For five years, I clung to the memory of Liam, my husband, lost to a mysterious accident. Then he reappeared, a month ago, but he was a stranger, stripped of his memories of me, and worse, he brought her-Chloe, the sweet, innocent woman he' d met while he was gone. Now, Chloe, pregnant with Liam' s child, slid a half-million-dollar check across my own mahogany table, a cruel offer to buy me out of my marriage. Liam, when he walked in, only cemented my nightmare, his face softening for her and hardening in cold impatience for me, accusing me of bothering her in my own home. He even suggested I help Chloe plan their wedding, believing her lies about his lost child that once was ours. Cold rage replaced my heartbreak; if he wanted a wedding planner, I' d be the best-and then disappear, completely. But Chloe' s cruelty didn' t stop. She orchestrated my kidnapping, gloating that Liam' s amnesia was her doing, a drug she' d used for years to erase me. When Liam found me, battered and bruised, he accused me of faking it all to frame Chloe. My world shattered, but amidst the wreckage, an email arrived: my permanent residency in New Zealand was approved. I signed the divorce papers, ready to leave, just as my brother texted: Liam had another accident, hit his head, and remembered everything. Without hesitation, I broke my phone' s SIM card and tossed it, choosing to leave the pieces of my past behind. Two years later, Liam, haunted and remorseful, found me in New Zealand, wanting to apologize and fix what was broken, desperate to know about the son clinging to my leg-Leo. "No, Liam. He is not yours. He is mine." I told him, crushing his impossible hope. I explained that the love I had for him, and our future, had simply transferred to Leo, the family we were supposed to have. At Leo' s first birthday, a deranged Chloe attacked me with a knife, Liam, true to his word (and perhaps seeking redemption), threw himself in front of me, and took the fatal blow, paying his debt. I felt nothing but a transaction completed; his life for my stolen five years. Later, a tall, impeccably dressed stranger arrived, his face uncannily like Leo' s. "My name is Julian Davenport," he said, his gaze fixed on my son. "I believe you have my son. The clinic made a rather significant error with my donation. It seems they gave you the premier sample by mistake. So, I've come to collect him."
For five years, I clung to the memory of Liam, my husband, lost to a mysterious accident.
Then he reappeared, a month ago, but he was a stranger, stripped of his memories of me, and worse, he brought her-Chloe, the sweet, innocent woman he' d met while he was gone.
Now, Chloe, pregnant with Liam' s child, slid a half-million-dollar check across my own mahogany table, a cruel offer to buy me out of my marriage.
Liam, when he walked in, only cemented my nightmare, his face softening for her and hardening in cold impatience for me, accusing me of bothering her in my own home.
He even suggested I help Chloe plan their wedding, believing her lies about his lost child that once was ours.
Cold rage replaced my heartbreak; if he wanted a wedding planner, I' d be the best-and then disappear, completely.
But Chloe' s cruelty didn' t stop.
She orchestrated my kidnapping, gloating that Liam' s amnesia was her doing, a drug she' d used for years to erase me.
When Liam found me, battered and bruised, he accused me of faking it all to frame Chloe.
My world shattered, but amidst the wreckage, an email arrived: my permanent residency in New Zealand was approved.
I signed the divorce papers, ready to leave, just as my brother texted: Liam had another accident, hit his head, and remembered everything.
Without hesitation, I broke my phone' s SIM card and tossed it, choosing to leave the pieces of my past behind.
Two years later, Liam, haunted and remorseful, found me in New Zealand, wanting to apologize and fix what was broken, desperate to know about the son clinging to my leg-Leo.
"No, Liam. He is not yours. He is mine." I told him, crushing his impossible hope.
I explained that the love I had for him, and our future, had simply transferred to Leo, the family we were supposed to have.
At Leo' s first birthday, a deranged Chloe attacked me with a knife, Liam, true to his word (and perhaps seeking redemption), threw himself in front of me, and took the fatal blow, paying his debt.
I felt nothing but a transaction completed; his life for my stolen five years.
Later, a tall, impeccably dressed stranger arrived, his face uncannily like Leo' s.
"My name is Julian Davenport," he said, his gaze fixed on my son. "I believe you have my son. The clinic made a rather significant error with my donation. It seems they gave you the premier sample by mistake. So, I've come to collect him."
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