestured towards the photographs. "Do you know who this girl is? I was hoping you might recognize her."

Lucy's fingers began to tap nervously on the table. She seemed to struggle with her words. "This... this is my... deceased sister," she finally said, each word appearing to weigh heavily on her.

I hadn't expected this. The revelation surprised me, and I could see it was painful for her to even speak of it. Lucy's eyes brimmed with tears.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know," I said, moving towards her to offer a comforting embrace.

"It's okay. You don't remember." She hugged me back, her body trembling slightly. "But please, can you put them back? And let's not take them out again."

"Of course," I said gently, understanding the pain it must have caused her.

I returned the photos to their place in the attic, a space of forgotten things. When I returned, Lucy gathered her things and prepared to leave again.

"Where are you going?" I asked a tinge of concern in my voice.

"I've arranged to meet a friend," she answered, not meeting my eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me anything about it?" I questioned, puzzled by her sudden plans.

"She just called. I'm sorry I didn't mention it earlier," Lucy said, approaching me. She gave me a quick kiss. "You don't mind if I go?"

"No, of course not. Go ahead. I think you need some time, too," I said, trying to be understanding despite the confusion that clouded my thoughts.

Lucy nodded, her expression still showing traces of the emotions evoked by the photographs. She took her bag and left for her meeting.

As the door closed behind her, I was left alone with my thoughts. The encounter with the photos, Lucy's reaction, and her sudden departure to meet a friend all felt like pieces of a puzzle I couldn't quite fit together.

The gaps in my memory loomed larger than ever, and with them, a growing sense of unease about the truths they might be hiding.

That night, after Lucy returned home late, we both retired to bed without much conversation. The day's events weighed heavily on my mind, and I soon drifted into a restless sleep. In this sleep, a vivid dream unfolded.

In the dream, I was walking through a zoo. The sun was bright and warm, casting dappled shadows on the walkways. I could hear the distant calls of exotic animals, a symphony of wild sounds that was both exciting and soothing. The air was filled with the scent of blossoms and nature's fresh, earthy smell.

Beside me was the girl from the photographs – the one Lucy said was her deceased sister. We laughed, shared an ice cream cone, and pointed out different animals. She was animated, her eyes sparkling with joy as she tugged at my arm, leading me from one exhibit to the next.

We paused to watch a pair of lions lounging in the sun, their manes glowing like halos in the light. We marveled at the playful antics of the monkeys, and she squeezed my hand tightly as we stood in awe before the majestic elephants.

There was an ease between us, a comfortable familiarity that spoke of deep affection and shared history. She would lean close to whisper something in my ear, and I would burst into laughter, feeling a happiness that was pure and unburdened.

But then, as dreams often do, it shifted, and I awoke. In the quiet darkness of the bedroom, the images from the dream lingered in my mind. It took me a moment to gather my thoughts and to separate the dream from reality.

And then it hit me – realizing it wasn't just a dream. The memories were real. They were fragments of my past, pieces of a life I had lived but couldn't remember.

Lying there in the dark, with Lucy asleep beside me, the weight of this revelation settled over me. The girl in the photos, the zoo in Spain, and the feelings of happiness were all part of my story, slowly returning to me.

The night felt longer as I lay there, grappling with these newfound memories and the mysteries they brought. It was both exhilarating and terrifying – the joy of rediscovery mingled with the fear of the unknown.

The next morning, filled with hope and uncertainty, I decided to visit the doctor. I needed to understand what these vivid dreams meant if they were indeed fragments of my lost memories slowly piecing themselves back together.

I arrived at the doctor's office, a familiar setting by now, where the sterile smell and the white walls no longer felt as intimidating as they did weeks ago. The doctor welcomed me, his demeanor calm and reassuring, as I sat down and began unraveling the dream's story.

"I found some photographs in the attic," I started, my voice steady but filled with hidden anxiety. "Then, I had this dream about the girl in those photos. We were in a zoo in Spain, and it felt so real, so vivid. I... I think it might be a memory, not just a dream."

The doctor listened intently, nodding occasionally as he jotted down notes. After a moment of silence, he looked up, his expression thoughtful.

"The brain can sometimes blur the lines between memories and dreams, especially after a traumatic event like yours," he explained. "It's possible that the dream was influenced by the photographs you found."

"But could it mean that my memories are coming back?" I asked, clinging to a thread of hope. The idea that my past was not lost forever was both exhilarating and terrifying.

"It's possible," the doctor said cautiously. "However, it's important not to rely too heavily on these dream-induced memories. The brain can create false memories, especially when trying to fill in gaps."

