A Contract Marriage with my Highschool Crush

Chapter one

Lexie pov

Ten years later.

I stared at the two options staring before me. A message from my mother’s doctor informing me that my mother was lucid and a wedding invitation from Liam, my ex.

Needle of pain pierced through my heart as I stared at the invitation card. Maybe this was a message to the universe that I was unworthy of love.

That was the only explanation I could understand, because how would a man who has been dating me for one year.

Visit my house. f**k senses out of me only for him to drop his wedding invitation the next day. He was not just getting married to anyone; he was getting married to the girl he claimed to be his distant cousin. The same person that I had complained about and he shunned me, calling me insecure.

Rage burnt within me. Until yesterday, my plan had been simple. Barge into the marriage and stop it and, if he has the nerve to continue, I would burn him alive.

But then my mother’s message came late last night. She had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and had never been lucid.

So it came as a joy when the doctor called me that she was lucid and asking for me. I even did a video call with her. Warmth filled me as last night's memory came back.

The warmth of her voice, her smile. She looked so much like the mother I knew about and not the one who I did not know about.

I shook my head. Burning Liam was a good idea, but I would not prioritize his wedding over my mother’s well-being. Someone I didn't think would be lucid again.

I packed my hair in a high ponytail, wore her favorite cinnamon perfume, and wore a blue gown, which was her favorite color. I packed the food which I had made for her and left the house.

Thankfully, the cab I ordered had arrived. He drove me to Seattle Grace hospital and stopped there. Immediately I highlighted the car, I took deep breaths.

A glint of doubt passed through me. What If she woke up and did not recognize me? What If the monster had attacked her?

When she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, she did not remember me or my siblings. In fact, it was worse for my siblings because all she knew was that she had only given birth to a four-year-old girl and her husband was still alive.

I took in a shaky breath and made my way towards her room. She would remember me. I kept on chanting.

The receptionist gave me a warm smile. I had become a regular visitor to the hospital.

Immediately I got to my mother’s room, my heartbeat increased. I stared at the room number, room 28.

Goosebumps crept onto my skin immediately I held the doorknob. I opened the door with an increasing heartbeat.

She laid on the bed sipping water from her can. Her entire attention was focused on the television.

For a moment, I stood there silently watching her. Then her attention moved to me. My heart dropped immediately.

Her eyes were cold and void. She did not recognize me. After a while, she finally spoke.

“What do you want?” She asked in a harsh tone. Her voice is stoic, lacking any emotions.

Pain blocked my throat, making it hard for me to swallow anything. I tightened my grip on my handbag and decided to try again, like I always did anytime I visited her.

“Mother is me, Lexie,” I whispered, making baby steps towards her.

“Who is your mother?” She asked with a raised eyebrow, still sipping the juice.

I inhaled sharply. It pained me to see that my mother could not recognize me.

My voice cracked with pain as I spoke. “Mother, it is Lexie, your daughter. You gave birth to me and my siblings,” I said, showing her a family photo. It was our last Halloween together before she became sick.

Her eyes darkened with anger. “How many times do I have to tell you that I am not your mother? I have only one child who is four years old, and that is not you. Go and look for your own mother!” She shouted, her voice filled with disdain.

“But-” I began.

“Get out” she shouted and threw her cup at me. I jumped to avoid the water splash. Terror overtook my face as I stared at her. She has grown worse. My mother was never this violent.

She continued throwing things at me. Scissors paper, her apple. Anything that she could lay her hands on. “I said you should leave!" she shouted at the top of her voice.

Her eyes laid on the syringe placed on a table far from her. She looked at it and then at me.

“I would force you to leave,” she said as she climbed off of her bed and tried to remove the drip that was attached to her hands.

I pressed on the on-call bottom, and a few seconds later, the nurses rushed to the room and tried to keep her down.

“Tell her to get out. I don’t want to see her again,” she told them. They absentmindedly nodded as some of them injected her with sleeping drugs.

Doctor Bailey rushed inside, panting heavily. “You called for-” he said, and paused when he saw my mother’s condition.

He turned to me, his eyes softened with remorse as he walked up to me.

“I am sorry. It returned immediately this morning. She woke up,” he said in a low voice.

I nodded with understanding. I cleared my throat as I braced myself for his response to my question.

“Is she getting better? I mean, she acted more violently than the way she normally acts,” I inquired.

He shook his head and heaved a deep sigh. “We are sorry, Lexie. She is getting worse with every moment that passes. She might not last longer than two years,” he said.

Pain bottled around my chest at the thought of my mother dying without remembering us. In less than two years, I was going to become an orphan. They had found no cure for Alzheimer’s and those who managed to carry out successful clinical trials charged more than my two-year salary.

I nodded with understanding. “Thank you,” I said and left before he could utter another word. His sympathetic words will only deepen my wound.

As I walked outside, fresh tears flowed down, and I did not care to stop it. People stared at me with a frown, but this is a hospital. Some people leave happy and some leave in tears.

My phone beeped with a notification. I cleaned my eyes and clicked on the message.

It was from my boss. “Come to the office. It’s urgent,” it read.

What could be so urgent that he had to call me even when he was the one who gave me a day off?