Chapter 1The Amnesiac Husband and His 18-Year-Old Self

After my husband lost his memory in a car accident, he looked at me with the eyes of a cold stranger.

He told me he wanted a divorce.

Just as I was about to explode in anger, his 18-year-old self suddenly time-traveled into our living room.

In a moment of pure panic, I dragged the teenager right in front of my amnesiac husband.

Through dramatic, crocodile tears, I wailed:

"Honey, how could you be so irresponsible? Look at our son! He’s already so big!"

The man’s gaze swept over the teenager, who looked exactly like him.

After a long silence, he accepted this absurd reality.

Later on.

My amnesiac husband pulled me into his arms, his voice deep and full of guilt:

"I don't think I love our son. Because every time I look at him, I get this sickening, heart-palpitating urge to throw up."

* * *

When 18-year-old Julian time-traveled to the present, I had just woken up from a nap in my slip dress.

Hearing the front door open, I yawned, walked over, and threw my arms around the person walking in.

Burying my face in his chest, I mumbled groggily:

"Did you take the afternoon off?"

The second my arms wrapped around him, I knew something was wrong.

The body in front of me was stiff as a board and didn't hug me back.

His frame felt a little leaner, a little narrower.

Even his voice was brimming with raw, adolescent edge.

He pressed two fingers against my forehead, pushing me away without an ounce of mercy.

"...Harper, do I even know you?"

My heart leaped into my throat. I snapped my head up.

Standing right in front of me, looking fresh-faced and utterly bewildered, was the teenage version of my husband.

I yanked my hands back, scanning him from head to toe in utter disbelief.

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen."

Eighteen?!

I searched my memories.

At eighteen, Julian and I were just high school classmates.

He was the star of the school, the guy everyone knew.

I was just a nobody in the background.

A nobody secretly nursing a massive crush on him.

But we were from two completely different worlds, so I kept my crush locked away tight.

And now.

I stared blankly at teenage Julian, my brain totally short-circuiting.

Part of me was shocked that 18-year-old Julian even remembered the name of a wallflower like me.

But the more pressing issue was figuring out how the hell I was going to explain this to him.

Teenage Julian’s gaze dropped to my neckline, then drifted up to my slightly parted lips.

He discreetly averted his eyes and clicked his tongue.

"...How did you end up looking like this? What exactly is going on here?"

I took a deep breath and laid it all out for him.

Ten minutes later.

Julian sat in silence, his tone dripping with absolute disbelief.

"Me? Married to you? And we're madly in love?"

I nodded solemnly, then quickly warned him:

"When my actual husband gets home tonight, you need to keep your distance. He gets incredibly jealous."

Teenage Julian scoffed.

"Relax. I would never be as much of a simp as my future self."

Listening to his guarantee did not make me feel better.

As Julian had gotten older, his anxiety and jealousy had only leveled up.

When he got jealous, it was nearly impossible for me to handle him.

I frowned, worried, just about to give teenage Julian a few more ground rules.

Right then.

The front door clicked open again.

My heart stopped. Teenage Julian and I turned our heads in unison.

Standing in the doorway was 38-year-old Julian.

He calmly took in the scene playing out in the living room.

My legs instinctively turned to jelly. I rushed forward, trying to grab his hand.

"Honey, let me explain..."

Before I could finish.

My husband, who usually doted on me relentlessly, cut me off with an icy tone:

"Excuse me, are you... my wife?"

I thought he was just blindly jealous, so I immediately hugged his waist to coax him.

"Why are you saying things like that?"

He looked down at me, his eyes full of cold unfamiliarity. With a polite but distant tone, he explained:

"I was in a car accident. I've lost my memories."

"If you are my wife, I apologize. At this current stage, it will be very difficult for me to reciprocate your feelings."

Me: "?"

The back-to-back plot twists had my head spinning.

I stared at the husband in front of me.

Washed over by the years, he was no longer the reckless, playful boy of his youth.

All that remained was a steady, imposing, and freezing aura.

I asked, stunned, "What do you mean?"

His tone was composed, like he was negotiating a standard business deal:

"I have no emotional attachment to you. If that bothers you, we can get a divorce."

"I'll have my lawyers contact you to discuss the division of assets."

We had been married for 15 years.

This was the very first time the word "divorce" had ever crossed Julian's lips.

To make matters worse, teenage Julian was standing right there, arms crossed, watching the drama unfold with a smirk.

"Wow—so this is that 'stable, madly-in-love' marriage you were bragging about?"

My vision literally blurred. My temples throbbed violently.

I was being infuriated to death by the two of them.

First, a time-traveling teenage Julian.

Now, an amnesiac husband demanding a divorce.

A long moment passed.

I took a deep breath.

Fine. If this is how we're playing it.

I lifted my head.

The confusion from earlier vanished, instantly replaced by a tearful, heartbroken expression.

I reached out and yanked teenage Julian over.

I shoved him right in front of my husband.

Through dramatic, sobbing wails, I accused him:

"Honey, how could you say something so irresponsible?!"

"Look at our son! Look how big he is!"

"Are you just going to abandon us?! Boo hoo hoo..."