I nodded, understanding his warning, yet a part of me couldn't help but feel deflated. The clarity I sought seemed just out of reach, like a mirage in a desert.

"Keep observing any new memories or dreams that arise," the doctor advised. "And try to find tangible connections to your past, things that can be verified."

I thanked the doctor and left his office, feeling a mix of relief and new uncertainty. The drive home was contemplative, the words of the doctor echoing in my mind.

The possibility that my brain might be fabricating memories was unsettling, yet the vividness of the dream, the emotions it evoked, felt undeniably real.

As I parked in front of the house, I sat for a moment in the car, watching the world go by. People were walking their dogs, children were playing – life was happening around me, yet I felt disconnected, adrift in a sea of forgotten memories and uncertain realities.

Stepping out of the car, I resolved to keep an open mind. If my memories were indeed resurfacing, I needed to be ready to face whatever truths they revealed, no matter how joyful or painful they might be.

With each passing day, the journey to reclaim my past was proving to be a complex puzzle, one that I was determined to solve, piece by piece.

That evening, something felt off. Lucy mentioned she needed to go out for groceries, but a quick glance in the refrigerator showed it was full.

My mind raced with questions. Why did she need to go out every evening? What was she not telling me, especially about the girl in the photographs? Doubt crept into my thoughts, a nagging sense that something wasn't right.

I watched from the window as Lucy left the house. After a moment of hesitation, I made a decision that felt both necessary and absurd – I would follow her.

I needed to know what was going on. Slipping into the car, a wave of apprehension washed over me. It had been a while since I'd driven, and I was unsure if I would remember how.

As I started the car, my movements were hesitant, my grip on the steering wheel unsteady. But as the car moved forward, muscle memory kicked in, and the uncertainty began to fade. I followed at a distance, trying to be inconspicuous.

Lucy's car pulled into the grocery store parking lot, just as she had said. I parked a few rows away, watching her go inside. A part of me felt ridiculous, spying on my fiancée. "It's just paranoia," I thought, trying to convince myself.

After a while, Lucy emerged with a small bag of groceries, which she placed in the back seat of her car. I felt a momentary relief, almost ready to laugh at my foolishness.

But then, instead of heading home, Lucy drove in a completely different direction. My heart skipped a beat. This wasn't paranoia; something was definitely amiss.

I followed, keeping a safe distance. My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and theories. Where was she going? What was she hiding? Each turn she took added to my growing suspicion.

The journey took us away from the familiar streets of our neighborhood to an area I didn't recognize. It was quieter here, the houses more spread out. Lucy's car finally stopped outside an old, somewhat rundown house. It stood alone, its windows dark, giving off a sense of abandonment.

I parked a little way down the street, trying to remain unseen. My heart pounded in my chest as I watched Lucy take the grocery bag and disappear inside the house.

My hands trembled slightly as I stepped out and cautiously approached the house. Peering through one of the windows, my breath caught in my throat.

There, inside the house, was Lucy and the girl from the photos, very much alive. I couldn't believe my eyes. The revelation sent a shockwave through me, shattering my trust in Lucy.

I tried to get a better look, climbing up slightly for a clearer view, but my foot slipped on a wet board. I crashed to the ground with a thud, my heart pounding in my chest.

I quickly scrambled to hide, hoping Lucy hadn't seen or heard me. Peeking out from my hiding spot, I saw Lucy approach the window and draw the curtains closed, cutting off my view.

Conflicted and bewildered, I decided to wait until Lucy left the house. The minutes stretched into what felt like hours, each one heavy with a growing sense of betrayal and confusion. Finally, Lucy emerged, locking the door behind her before walking briskly to her car.

I stayed hidden until her car was out of sight, then went to the house's front door. My mind was a whirlwind of emotions - anger, betrayal, fear.

I stood before the door, my hand hesitating over the handle. Part of me was scared of what I might find inside, but I knew I had to find out the truth, no matter how painful it might be. Taking a deep breath, I turned the handle and stepped into the house, ready to face whatever secrets it held.

As I entered the house, my eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light. There, tied to a radiator, was the girl from the photographs. She looked up, her face a mix of fear and relief.

"James!" she cried out as soon as she saw me. Her voice was filled with an emotion that resonated somewhere deep inside me. "James, it's so good that you found me."

I rushed over to her, my hands shaking as I untied her. The ropes were tight, but I managed to loosen them, freeing her from the radiator.

"Where do you know me from?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. The confusion was overwhelming.

"Oh, James, my dear James. You really don't remember me?" she asked, her palms gently cupping my cheeks. Her touch was familiar, yet foreign, a forgotten melody I couldn't recall.

