A Stranger Claimed to Be My Fiancé After I Lost My Memory — But My Dog’s Reaction Revealed the Truth
After a terrible accident, I woke up with no memory and a stranger beside me, insisting he was my fiancé. I didn’t recognise him, but I trusted him—until my dog’s odd behaviour made me question everything. Was this man really who he claimed to be, or was something sinister afoot?
You never imagine disaster will strike you. It was an ordinary evening—driving home after meeting a friend, singing along to the radio, perfectly content. Then, in a flash, everything changed. A car sped around the corner and smashed into mine. The crash was the last thing I remembered.
When I came to in hospital, the doctors told me I’d been in a coma for ten days. They said I was lucky not to be permanently injured, but I didn’t feel lucky. I had partial amnesia. I remembered my family, my closest mates, my dog. Some memories remained, but I couldn’t recall where I worked or my exact address, though I knew the house’s appearance.
The biggest gap? Him. The man who, according to the doctors, had stayed by my side every day. The man who greeted me when I woke, claiming to be my fiancé—Oliver, he said his name was. I stared at him, seeing only a stranger.
“Why doesn’t she remember me? She remembers everyone else—why not me?” Oliver asked the doctor.
“Partial amnesia can be selective. Some memories are lost, others stay,” the doctor explained.
“We’ve been together over a year. We’re engaged! We were planning the wedding. What am I supposed to do now?” Oliver pressed.
“You could show her photos, talk about your time together. It might jog her memory,” the doctor suggested.
“And if it doesn’t?”
“She fell for you once. Maybe she will again,” the doctor said before leaving.
After that, Oliver never visited empty-handed. He brought pictures, gifts he’d given me, stories of our first meeting, dates, moving in together. But—
“I’m sorry, none of this feels familiar,” I admitted.
“It’s all right. We’ll get through this,” Oliver said, squeezing my hand.
Mum bombarded me with questions even in hospital.
“I can’t believe you never mentioned Oliver!” she scolded.
“Mum, I don’t remember. What do you want me to say?”
“He claims you were going to tell me after he proposed, but the accident happened first. I’m not sure I buy it. You’ve always been private,” she muttered.
This went on for days—Oliver’s tales, Mum’s scepticism—until the doctors finally discharged me. Oliver collected me, and we drove to what he said was our home.
I couldn’t wait to see Bertie, my terrier. I’d missed that scruffy little menace more than words could say. As we approached, I heard him barking wildly, as desperate to see me as I was him.
But the moment Oliver opened the door, Bertie lunged, snarling and snapping like a demon.
“Get him off me! Control him!” Oliver shouted, shielding himself.
“Bertie! Here, now!” I ordered. The dog darted to me, tail wagging furiously but still growling at Oliver. “Enough,” I said, scooping him up. He quieted briefly—until I stepped closer to Oliver, then he erupted again.
“Put him outside,” Oliver snapped.
“Why?”
“Because he’s trying to rip my throat out!”
“That doesn’t make sense. You said we live together. Why would he hate you?”
“Who knows? He’s always disliked me. Your mum looked after him while you were in hospital. Maybe he forgot me,” Oliver said.
I frowned but said nothing. I took Bertie to the garden and played with him for an hour. He’d missed me terribly—so why wouldn’t he remember Oliver?
Back inside, Bertie barked nonstop. My head throbbed.
“This isn’t normal,” I said.
“What?”
“Bertie’s behaviour. He’s never acted like this.”
“He’s a dog. They’re unpredictable,” Oliver shrugged.
“Where’s my phone?” I asked. It hadn’t crossed my mind in hospital, but now I needed it.
“Smashed in the crash. I’ll buy you a new one tomorrow,” Oliver said.
“Good. I want to meet Emily,” I said.
“Not yet. You need rest,” he replied.
“The doctor never said that. Am I not allowed to see friends now?”
“Just wait a bit,” he insisted.
Things grew more unsettling. No memory of Oliver. Bertie treating him like an intruder. Now I was barred from seeing friends.
“I’m sleeping in the spare room. With Bertie,” I declared. Suddenly, sharing a bed with Oliver felt dangerous.
“Why can’t he stay outside?”
“Because he’s a house dog. He doesn’t sleep outdoors.”
“We always left him outside,” Oliver said.
Another red flag. I’d never leave Bertie outside overnight.
Oliver bought me a new phone but changed the number. I couldn’t reach Emily. My social media passwords were gone too. I felt trapped—only leaving the house with Oliver.
I studied our photos, willing myself to remember him. Nothing. It was as if he’d never existed. Yet he kept insisting my memory would return. Worse, he pushed to marry quickly. How could I wed a stranger?
One afternoon, I overheard Oliver arguing at the door. “Not yet!” he hissed before slamming it.
“Who was that?” I asked.
“Wrong address,” he muttered.
Later, when Oliver left for work, I searched his things. Nothing. Then—a knock. Emily stood there. I hugged her tight.
“I’m scared,” I admitted.
“He’s been blocking me,” she said.
“I don’t understand what’s happening,” I whispered.
“Listen carefully. Oliver isn’t real,” Emily said.
“What?”
“I’ve checked. There’s no record of him. Either you hid him from everyone, or he’s lying.”
“Then what do I do? Bertie acts like he’s a threat.”
Before she could answer, a courier arrived with an envelope. Inside—a marriage contract. Reading it, everything clicked.
If we divorced, Oliver got half my assets. A fortune, inherited from my grandmother.
“Bloody con artist!” Emily hissed.
“How did he know about the money?”
“Who cares? Call the police,” she urged.
She hid while I waited for Oliver. Bertie’s barking announced his return.
“Got the contract?” Oliver asked cheerfully.
“Yes. You get half my money if we split?”
“Only if we divorce. I plan on forever,” he said, leaning in to kiss me.
A knock interrupted. Emily had acted fast.
The police arrested him instantly. He screamed curses, claiming we’d ruined his plans.
“How did he know about my inheritance?” I asked the officer.
“His real name’s Nigel. Worked as a nurse at a care home,” he explained.
“My grandmother’s last months were in a care home.”
“That’s how he targeted you. Used your amnesia to play fiancé,” the officer said.
As the police car drove off, Bertie bounded over, tail wagging. Without him, I might never have doubted Oliver—Nigel. Who knows how it would’ve ended.
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