After a car accident stole my memories, a man claimed to be my fiancé. I trusted him until my dog’s fierce barks made me question his story, uncovering a chilling scam.
I’m Nora, 28, and a crash left me with partial amnesia. A stranger, Ethan, said he was my fiancé, but my dog Max’s hostility sparked doubts that saved me from his trap.
It was a normal night, driving home, music blaring. Then, a car slammed into me. I woke in a hospital, a week in a coma. Doctors said I was lucky, but amnesia erased chunks of my life. I remembered my mom, my friend Lily, and Max, my terrier. My job? My address? Gone. And Ethan, the man by my bed, claiming we were engaged? A blank.
“Why don’t I remember him?” I asked the doctor. “Amnesia can be selective,” she said. Ethan, desperate, asked, “We were planning our wedding. Now what?” The doctor suggested photos and stories to jog my memory. Ethan brought snapshots and gifts, recounting our supposed love story. “I don’t recall any of it,” I admitted. “We’ll rebuild,” he said, squeezing my hand.
My mom was skeptical. “You never mentioned Ethan,” she said. “You’re so private,” she added, frustrated. Days later, I went home with Ethan to our supposed shared house. I couldn’t wait to see Max, my bundle of joy. But when Ethan opened the door, Max lunged, snarling, trying to nip him. “Max, stop!” I called, scooping him up. He calmed but growled whenever Ethan neared.
“He’s never liked me,” Ethan claimed. “Your mom watched him while I stayed with you.” I frowned. Max hadn’t forgotten me. Why Ethan? That night, Max’s barking gave me a headache. “This isn’t normal,” I told Ethan. “Dogs are unpredictable,” he shrugged. He replaced my broken phone but changed the number, blocking Lily. “You need rest,” he said when I wanted to see her.
Ethan pushed for a quick wedding. “I love you too much to wait,” he said. But he felt like a stranger. One day, I overheard him arguing at the door. “Not yet!” he snapped, slamming it. “Wrong address,” he told me. Doubts grew. Why Max’s reaction? Why no friends? I searched his things but found nothing.
Then Lily knocked. “He kept me away,” she whispered. “Ethan doesn’t exist. I checked—no record of him.” My heart raced. A courier arrived with an envelope—a marriage contract. It revealed Ethan got half my inheritance if we divorced. My late grandfather’s fortune was mine, and somehow Ethan knew.
“He’s a con,” Lily said. “Call the police.” As Max barked, signaling Ethan’s return, I confronted him. “The contract—half my assets?” He smirked, “Only if we divorce. I want forever.” Lily had called the police, who arrested him at the door. He shouted, cursing us. “His real name’s Lucas,” an officer said. “He was a caregiver at your grandfather’s nursing home, learned about your wealth.”
I hugged Max, who wagged his tail. Without his instincts, I might’ve lost everything. A dog’s loyalty saved me.
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