My Girlfriend Told Me That My Daughter Died, Later I Found out She Was Lying – Story of the Day

Three years ago, a major surgery wiped my memory, and I restarted life anew. Believing my daughter perished in an amusement park accident, as told by my girlfriend Linda, I was shocked to discover recently that she’s alive. Meanwhile, Linda’s account has been receiving substantial monthly sums for nearly three years.

My name is Chuck, and I was 27 when an uncovered lie rocked my world. Three years earlier, I woke up to see my girlfriend Linda after a head injury and subsequent brain surgery erased my memories. I didn’t know who she was back then as my eyes blinked.

She said, “You’ve been in a coma, but I’ve been right here, waiting for you.” Her presence anchored me through recovery, reigniting our love despite the blank slate of my memory.

The calm of relearning life was shattered when Linda later revealed, “Chuck, you had a daughter, Catherine. But… she passed away while you were in the coma.” My girlfriend further explained that it had happened at an amusement park where she had taken Catherine, hoping to cheer her up since I wasn’t waking up.

The news of my late child, whom I couldn’t remember, plunged me into a deeper melancholy. My confusion grew as Linda explained Catherine wasn’t her child and she didn’t know much about my life before we started dating.

But I finally visited my daughter’s grave and faced the sorrow that came, even though I couldn’t even see her face in my mind. Three years passed, and I thought I had moved on, even with a huge part of myself still missing.

On a typical Saturday night, everything changed. Linda and I were driving home from a gathering with friends who had left for an amusement park. She wondered why I didn’t want to go with them, and the mood in the car turned somber.

Linda probed, and finally, I confessed, “Because of… Because of Catherine. You understand I have bad associations with that place.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” she said softly before trying to shift to lighter topics. Then, she leaned closer, hugging me and kissing my cheek. I laughed but warned her that I needed to concentrate on driving.

However, she said something way too suggestive into my ear, and I lost control. It took a second before I realized we had collided with a house. The homeowner, a man in his forties, rushed out, anger written all over his face, and didn’t hesitate to call the police.

Minutes later, officers arrived to investigate. I was sober, so I avoided immediate arrest, but the homeowner threatened legal action. This incident, oddly, felt familiar.

A few days later, Linda and I fretted over our finances as we had been served with a $30,000 lawsuit from the homeowner for damages. Our lawyer’s call confirmed our fears: we needed to settle or face charges. Tired of arguing with Linda, I left for a short walk around the neighborhood.

But I quickly had to return home for my forgotten wallet, and I overheard Linda on the phone.

“… We need another $30,000… the money you send me every month isn’t enough… give us the money if you don’t want me to go to the police and reveal the truth about the girl being alive,” she seethed angrily, even while whispering.

I flinched back, shocked. I was consumed with confusion but decided not to confront Linda without more information. My girlfriend later revealed she had secured the $30,000 from an uncle in Alabama, something I wouldn’t have questioned if I hadn’t heard her phone call.

The next day, while working, I got a text from her. It said: “The money has arrived! I can’t wait to kiss you!”

This did not soothe my turmoil. I asked my coworker Mike to cover for me for a few hours. I left the retail store where I had worked since my recovery, anxious but determined to uncover the truth behind Linda’s mysterious financial support. There was only one way: the bank.

The drive seemed to drag. But my friend Tom had a high position at that branch, and he awaited me. I knew he would help me. But first, he asked how I was doing.

“Could be better, Tom,” I responded, sighing. Tom sensed my distress and led me to his office, where I requested to check Linda’s transaction history, admitting, “It’s… complicated. Something strange is going on.”

Tom found a recent $30,000 deposit in Linda’s account from a woman named Mrs. Warren with the first name Sarah, along with a history of regular $5,000 payments and a significant $40,000 three months prior—money Linda claimed was from an inheritance.

The most shocking discovery was a $200,000 transaction from Sarah to Linda on the day Linda claimed my daughter had died. I asked him if he had any information about this strange Mrs. Warren.

Armed with Sarah’s city and details from Tom, I left the bank, my mind heavy with new suspicions. Work passed in a blur as I plotted my next steps, still cautious about confronting Linda.

That evening, maintaining normalcy, I answered her casual questions easily as we ate, though my mind was far from calm. After dinner, I seized a moment of privacy and searched for Mrs. Warren online, finding a profile of a woman in her mid-forties to early fifties from a city 300 miles away.

Her modest lifestyle online didn’t fit with the large sums she’d sent Linda, making me want to bite my nails.

I resolved to find and meet Mrs. Warren, even if I had no clue where this would lead. After thinking for a few days about my plan, I finally came up with a decent excuse for Linda—a business trip.

