Please Come Back, My Love Chapter 175

Elena ： POV

I stared at Julian, my hand still gripping the car door handle, my entire body frozen between the impulse to flee and the sudden, crushing weight of his words.

*A foster mother who cared about you very much. She passed away four years ago.*

The information didn't land softly. It hit like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs. I could feel my pulse hammering in my throat, could feel the cold metal of the door handle cutting into my palm, but I couldn't move. Couldn't process what he'd just said.

"What?" The word came out barely above a whisper.

Julian's face was a mask of barely controlled emotion—desperation, guilt, something that looked almost like pleading. "Josephine," he said carefully, like he was afraid the name itself might shatter me. "She raised you. She—"

"Stop." I held up my hand, my voice shaking. "Just... stop."

But the name had already lodged itself in my chest, burrowing deep into some hollow place I didn't know existed. *Josephine.* It meant nothing to me. Nothing. And yet somehow, the syllables felt familiar in my mouth, like a word I'd spoken a thousand times in a life I couldn't remember.

"She died four years ago," Julian continued, his voice rough. "Pancreatic cancer. You were in Florida with her. She—"

"I said stop!" I snapped, my hand trembling as I pressed it against my temple. The headache that had been lurking at the edges of my consciousness suddenly flared, sharp and vicious. "I don't... I don't remember any of this. I don't remember *her*."

Julian's jaw tightened, his dark eyes searching my face like he was trying to find some trace of the woman he'd known. "I know. Alexander told me you have amnesia. But Elena, you have to understand—Josephine was everything to you. She was the only family you had before—" He stopped himself, his expression flickering with something that looked like self-loathing. "Before me."

I wanted to laugh. It was absurd, all of it. This man—this stranger who claimed to be my ex-husband, who'd just fucked me in the front seat of his car while I was drugged out of my mind—was now telling me about a woman I should have mourned but never got the chance to.

"Why are you telling me this?" I demanded, my voice cracking. "What do you want from me, Julian?"

He flinched at the sound of his name on my lips, like it physically hurt him. "I want you to know the truth," he said quietly. "I want you to know that Alexander has been lying to you. About everything. About who you are, about what happened to you, about—" He swallowed hard. "About us."

"There is no *us*," I shot back, but even as I said it, I could feel the lie settling uncomfortably in my chest. Because there was *something* between us, wasn't there? Something raw and visceral and terrifying that I couldn't explain, couldn't rationalize away. The way my body had responded to him—not just because of the drug, but because of *him*. The way his touch had felt familiar, like muscle memory my brain had forgotten but my body still knew.

Julian's expression shifted, something dark and possessive flickering across his features. "You can tell yourself that all you want," he said, his voice low and rough. "But we both know it's not true. Not after what just happened."

Heat flooded my face, shame and anger twisting together in my gut. "That was the drug," I said through gritted teeth. "That wasn't—"

"Bullshit." He leaned closer, his eyes locked on mine. "You think I don't know the difference? You think I don't know *you*?" His voice dropped to a near-whisper, intimate and devastating. "I've had you a thousand times, Elena. I know when you're faking, and I know when you're not. And what just happened in this car? That wasn't the drug. That was *you*."

I wanted to slap him again. I wanted to scream at him, to tell him he was delusional, that he didn't know me at all. But the words wouldn't come. Because deep down, in some buried part of myself I didn't want to acknowledge, I knew he was right.

"I need to go," I said finally, my voice hoarse. "I need to get back to Lila."

Julian's expression softened slightly at the mention of our daughter. *Our daughter.* God, I still couldn't wrap my head around that. "Let me drive you," he said. "You're in no condition to—"

"No." I shook my head firmly, pulling the door open. "I'll take a cab. I just... I need to be away from you."

He didn't try to stop me, but as I stepped out of the car, his voice followed me into the cold London air. "Elena."

I paused, not turning around.

"I'm not going to let Alexander keep you," he said, and there was something almost dangerous in his tone. "I don't care what he's told you, what he's made you believe. You're mine. Lila is mine. And I'm going to prove it."

I didn't respond. I just walked away, my legs shaky, my mind reeling. I could feel his eyes on me the entire time, burning into my back like a brand.

---

The cab ride back to Shoreditch was a blur. I sat in the backseat, my arms wrapped around myself, trying to piece together the fragments of a life I couldn't remember. *Josephine.* The name echoed in my head, over and over, like a prayer or a curse. I pulled out my phone with trembling fingers and opened Google, typing her name along with mine.

The search results flooded the screen. Obituaries. News articles. Social media posts from people I didn't recognize, all mourning a woman who apparently meant the world to me.

*Josephine Vance, beloved foster mother and retired housekeeper, passed away at NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital after her medication dosage was mysteriously increased...*

I clicked on one of the obituaries, my heart pounding. There was a photo—a woman in her sixties, with kind eyes and a warm smile. She looked... familiar. Not in a concrete way, but in the way a dream feels familiar even when you can't quite grasp it.

I scrolled further, my hands shaking, until I found another article. This one was from a local New York newspaper, dated four years ago.

*Tragic Loss: Woman Dies Shortly After Daughter's Disappearance*

My stomach dropped. So I disappeared after she died, right?