My Husband’s Amnesia Brought His First Love Back

The hospital discharge papers felt like a death sentence in my hands. Three days had passed since Sebastian's accident, and today he was coming home—with her.

I stood in the foyer of our penthouse, my fingers nervously twisting the wedding ring he'd placed on my finger five years ago. A ring that now felt like it belonged to someone else.

"He should be here any minute," I said to Mrs. Chen, our housekeeper, who gave me a sympathetic smile.

The elevator chimed, and my heart stopped. Sebastian stepped out first, looking almost unchanged except for the small bandage on his forehead. Then came Adalyn, her manicured hand possessively wrapped around his arm, her designer heels clicking against the marble floor.

"Lydia," Sebastian said, his voice cold and formal. "I've asked Adalyn to stay with us while I recover."

Us. As if there still was an us.

"Of course," I managed, my voice barely steady. "I've prepared the guest room."

Adalyn's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Actually, Sebastian and I have other arrangements in mind."

Sebastian nodded, his gaze sweeping over me with detached annoyance. "Have my things moved to the master bedroom," he instructed Mrs. Chen. "And her stuff..." He gestured toward me. "Put it in the guest room."

"Sebastian," I whispered, "that's our bedroom. We've shared it for five years."

"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped. "I'm not sleeping in a bed with a stranger."

Mrs. Chen looked between us, clearly uncomfortable. "Sir, perhaps—"

"Just do it," he ordered, his tone brooking no argument.

Adalyn stepped forward, running her fingers along the marble countertop of our kitchen island. "While we're rearranging things, I think the décor could use some updating. Don't you agree, Sebastian?"

"Whatever you want," he said, his voice softening as he looked at her.

I watched as Adalyn began directing the staff like she owned the place, pointing out changes she wanted made. "The drapes are so drab," she declared. "And this artwork is... quaint."

Each word was a knife, slicing away my presence in this home I'd carefully built.

The front door opened again, and Trenton walked in, his school bag slung over one shoulder. My heart leapt at the sight of my son—our son—hoping for some comfort in this nightmare.

"Trenton," I called, opening my arms for a hug.

He hesitated, looking between Sebastian and me. I saw the confusion in his eyes, then the calculation.

"Mom," he said awkwardly, before turning toward Sebastian. "Dad! You're back!"

Sebastian smiled—a real smile that once had been so rare in our home. "There's my boy."

Trenton's gaze fell on Adalyn, his eyes widening slightly. "Who's this?"

"This is Adalyn," Sebastian said proudly. "An old friend of mine."

Adalyn extended her hand, but Trenton ignored it, instead reaching for a high-five. "Cool! You're way younger than I expected Dad's friends to be."

"High-five?" Adalyn laughed, complying with practiced charm.

I stood frozen, watching as my son—the child I'd raised, loved, and nurtured—deliberately snubbed me in favor of this woman who had never shown an ounce of interest in him.

---

Three days later, Adalyn announced we would host a dinner party.

"It'll be intimate," she said, flipping through her phone contacts at our kitchen island—my kitchen island. "Just Sebastian's closest friends from college."

I wasn't consulted. I was simply informed.

"What can I do to help?" I asked, desperate to feel useful in my own home.

Adalyn looked up, her perfect eyebrows arching. "You can manage the catering."

Manage the catering. Like staff. Like help.

The night of the party arrived, and I moved through our home like a ghost. The guest list included people who had never acknowledged my existence in Sebastian's life, despite our five years of marriage.

I wore a simple black dress—professional but understated—and directed the waitstaff as they arranged champagne flutes on silver trays.

"Lydia," Adalyn called, appearing at the top of the stairs in a stunning red gown that clung to her curves. "Sebastian wants everyone gathered in the main room."

I nodded, picking up a tray of champagne glasses and following her instructions.

The room fell silent as I entered. Sebastian stood at the center, one arm around Adalyn's waist, addressing his friends.

"Everyone," he announced, "I'd like you all to meet Adalyn Roberts, the love of my life."

The tray trembled in my hands as glasses clinked together.

"And this," he continued, gesturing toward me with dismissive indifference, "is Lydia. My grandfather's charity case."

Laughter rippled through the room.

"Five years ago, my grandfather forced me into marriage with her," Sebastian said, his voice carrying easily over the murmurs. "But now I've come to my senses."

He raised his glass. "To true love," he toasted, looking at Adalyn. "And to mistakes that can be corrected."

The room erupted in applause as glasses clinked. Mine slipped from my grasp, shattering against the hardwood floor in a spray of crystal and champagne.

Every eye turned to me—the intruder, the mistake, the charity case who had dared to believe she belonged.

I stood there, surrounded by broken glass, as tears blurred my vision and the room spun around me.