“I forgot to mention earlier, I have to go to New York next week on Sunday,” I told her nonchalantly.

She frowned. “Does a retail store manager really need to go on a business trip?”

Linda was right, of course. But I stuck to my story, claiming it was a training program. My real intention was to observe Mrs. Warren at a church she frequented, a detail I’d gleaned from her social network photos.

A week later, I found myself outside that church, spotting Mrs. Warren among the congregants. My heart raced at the sight of her, but I maintained a cautious distance, following her discreetly to her car, then to a grand estate, another piece of the puzzle that seemed inconsistent about her. But then I considered the money again.

Parked nearby, I debated my next steps, torn between a confrontation and finding more information. The grandiosity of her home raised more questions about her connection to Linda and possibly Catherine. Unfortunately, my impatience won.

Standing at Mrs. Warren’s door, I was surprised to see her in a cleaner’s outfit. Ah, she’s the maid here. But even more surprising, she recognized me immediately.

“Chuck? What are you doing here? Does Mrs. Nilsson know you’re here?” Her question threw me off, but I decided to follow along.

“Ugh,” I cleared my throat. “Yes, Mrs. Nilsson invited me over. She didn’t mention it?”

Mrs. Warren frowned but let me in. I surveyed the house once inside the foyer. A photo of a family that included me shocked me. Was this my forgotten past?

Before I could ponder further, Mrs. Warren returned, agitated. “Get out of here! No one invited you here! Get away quickly! You can’t be here! Get out of here!”

Then, she threatened to call the police, forcing me to leave. Confused and frustrated, I called my girlfriend as I drove away from the fancy estate.

“Linda, I need answers. Now!” I demanded. “Why is Mrs. Warren sending you money? Why are there photos of me in her house? Tell me everything.”

Linda sighed and asked if I really wanted to know. I insisted, but the truth was more than I expected.

“Chuck,” she began. “Two years ago, while you were in a coma, you needed an expensive operation… Mrs. Nilsson, your ex-mother-in-law, offered to pay in exchange for Catherine.”

“So, my daughter is still alive?” I breathed.

“Yes,” Linda replied, and I could hear the defeat and shame in her voice.

“And you let my former mother-in-law take her away from me?” I continued screaming.

“It was the only way to save your life, Chuck. I didn’t know what else to do,” Linda’s voice cracked. “After the operation, you had amnesia. Mrs. Nilsson suggested we move to a new town and start fresh. She said you should never know about your past, ex-wife, or her. In return, she promised to support us financially.”

“What about my ex-wife?”

“She had issues, and Mrs. Nilsson had to place her in an institution,” Linda answered, sniffing loudly.

“You should’ve told me, Linda. I hate you,” I spat, as my hand hit the steering wheel hard, and then I made a U-turn back to Mrs. Nilsson’s house. I was getting my girl back whether they liked it or not.

I waited outside until Mrs. Nilsson’s car parked in the driveway and exited my own. She saw me, and her shoulders sagged. But she gestured for me to go inside, and we sat in silence in her living room for a few moments.

“After your divorce, you forbade me from seeing Catherine,” the older woman started, “and when you were in a coma, I saw an opportunity to give that girl the life she deserved. I offered Linda a deal, but I suspect you know that already.”

“Is Catherine staying here?”

“Yes, but please,” she paused, swallowing. “If you bring all this to light, you’ll get Catherine back, yes. But think about it. She’s a child who doesn’t know you. And you, with your amnesia, don’t know her either. She loves me.”

I remained silent because she was right, but she had done wrong, and Linda too.

As if Mrs. Nilsson could read my thoughts, she continued. “I know what you’re thinking. You want to call the police or a lawyer and take your girl. But consider what that would mean for myself and Linda,” she said solemnly.

The ultimatum was cruel – a choice between a daughter who was a stranger to me and a girlfriend who had made unimaginable sacrifices out of love.

As I grappled with this decision, a small voice suddenly shattered the silence. “Daddy!!!” she yelled, running into my arms without a second of hesitation. Her immediate recognition and affection dispelled any doubts about my choice.

Mrs. Nilsson, witnessing this reunion, offered to call the police herself and take all the blame. But I just wanted my family. I didn’t want to press charges. Instead, I made a new deal for her, where we could all be happy.

Catherine came to live with Linda and me, and we began rebuilding our lives together. Mrs. Nilsson was a bit sad that she couldn’t see her granddaughter every day, but a few visits were better than nothing.

I had also told her that the money wouldn’t be necessary anymore. But she insisted on putting everything into a trust for my daughter. I couldn’t deny her that, and besides, I had more important matters to focus on – getting to know my daughter again as a complete family and finally proposing to Linda.

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