"I'm sorry, but no. I hit my head hard, and I have partial amnesia," I explained, the words sounding hollow even to my ears.

"Lucy told me that you don't remember me, but I thought she was lying," she said, her voice trembling as she hugged me tightly. "I knew you would find me."

I was at a loss for words; the situation was surreal. "Sorry, so who are you?" I asked the question, sounding absurd even as it left my lips.

Tears welled in her eyes as she looked at me. "My name is Emma. I'm your real fiancée." Her words hit me like a tidal wave, flooding my mind with fragments of memories - the letter 'E' on the towel, the hidden photographs, the dream of us together.

Suddenly, it all started to make sense. The puzzle pieces of my memory were falling into place. I hugged Emma close, feeling an undeniable connection. Beside her, the strange void I felt started filling up. I realized I had been missing her all along.

"How did you end up here?" I asked, my voice thick with emotion.

"Lucy lured me out of the house by deception. She said you were in trouble and that she would take me to you, but instead, she brought me here. She's been keeping me here for several weeks," Emma revealed, her voice a mixture of fear and disbelief.

"The same time I was in a coma," I murmured, the pieces fitting together in a disturbing picture.

"She told me how she watched you at the station every morning and dreamed you would be hers. And then she got this chance." Emma's words were like daggers, each one piercing through the lies I had been told.

"That damn psychopath," I muttered under my breath, anger boiling inside me.

"She said she would be back soon to... to kill me." Emma's voice broke, the fear in her eyes palpable.

I held her close, my mind racing. We needed to get out and escape this madness that Lucy had created. But first, we had to call the police to end this nightmare once and for all.

In a moment of panic, I realized I had left my phone in the car. Emma, looking frail and weak, was in my arms. We needed to get out, to call for help. But as I turned towards the door, it swung open. Lucy was there, her eyes cold and unrecognizable. The Lucy I thought I knew was gone.

She pulled out a gun from her jacket, pointing it straight at us. "Put her down on the ground, James," she ordered, her voice devoid of the warmth I once knew.

I gently placed Emma on the ground, my mind racing for a way out of this nightmare. "It's okay, let's just talk," I suggested, hoping to defuse the situation.

"There's nothing to talk about. I was supposed to kill her, and we were supposed to live together, understand?" Lucy's words were chilling, starkly contrasting to the person I thought she was.

"Yes, I understand," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. My heart pounded in my chest, fear and disbelief mingling within me.

"And now you've spoiled everything." Lucy's expression was one of anger and desperation.

"It's not too late to fix everything. I'll take Emma, and we..." I started, but Lucy cut me off.

"You're right, it's not too late. I'll kill her, and we'll be together. We will be together, won't we, James?" Her words were delusional, terrifying.

Realizing that reasoning with her was futile, I played along, hoping to find a moment to disarm her. "Of course, of course, we will," I agreed, inching closer to her.

"Will you forgive me, James? For deceiving you," she asked, a twisted hope in her eyes.

"I'll forgive; just give me..." I was close enough now, reaching for the gun.

But she saw through my ruse. In a split second, Lucy pulled the trigger, shooting me in the leg. Agony shot through me, and I collapsed to the ground, clutching my wounded leg.

"You liar, James," she spat, turning the gun towards Emma. "But we'll still be together, one way or another."

Lying there, with a sharp pain shooting through my leg, I noticed a loose board on the floor nearby. Despite the agony, a sense of urgency pushed me. I carefully reached for it, gripping it firmly in my hand. I knew what I had to do.

Using the board for support, I pushed myself to my feet. Each movement sent waves of pain through my body, but the need to protect Emma and myself overrode everything else. I limped quietly towards Lucy, my heart pounding in my chest. She was still pointing the gun, her focus entirely on Emma.

With a quick motion, more from desperation than strength, I swung the board and hit Lucy on the head. She collapsed to the ground, the gun slipping from her hand. For a moment, I just stood there, panting, the reality of what I had done sinking in.

I quickly secured the gun, ensuring it was out of Lucy's reach. Then, with trembling hands, I tied her to the radiator using the ropes that had bound Emma. She was unconscious, her face a stark contrast to the cold, calculating person she had been moments ago.

I searched Lucy's pockets and found her phone. Dialing 911, I reported the situation, my voice shaking. "We need an ambulance and the police," I managed to say. The operator assured me help was on the way.

Soon, the sound of sirens filled the air. The police arrived first, swiftly taking Lucy into custody. She was still unconscious as they placed her in the back of the car.

Then the paramedics came. They attended to my leg, stitching the wound as best as they could on the spot. Emma, still in shock, was checked over by another paramedic.

