THE WIFE WHO FORGOT

CHAPTER 2: THE WRONG GUEST.

CHAPTER 1 — THE WRONG GUEST

Rose is in her apartment, still buzzing and a little unsure of what to make of the news — that Jason’s in town. She’s due at his office tomorrow morning to sort out the paperwork for finalising building for her business. Five years. Five whole years since she last saw him.

"Rose please give it a chance!" Samantha said over the phone. she knew everything. Every broken piece, every quiet hope Rose had about Jason. And Sam’s been pushing her — “He’s single now, and in town, when are you going to get a chance like that? fate has landed this opportunity in your lap! Just see him Rose, stop this cat and mouse game of avoiding him all the time its exhausting! tell him for god sake! Once! See what happens.”

Rose finally gave in and said "if i am going to do this then you need to help me, that’s why i needs my best friend here — to pick the right outfit, to find the right words, to be brave.

"i know, i know, i on my way"

both said bye and hanged up.

Downstairs, Jason stands at the gate. He’s been in town days — handling the legalities, checking on the building, needing to see her. And one more thing: Katie’s little girl, his niece — Rose is her godmother. He promised he’d deliver the gift personally.

He calls up. No answer — her phone’s off. But the doorman smiles and nods: “Oh yes, sir — she’s expecting you. Said to send you right up.” Jason’s brow lifts — Does she let anyone just walk up here? She’s either very bold… or she was hoping it was me. He takes the elevator up.

Inside, Rose hears the buzzer. Sam’s early. Or late. Either way — she’s already halfway to the bathroom.

“Come on up!” she calls out to the intercom, then bolts for the shower, leaving the door unlocked like she always does for Sam.

Minutes later — a knock at her apartment door.

Jason knocks. Opens it a moment later. No answer — but her voice floats from down the hall, clear and warm:

“I’m in the shower! Come through to my bedroom — sorry I’m running late! I’ve laid things out on the bed, you pick — I’ll be right out!”

Jason pauses. Smiles to himself — quiet, fond. Always in a rush. Still the same Rose. He walks through.

Five outfits spread across the bed. He steps closer, eyes softening. His fingers brush over each one — until he finds it.

The blue dress.

He’s still holding it when the bathroom door opens.

Rose steps out — wrapped in a soft robe, hair damp, rubbing it with a towel as she walks, still talking without looking up:

“I think the blue would look nice — don’t you?”

She lifts her head.

Her voice dies.

It’s not Sam standing there.

It’s Jason.

He holds the dress gently in one hand, his dark eyes on her, glinting with amusement and something deeper — something he hasn’t let show in years.

“It does,” he says, low and steady. “Tell me, Rose… are you always this welcoming with your guests… or am I special?”

Rose freezes. Droplets of water glisten on her skin, sliding slow down her neck, and for a heartbeat her mind goes completely, beautifully blank. Her heart stops — stops — then slams back into a frantic, stuttering rhythm. She just stands there — rooted to the spot, towel still clutched in one damp hand, staring at him like she’s forgotten how to breathe, how to speak, how to do anything but look at him.

This can’t be happening. This isn’t real. I’m in a robe. My hair’s wet. I didn’t even put on makeup. Of all the ways — of all the people — why HIM?

Heat floods her face — burning, bright, mortifying — creeping up her neck, over her cheeks, right to the tips of her ears. She wants to disappear. Wants the floor to open up and swallow her whole. Five years. I imagined this moment a thousand times — and this is it? Me in a towel, him holding my dress? He must think I’m completely insane. Or worse — that I do this with everyone.

Every quiet hope, every carefully built wall, every bit of dignity she’d tried to gather over the last five years — it all crumbles in one second. She feels exposed. Raw. Seen in a way she absolutely was not ready for. And the worst part? He looks entirely too pleased about it.

KNOCK KNOCK

The door swings open before either of them can say another word. Sam breezes in, already chattering, bright and amused and entirely too pleased with herself:

“Okay — can you believe the doorman? Said some guy just waltzed right up here like he owned the building! Like he had a key or something! I mean — the nerve! Who does that — oh.”

Her voice drops right off. She steps fully inside, gaze darting between Rose in her robe and Jason holding the blue dress, and her grin just blooms — bright, knowing, utterly delighted.

