Summary
After the memory loss, my husband actually forgave me for being unfaithful to him. But that night, he sneaks off to a hotel to meet a strange woman. Late at night, under the grape arbor in the front yard of the villa, I was obliviously entwined with a man. The man cupped my face and spoke words of love, his voice low and his eyes hot ...... It's like I'm stuck in a gentle blue ocean, wanting to sink with him. "Ah!" I yelled, waking up with a start. Hubby Clement pushed in at the sound of the door, his face full of worry, "Alva, are you okay?" My heart was about to jump out of my chest and my back was covered in cold sweat. "It's okay." I shook my head and gave Clement a sheepish look. There was something inexplicably familiar about the man in the dream, but he wasn't Clement at all . Who is he?
Chapter 1
A week ago, I woke up from the hospital and Clement came to see me.
He was in his late thirties, tall and well-built, with a hard face, nice deep eyes, multiple bruises and a bandage on his head, "Alva, it's me, Clement ."
Clement?
I had no memory of him at the time.
I asked politely, "What are you to me?"
The man froze, "You really don't remember anything?"
I nodded.
"I'm your husband."
My first thought was: so I have a husband.
Clement talked quite a bit about what happened between us, trying to jog my memory, but no matter how hard I tried I couldn't remember a thing.
With Clement's narration, I learned that my name is Elsie, I'm 33 years old, and I'm an online writer.
And Clement , 35, was first my editor and we were in love for ten years and married for three.
We were in a car accident, he had minor injuries and I had a severe concussion and memory loss.
A week later, Clement and I were discharged.
We hitchhiked home to a villa in the suburbs.
The villa is large, modern style, although it is the countryside, but this house will cost 2 million dollars less.
"We're not going to be rich, are we?" I was a little surprised.
"Rich is not even close, but financial freedom is still realized." Clement said.
The front yard of the villa is planted with a variety of flowers and a grapevine with a handmade swing.
I don't remember any of this, but it feels vaguely familiar.
When we got home, Clement led the way to a large bookcase, pointed to the books and said, "Look, you wrote all of these."
"I wrote so much!" I was surprised.
"You've been doing 8,000,000 a day for ten years without fail." Clement smiled, "Your dream was to retire after 30, and you did. I followed suit and retired."
"And then we get married and live here?" I guess.
"Yes."
On the wall next to the bookcase is a wedding photo of Clement and me, showing us in love.
I was mesmerized by the photo when Clement walked up and hugged me gently from behind.
For some reason, I instinctively avoided it and felt a little sorry for it.
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay." Clement expressed understanding, "I know you need time."
Something else occurred to me, "What about our family?"
"Your foster mom died when you were in college, and you were on your own after that. My parents divorced and each had families, and I'm basically out of touch with them."
I nodded, like I was listening to someone else's story.
At night, I took a shower and went to bed.
Clement, considering my feelings, went to sleep in the den.
I lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.
Clement was great, very patient, and as a husband really can't pick a fault.
But I was still vaguely uneasy in my mind, always feeling like I was forgetting something, something very important.