Once we were stable, a police officer gently asked us to accompany them to the station. "We need to take your statements," he said, his tone kind yet firm. I nodded, understanding the necessity.

Emma and I sat silently in the ambulance on the way to the station. The events of the evening were overwhelming, the truth about Lucy a bitter pill to swallow. I looked at Emma, her face reflecting the turmoil I felt inside. There were so many questions and so much to process.

But in that moment, there was also a sense of relief. The ordeal was over. Lucy's deception was uncovered, and Emma was safe.

At the station, after the police officer finished talking to Emma and me, they let us listen to Lucy's interrogation. We were in a small room, standing behind a glass that was like a mirror on Lucy's side. She couldn't see us, but we could see her. The room felt cold and unwelcoming, the kind of place that held secrets and truths.

​​The officer looked at Lucy. His voice was calm but firm. "What was your plan?" he asked.

Lucy took a deep breath. Her voice was shaky. "I've loved James for years. I work at the station. I saw him every morning. The day he fell on the tracks, I saw everything. I tried to stop those thieves. Then I saved James from the train."

The officer leaned forward. "And what happened after that?"

"I followed James to the hospital," Lucy continued. "I pretended to be his fiancée. They told me he was in a coma. They said he had a bad head injury. He might lose his memory. That's when I saw my chance to be with him."

The officer's next question was direct. "But you knew about Emma, didn't you?"

Emma moved closer to me. I could feel her shaking. I wrapped my arm around her.

Lucy nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, I saw them together at the station sometimes."

"Did you plan to harm her?" the officer asked.

Lucy paused, her eyes downcast. "I didn't know what to do at first. Then I lured her to that house. I tricked her. But later, I knew I had to... to get rid of her to be with James."

"Why didn't you do it immediately?" the officer pressed.

Lucy's answer made my blood run cold. "I wanted her death to be quick. I'm not a monster."

I felt a chill hearing that. Lucy was more dangerous than I ever imagined.

"It was hard to get a gun," she added. "That delayed my plan."

"What if James remembered everything?" the officer asked.

Lucy looked lost. "I... I didn't think about that. I hoped he wouldn't."

I turned to Emma, feeling a mix of relief and horror. "We've heard enough," I whispered to her. "Let's go."

We thanked the officer and left the room. Walking was tough for me. Emma supported me.

Outside, Emma looked up at me, her eyes filled with tears. "Can you believe it's all over?"

I shook my head. "No, it's hard to believe."

I had trusted Lucy and believed she wanted the best for me. But now, knowing the truth, it felt like a bad dream. She turned out to be an absolute maniac. It's hard to admit, but she fooled me. I was fooled by a person I thought cared for me.

Sitting in my living room, I looked around at the familiar walls. They had witnessed my confusion, lost memories, and the shocking truth. It's funny how life turns out. One day, you're living an everyday life, and the next, everything you know gets turned upside down.

The thought of trusting someone again scared me. Lucy's betrayal cut deep. She played a role so well I never suspected a thing. And that's what hurt the most. The danger I was in and the feeling of being so wrong about someone.

Emma sat beside me, her hand in mine. She was quiet, giving me space to think. I glanced at her, and she gave me a reassuring smile. Emma, my real fiancée, the one I was supposed to spend my life with.

I felt guilty for not remembering her or feeling that connection right away. But she never blamed me. She stood by me through it all.

"I can't believe what Lucy did," I finally said. "How she lied to everyone."

Emma squeezed my hand. "It's hard to understand why people do such things. But you're safe now. That's what matters."

Her words were simple, yet they comforted me. Emma's presence was calming, starkly contrasting the chaos Lucy had brought into my life.

"We'll get through this," Emma said. "Together."

I nodded. She was right. We had each other, and that was a start. A start to heal, to build trust again. It wouldn't be easy, I knew that. But with Emma, I felt like I could face it. Face the fear, the uncertainty.

The room was silent for a while. Then I said, "I want to start new memories with you, Emma. Real ones, ones that we make together."

Emma's smile grew wider. "I'd like that."

I thought about the future, about rebuilding my life with Emma. It was a daunting task. But with her, it felt possible. Maybe even hopeful. We had much to catch up on and learn about each other again. But I was ready for it. Ready to move past Lucy's deception and build something true with Emma.

"I'm grateful you're here," I told her.

"And I'm grateful for you," she replied.

We sat there together, facing the future. It was uncertain, but it wasn't as frightening as I thought. Not with Emma by my side. We had a long road ahead, but we would walk it together. And somehow, that made everything seem a little bit brighter.

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