Chapter 6
Claudette
I had to physically restrain myself from doing something embarrassing. Like squealing into my pillow. Or doing a ridiculous little dance. Or calling Pauline and screaming about how I was married to Michael Ashford.
Michael Ashford!
The man I’d been pathetically in love with since I was seventeen and didn’t know better than to fall for my brother’s untouchable best friend.
The man who’d never looked at me like anything more than Jack’s kid sister who sometimes said funny things at dinner.
The man who was so far out of my league we weren’t even playing the same sport.
Except now… he was my husband.
And he’d said we got married because we were in love.
I wanted to believe it so badly my chest hurt.
I met Michael when I was seven years old.
Jack had dragged him home after school one day, both of them covered in mud from some playground adventure.
My mother had been horrified. I’d thought Michael was the coolest person alive because he’d climbed a tree to rescue someone’s kite and fallen in a puddle doing it.
He’d looked at me with those friendly eyes and said, “You must be the sister Jack keeps talking about.”
I’d been completely tongue-tied—unusual, because I was never quiet.
“She talks a lot,” Jack had warned him. “Fair warning.”
“I like people who talk,” Michael had said, and smiled at me.
I’d liked him immediately, always wanting to hang out with him.
Growing up, Michael was always around. Family dinners, holidays, sleepovers where he and Jack would camp out in our living room building elaborate pillow forts that I wasn’t allowed in. I’d sit on the stairs watching them, and Michael would always sneak me pieces of whatever snacks they’d hoarded.
“Don’t tell Jack,” he’d whisper, handing me contraband cookies. “He’ll accuse me of playing favorites.”
“Are you?” I’d whispered back. “Playing favorites?”
“Definitely.” He’d grinned. “But only because you don’t hog all the good pillows.”
When I was seventeen, I wandered downstairs during one of their sleepovers looking for water and found them sprawled on the couch talking about girls. I should’ve gone back upstairs. Should’ve given them privacy.
Instead I’d frozen in the hallway, listening.
“What’s your type?” Jack had asked. “Like physically.”
“I don’t know. I don’t really have a type.”
“Everyone has a type.”
Michael had been quiet for a moment. “I guess… someone different. Dark hair, maybe. Exotic looking. The kind of girl who looks mysterious, you know? Not the typical blonde California girl. Something more interesting than that.”
I’d looked down at myself. Nothing mysterious or exotic about me. Just another blonde girl in a state full of them.
“So you want the opposite of every girl who hits on you,” Jack had said.
“Basically.”
I’d gone back upstairs and spent the next week secretly googling hair dye. How much it would cost to become mysterious and interesting.
Pauline had caught me.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” I’d slammed my laptop shut.
“Were you looking at hair dye?”
“No.”
“Claudette Specter.”
“I was just curious—”
“About dying your hair.” She’d sat on my bed. “Why?”
“No reason.”
“Is this about Michael?”
I’d stayed quiet.
“Oh my god. It is about Michael.” She’d started laughing. “What did he say?”
“Nothing. I just overheard him talking to Jack about his type and I don’t… I’m not his type. At all. Like the opposite of his type.”
“So you’re going to change your hair?”
“I was just looking—”
“You’re seventeen.”
“I’m aware.”
“And you want to change yourself for a guy who’s never going to look at you that way because you’re Jack’s little sister.”
She’d been right. I’d known she was right.
I’d closed the laptop and never looked at those sites again.
When I turned eighteen, I decided to actually do something about my feelings. Be bold. Take initiative. Stop waiting for Michael to notice me and make him notice me.
The universe—or more accurately, Jack—had other plans.
First attempt: I’d worn my best dress to a family barbecue. I spent an hour on my hair and makeup. Walked right up to Michael by the pool with what I hoped passed for a confident smile and said, “Want to go get drinks?”
Before Michael could answer, Jack appeared out of nowhere. “Great idea, Claudie! I’m thirsty too. Let’s all go.”
He proceeded to walk between us the entire time, talking loudly about some college project.
Second attempt: I’d offered to help Michael carry something to his car after dinner. Just the two of us. Perfect opportunity.
Jack had appeared instantly. “I’ll help too! Three people make it faster.”
Third attempt: I’d actually gotten Michael alone in the kitchen. We were laughing about something, standing close, and I was about to say something flirty when Jack burst in.
“Mike! Come see this thing I need your help with. Right now. It’s urgent.”
“Can it wait—” Mike had said.
“Nope. Super urgent. Life or death. Let’s go.”
It had been like that for months. Every time I got within five feet of Michael, Jack would appear like some deranged chaperone.
Finally, I cornered Jack. “Are you doing this on purpose?”
“Doing what?”
“The thing where you magically appear every time I talk to Michael.”
“Look, Mike’s a great guy—my best friend—but he’s not good with commitment. And you’re my sister. So yeah, I’m doing it on purpose.”
“I’m eighteen—”
“Exactly. You’re eighteen, and he’s twenty-three. And you’re not going to be one of his short-term things, okay? You deserve better than that.”
After Michael left for London, the whole thing became moot anyway. I’d tried not to cry when he hugged me goodbye at the airport and told me to stay out of trouble.
We only had rare video calls where he’d ask about school and I’d pretend my heart wasn’t breaking every time I heard his voice. Four years of watching him live a life that didn’t include me.
He came back last year—no, two years ago, apparently, since my memory was currently failing me.
I’d convinced myself I’d finally moved on.
Then Michael walked into a family dinner looking unfairly good in a suit, and I realized I’d moved on from absolutely nothing. If anything, the time apart had made it worse. Made me notice things I’d been too young to appreciate before.
