He Left Me Pregnant and Grieving—Now He’s the One Begging - Chapter 67: Chapter 67

I stared at the gold wedding band on my finger, turning it slightly as if that would help me remember.
Lorenzo had introduced himself as my husband, but no matter how hard I tried, the memories refused to surface. There was a disconnect between his words and the emptiness in my mind. It didn’t feel right, but I had no reason to doubt him either.
Lorenzo watched me carefully before reaching out and helping me sit up. His touch was firm yet gentle, offering support as I adjusted to the unfamiliar weight of my own body. “You were in an accident,” he explained, his voice steady, though there was something underneath it I couldn’t quite decipher. “A bad one.”
I swallowed, my throat dry, and nodded slightly. My gaze drifted to the small figure sitting quietly on his lap.
A little boy, no older than three, with dark, curious eyes and a small, round face. He clutched Lorenzo’s sleeve tightly, his tiny hands gripping the fabric as if afraid to let go.
There was something in the way he looked at me—hope, hesitation, longing. Like I was someone he had been waiting for but wasn’t sure if I would recognize him.
A strange tightness settled in my chest as I forced out the question. “Who… who is he?” My voice came out rough, unfamiliar even to myself.
Lorenzo’s lips curved into a soft smile, though his eyes carried something deeper, something unreadable. “He’s your son, Valeria. Our son."
My breath caught in my throat.
My son.
Our son...
Lorenzo nodded, watching me carefully. “You were pregnant when the accident happened. The doctors had to use advanced medical technology to keep both you and the baby alive. You were in a coma, but they monitored everything carefully. When the time came, you gave birth through a C-section.”
A chill ran down my spine. I curled my fingers into the blanket, gripping it tightly as if that would ground me. “I… I don’t remember.” The words felt heavy, slipping from my lips like a confession.
“It’s okay,” Lorenzo reassured me, reaching for my hand. His grip was warm, steady. “You don’t have to force yourself. Just take your time.”
Before I could say anything else, the little boy suddenly slid off Lorenzo’s lap and ran toward me. His small arms wrapped around my waist as he buried his face against me.
“Mommy… I missed you.” His voice trembled, soft and fragile.
Something inside me cracked.
A sharp ache bloomed in my chest, and it was recognition.
I didn’t know him. I didn’t remember him.
But I held him anyway.
And in that moment, nothing else mattered.
***
Two weeks later, I was discharged.
Lorenzo brought me home—to what was supposed to be our home. The mansion loomed ahead, grand and imposing, its walls adorned with luxury and elegance. The sheer size of it was overwhelming, and yet nothing felt familiar.
I hesitated as I stepped out of the car, my gaze sweeping over the pristine courtyard. “Where are we?”
“Spain,” Lorenzo answered, standing beside me. “This is where we live now.”
I nodded absently, though the words barely registered. I was still struggling to grasp the reality of my own life. Every detail, every moment felt foreign, like I was stepping into someone else’s story.
Inside, the house was just as extravagant as the outside—lavish paintings, expensive furniture, a perfectly curated elegance that screamed wealth. But it wasn’t the decor that caught my attention.
It was the massive wedding photo hanging on the wall.
My breath hitched as I took a step closer.
Me. In a white gown. Lorenzo, standing beside me, his fingers laced with mine. There was warmth in his gaze, an expression of admiration, of love.
I lifted a hand, tracing my fingers over the glass.
“That’s from our wedding,” Lorenzo said, his voice quiet as he watched me.
I swallowed hard, my throat tightening. “I… don’t remember.”
“I know,” he murmured. “But I’ll help you. You don’t have to remember everything at once. Just know that you’re safe here, and I’ll take care of you.”
I nodded, but the unease in my chest didn’t fade.
This was my life.
This was my husband.
So why did it feel like I was trapped in someone else’s world?
***
Lorenzo was good to me. He took care of me, never pressured me to remember, never made me feel guilty for the gaps in my memory. He made sure I ate, made sure I had everything I needed. At night, he would sit by my bedside, reading to me softly until I fell asleep. In the mornings, he would always be the first to greet me, his voice calm, steady, reassuring.
“You don’t have to force yourself, Valeria,” he said one evening as he poured me tea. “Your memories will come back when you’re ready. Just focus on healing.”
I nodded, wrapping my hands around the warm cup. My gaze drifted toward the little boy playing quietly in the corner of the room.
“Dorotheo seems… attached to me,” I murmured.
Lorenzo chuckled softly. “Of course he is. You’re his mother. He’s been waiting for you to wake up for a long time.”
I glanced at the boy again, watching the way he clutched a stuffed bear in his small hands. He was always watching me, always lingering close.
It was as if he was afraid I would disappear again.
I smiled at him.
But when I look at Lorenzo...
It was like my body knew something my mind had forgotten.
But I ignored it.
I focused on my recovery.
I focused on Dorotheo.
Because right now, they were all I had.