Perhaps it was because I had overheard her conversation with the doctor that I felt a twinge of fear towards her, and I instinctively flinched away.
She noticed my resistance, and a flicker of sadness crossed her eyes.
But she didn't press for anything, and with the nurse's help, I dressed in an outfit that felt unfamiliar yet clearly expensive.
Breathing in the fresh air, I was surprised to see a fleet of luxury cars, each more opulent than the last.
Sitting comfortably in a rcedes van, the woman sat next to with a doctor also in the vehicle.
I had been unaware of our financial status, but the sight of these cars startled , prompting to blurt out, "Are all these cars ours? You must have made a fortune for us to live so comfortably."
Seeing my reaction, the woman covered her mouth and chuckled softly, saying gently, "Our family is really wealthy, and your wife is this beautiful. Why can't you believe it? And yes, all these cars are part of our convoy."
"Are the other people in the cars bodyguards?" I asked, trying to address all my doubts.
"Why don't we both take a paternity test with Kevin to clear things up?" she suggested as we approached the police station.
I nodded in agreent, realizing that proving Kevin was my biological son was necessary, but also that he needed to be proven as hers to confirm that he was born of us both, affirming she was indeed my wife.
Seeing that I didn't object, she nodded back, a mix of nervousness and anticipation in her eyes.
After collecting samples from the three of us, we prepared to head back to the hospital since the results would take three days, even if expedited.
On the way back, I gazed out the car window at the familiar yet foreign streetscapes, wondering if this was the city I had lived in.
What was the truth about my past?
During those three days of waiting, I forced myself to stay calm, counting each minute as it passed.
I tried hard every day to recall my past, but it was always blurry.
I dreamt of my wife, but why was her face always obscured?
Was I subconsciously resisting seeing her face?
And the life scenarios that echoed in my mind were so fantastical, they seed like sothing out of a legend or a TV show.
Could these really be my true mories?
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't visualize my wife's face, and reality seed indistinguishable from fantasy.
When the day ca to get the results, I didn't let anyone bring them to ; instead, I insisted on going to the police station to hear the results directly from the forensic experts.
I needed to hear it from them because relying solely on a report wasn't convincing enough in a world where forging docunts could be easy.
The woman accompanied again, with a large dical team in tow.
After a long discussion with legal experts at the station, I had to accept the reality: Kevin was my biological son, our flesh and blood.
Seeing the report, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders, all my burdens seed lighter.
At the sa ti, the words and scenes that haunted my dreams were temporarily pushed to the back of my mind.
Every day, I spent ti with Kevin in the hospital, holding him close, showering him with love.
I was 80% sure Kevin was my son from the first mont I t him because the bond felt right, it felt like blood calling to blood.
Seeing the woman, I grew more affectionate towards her.
After all, who else could be the mother of my son if not my wife?
But why couldn't I see my wife's face in my dreams?
"Honey, when can we go ho? It's so stuffy in the hospital," I asked her one day after half a month in the hospital, now that I was sure Kevin was our child.
My address to her had changed, filled with joy because, despite forgetting my past, the 'new' had such a beautiful wife.
And seeing the convoy every ti we went out, along with the nurous dical staff around, even a fool could see how distinguished my family was.
But staying in the hospital all day was indeed stifling, and the sll of dicine was becoming unbearable.
"You want to go ho? We can go anyti, and I can even have the doctors stay with us at the house," the woman said, her face flushing with a tender blush after hearing call her 'wife'.
I rember the first ti I called her that, she actually covered her mouth and cried, even asking to say it a few more tis.
I thought, why not take advantage of calling such a beautiful woman my wife?
So, I called her 'wife' countless tis, and her tears never stopped.
"Lead us ho? Where would we even put all these doctors?" I grimaced, thinking about a bunch of doctors living in my house, which would be a huge hassle and invade my privacy.
Plus, I wanted so alone ti with this gorgeous woman, and having a crowd around would be like having too many third wheels.
"Don't worry, honey, let handle everything," she chuckled, covering her mouth again.
Ever since the paternity test, our relationship had grown significantly closer; she was always so cheerful.
Sotis, I'd just lie in the hospital bed, staring dumbly at her face and her chest.
I have to admit, my wife isn't just beautiful; she's got a killer figure, especially those full breasts that just make you itch to grab them.
Whenever she caught staring, she didn't shy away but let keep looking until she blushed beet red.
Since I woke up, this woman has been nothing but gentle with , almost indulging my every whim, and this ti was no different.
While I stayed in the hospital room with Kevin, she went out to arrange things with the doctors.
When she ca back, she told the house would be ready in two hours.
I wondered, why didn't she need to go back to oversee the arrangents?
Could there be soone else at ho?
I didn't voice my suspicions, but when I got ho, I was stunned.
Standing in front of the house, I couldn't believe this luxurious mansion with its Western European architecture and guards at the door was mine.
Inside, the house was filled with servants, and it was just too grand, too luxurious.
"Welco ho, master..."
As I stood there trying to take it all in, the servants' unified greeting snapped out of my daze, and they all bowed deeply to .
Am I really the master of this house? Why can't I bring myself to believe it?
"Wife, what exactly is my past? Can you tell about it slowly when you have the ti?" That night, lying in the master bedroom's large bed, I couldn't help but ask the woman beside .
She was quietly lying on my shoulder, not asleep, just comfortably snuggling against as if my touch was all she needed to feel at ease.
"Okay, husband, starting tomorrow, I'll start telling you about your past, but I can't say too much at once. You need ti to accept it," she replied, opening her eyes and sighing.
For so reason, her gaze seed distant, as if she was reluctant to reveal what she had to say.
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