Chapter 4

“These are your things.”

Ethan’s mother stacked two cardboard boxes outside the garage. The packing tape was crooked and uneven.

I went through them.

A few old pajamas. An expired bottle of body lotion. Two books I had only read halfway.

My marriage certificate, household records, and bank cards were nowhere to be found.

“Where are my documents?”

Ethan’s mother stood just inside her front door with her hands behind her back, like she was guarding herself from a thief.

“What documents?”

“My marriage certificate. The red one. I personally gave it to you on our wedding day.”

“I don’t remember anything like that.” Her eyes darted away. “Ethan says he’s never been married.”

“He has amnesia.”

“Then how are you going to prove you were married to him?”

I looked at her.

In my previous life, this was where I had been trapped.

Without the marriage certificate in my possession, everything I said was just an unproven claim. Ethan’s mother played dumb, Maya handed her the knife, and Ethan believed the first person closest to him.

I was about to speak when the door behind her opened.

Maya walked out of the house wearing my plaid apron and carrying a bowl of soup.

“Ethan, slow down. Your injuries haven’t healed yet.”

Ethan leaned on a cane as he slowly made his way to the entrance. His head was wrapped in gauze, and his face was pale, but his eyes were clearer than I expected.

He saw me.

There was no expression on his face.

He looked at me as if I were a stranger passing by.

“You’re the…” He glanced at Maya.

Maya immediately leaned close and whispered something in his ear.

Ethan frowned, then nodded. He turned to me.

“Maya says you used to work as the housekeeper. You took some things when you left and never returned them. Please hand over the keys.”

My nails dug into my palms.

Not a single word was different.

It was exactly the same as in my previous life.

“I’m not the housekeeper. Look at my face. You really don’t remember me at all?”

He did look at me for a moment.

Then he shook his head. His voice was as calm as if he were commenting on the weather.

“Sorry. I don’t know you.”

Maya gently tugged on his sleeve.

“Ethan, don’t make things difficult for her. She probably just wants to stay—”

“I’m your wife.”

Ethan’s expression finally changed.

It wasn’t shock.

It was the irritation of someone who had been insulted.

“I’ve never been married. If you have some kind of claim, take it through legal channels. Just leave the keys at the door.”

He turned and went back inside.

Maya remained by the entrance, watching me with an unreadable curve to her lips.

“Don’t blame him, big sis. He has amnesia.”

She lowered her head and pressed her lips together, as if trying not to laugh.

“I packed all your things for you. I’ve been wearing some of the old clothes for now. You know I came here in a hurry and didn’t bring many changes. Don’t worry, I’ll wash everything and return it.”

I didn’t look at her.

I bent down and searched through the two boxes.

At the very bottom, something rolled out of a shirt pocket.

A small brown medicine bottle. It had no label, and the cap wasn’t screwed on tightly.

I picked it up and glanced at it.

My heartbeat skipped.

This wasn’t one of the medications we kept at home.

I had seen this bottle in my previous life too.

After Maya moved in, several kinds of “supplements” appeared on Ethan’s nightstand. She said they were nutritional pills to help restore his memory.

But his memory had never returned.

Not until I died.

I slipped the bottle into my pocket and stood up, carrying the boxes toward the street.

Maya followed me two steps, stopping at the iron gate. She lowered her voice.

“If you really love him, letting go is better for everyone. Look at how happy he is now.”

I stopped.

I turned back and let my gaze move from her face to the apron around her waist, then to the slippers on her feet.

Those were mine too.

“Next time,” I said, “don’t wear my clothes while opening the door to my house.”

Maya’s smile froze.

When I returned to the hotel, I dialed a number.

Chloe didn’t answer, so I called someone else.

“Hello, is this Mr. Brooks? I need you to investigate someone for me.”

“Who?”

“Maya. I want everything you can find. The more detailed, the better.”