But he still treated me the same. Still looked at me like Jack’s sister. Still kept that distance that made it painfully clear where we stood.
Until apparently we didn’t.
Somehow, in the year I couldn’t remember, we’d gotten close enough to get married.
It still felt impossible—like I’d woken up in someone else’s life.
I grabbed my phone and opened social media. I typed in Michael’s name.
His profile was aggressively boring. Photos of his company. Tech conferences. The occasional sunset that probably meant he was traveling for work. Nothing personal. There were no pictures of us. Not even one. No pictures of him with anyone who might be a girlfriend.
I scrolled back six months. Then a year. I found absolutely nothing suggesting he was in a relationship with me.
Google was my last resort. I typed in our names.
The wedding video came up immediately. Thousands of views and climbing. People arguing about whether we were cute or if this was a publicity stunt.
But before that? Nothing.
It was like our relationship had materialized out of thin air the moment we got married.
My door opened without knocking.
Pauline rushed in already talking. “How are you now? Does your head still hurt? What about your medications—“
“Pauly.” I cut her off. “Breathe.”
She sat on the edge of my bed, looking at me with concern that felt heavy in a way I couldn’t explain. “I’m just worried. This is a lot.”
“You want to tell me how this happened?” I asked.
“How what happened?”
“How I apparently fell in love with Michael Ashford without leaving any evidence.” I gestured at my phone. “Because I’ve been looking, and there’s nothing. There’s no proof we were even dating before we got married.”
Something flickered across her face. Gone too quickly for me to identify. “Michael’s really private about his personal life. He never posts that stuff.”
“That’s… awfully convenient.”
Her expression tightened. “Some things don’t need social media’s confirmation to be real, Claudette.”
“Fine. Then tell me when it started.” I leaned forward. “Where did we go on our first date? What did he say when he told me he loved me? What was the moment you realized we were together?”
Pauline hesitated—just a fraction of a second, but I saw it.
“I don’t know all the details,” she said finally. “You kept some things private too.”
“I kept my entire relationship with Michael Ashford private? The man I’ve been in love with since high school?”
“You wanted to protect it. Keep it just between you two before everyone got involved.”
I sighed exasperated. “Give me something, Pauly. Anything. I’m married to a man I can’t remember dating, and everyone keeps telling me it’s fine without giving me actual information.”
“I saw the way you two looked at each other,” she said. “It was obvious to anyone paying attention. You were happy, Claudette. Really happy.”
I wanted to believe her, to trust that my best friend wouldn’t lie to me.
But something about this felt wrong. Not her exactly. Just the situation. The missing pieces.
“Jack’s visiting again tomorrow,” I said, watching her face carefully.
Pauline’s expression changed. Subtle, but there. Her shoulders went tight. Her smile became fixed.
“That’s good,” she said. “You should spend time with your brother.”
“You okay?”
“What? Yeah. I’m fine.” She tucked her hair behind her ears.
“You sure? You get weird each time I mention Jack.”
“I don’t get weird.”
“Pauly, you literally tensed up. What really went on between you two?”
“Nothing! I can’t believe you are asking this again,” She muttered the last part under her breath.
“I’ve asked you this before? Did something happen between you two that I don’t remember?”
I studied her. She was avoiding my eyes. Classic Pauline tells when she was hiding something.
“What? No. Nothing happened.”
“You two barely talked even before I lost my memory.”
“Exactly. We barely talk. So nothing happened.” She stood up and checked her wristwatch “I should let you rest. You’ve had a long day.”
“Pauline, you just got here,” I said.
She nodded, I looked at her closely. Her eyes were misting, like she was fighting tears she didn’t want me to see.
I opened my mouth to apologize even though I didn’t understand why she looked so hurt, she’d always laughed it off whenever I mentioned Jack before, but now she looked to be on the verge of tears.
Was it something I said? Or something else.
“Sorry, Claudie. I just remembered I had an appointment, I’ll call you later, I love you.”
She left before I could push harder. I watched her retreating back, too shocked to see her wiping away actual tears.
Was this about a missing piece from my lost year?
Something was off. I couldn’t explain it. Couldn’t pinpoint exactly what felt wrong. But my instincts were screaming that I was missing something important.
Maybe it was just the memory loss. Maybe once I remembered the past year, everything would make sense.
But what if it didn’t?
What if I dug deeper and discovered this marriage was a mistake? What if Michael didn’t really love me and this whole thing was built on something I didn’t understand?
The thought terrified me more than anything else.
Because I’d loved Michael Ashford for over a decade.
And now I had him.
He was my husband.
We were married.
Everything I’d ever wanted was right here in front of me. So why did it feel like I was standing on unstable ground?
So I made a decision.
I’d just live it. Be Michael’s wife. Figure out how to be married to the man I’d loved forever. Let the memories come back naturally instead of forcing them.
And when they did come back, when I finally remembered that missing year, everything would make sense.
It had to.
Because the alternative—that something was deeply wrong and everyone was lying to protect me from it—was too terrifying to consider.
I looked at the ring on my finger, twisting it and watching it catch the light.
I pulled up the wedding video on my phone. Watched myself say vows. Watched Michael look at me like I was his entire world. Then we’d kissed like we’d been doing it forever.
I looked happy. Really, genuinely happy.
That version of me knew something I didn’t. That version of me had a year of context and history and moments with Michael that made sense.
I just needed to trust her. Trust that past-me knew what she was doing when she married him.
Even if present-me was confused and scared and absolutely certain she was missing something crucial.
I was Mrs. Ashford now.
And despite everything, that made me happier than I’d been in years.