“Oh. Oh. Well… that explains absolutely everything then. I suddenly see exactly how it is.”

Rose snaps back to reality — and the embarrassment burns hotter, twice as bright. Of course Sam walks in now. Of course. She wants to scream. Wants to hide. Wants to crawl into the shower and never come out.

“NO — this isn’t — ugh.” She gestures wildly between them, half-flustered half-furious, her face on fire. “Both of you. Out. Now. Please. Just… go. This isn’t — we’re not — just leave!”

Sam throws both hands up in surrender, backing toward the door with a grin she can’t begin to hide, practically glowing with amusement.

Jason just shrugs — slow, easy, thoroughly entertained — like he’s been waiting for this exact moment for five years and he’s not even a little bit sorry.

Rose all but shoves them both into the hallway, slamming the door shut with a firm, final click.

HALLWAY

Sam stands there a second, still catching up, then turns to Jason with a raised eyebrow and a very knowing smile.

“So... Mr Jason Hartley. What brings you to our... umm or i should say this doorstep a whole day early? I thought we weren’t due at the office until tomorrow. Did Rose send for you? Or…?”

Jason leans forward casually on the sofa they now sat on opposite each other, completely unbothered, still holding the blue dress in one hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world. he put the dress next to him on the sofa, and then he pulls a small card — bright crayon scribbles, messy little drawings, a lopsided heart — from his pocket.

“Ah, yeah — we are meeting tomorrow. but i was I was told or rather ordered to give this to her.” He holds it up. “My sister’s little girl. Made it for her godmother.”

Sam takes it, squinting down at the colourful mess. “What’s this?”

“Her name’s Lila.” His voice softens, warm and easy. “Katie’s daughter. She talks about Rose all the time. Asked me to bring it. Said it’s for her.”

Sam looks from the card up to him, then back again — and the pieces click into place. She nods slowly, a warm, knowing smile spreading across her face.

“Well then — tea or coffee? While we wait for Rose to come out and stop hiding?” She gestures toward the close bedroom door

“Coffee’s fine, thank you.” He says it easy, calm, completely composed — like he didn’t just walk in on her in a towel five minutes ago. Like this is the most normal thing in the world.

A few minutes later, the bedroom door opens. Rose walks out.

Jeans. A simple top. Hair still damp but pulled back into a neat, tidy ponytail. No makeup. No fancy outfit. Just Rose — but she’s put every bit of armor she owns back on. She walks into the kitchen like she’s walking onto a battlefield.

Silence.

Jason drags his eyes over her — slow, deliberate, from her feet all the way up to her face — and a slow, familiar smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“So…” He leans back against the counter, coffee mug in hand. “No blue dress, then.” he nodded to the dressing spread next to him.

Sam chokes on her own coffee, turning it into a cough, and quickly looks away — trying and failing to hide a massive grin.

Rose freezes. Her cheeks burn all over again. She quickly grabs the dress of the sofe and rushes back to her room she throws it on the rest of the dress and gos back out to them again. Rose clears her throat and thencrosses her arms over her chest, jaw set, trying so hard to look annoyed and failing miserably.

Before she can say a word, Jason pushes off the sofa and sets his mug down. He pulls the little card from his pocket and holds it out to her.

“Before I go — this is why I came by. Lila made it specially for you. She wouldn’t let me leave without it — said you needed it today. You know how she is — always thinking of you.”

Rose takes it, smiling straight away as she turns it over in her hands — recognising Lila’s favourite colours, the way she draws her flowers, the little heart she always puts in the corner. It feels so her.

“She’s getting so good at these,” Rose says, her voice gentle and fond. “I saw her last week on FaceTime — she was telling me all about her new art set. I knew this was coming.”

“She asks every day when she’d see you next.” Jason’s gaze lingers on her, quiet and sure. “You’re her godmother, Rose. She adores you — always has. You’re family to her, just like you are to all of us.”

He gives them both one last, long look — his eyes resting on her a moment longer than they need to — then turns toward the door.

“I’ll let you ladies carry on and do what you had planned to do. See you tomorrow.”

And with that, he’s gone. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving Rose holding the card, Sam grinning from ear to ear, and the room still feeling full of him