My cheating husband, Steve Manson, gets hit by a car and suffers brain damage.

After the accident, he can only say two words—"Yes" and "No". He can't say anything else. And somehow, every answer he gives has to be the truth.

For once, it feels like heaven is finally on my side.

I ask, "Is the woman you're having an affair with my best friend?"

His face turns pale, but his mouth moves against his will. "Yes."

"Did you transfer assets behind my back?"

"Yes."

"Is your bank account password your first love's birthday?"

"Yes."

Thanks to this bizarre ability of his, I successfully send the mistress to prison and walk away with all of his assets. Yet, he can't even curse me out no matter how much he wants it.

Then one day, a handsome food delivery guy flirts with me. I turn to look at Steve, who stands there with the same dull expression as always.

"Are you really my husband? Why aren't you even jealous?"

Without hesitation, he blurts out, "No."

I freeze instantly and stare into his eyes.

After a long silence, I finally ask, "Then is my husband... dead?"

He answers, "Yes and no."

A chill crawled down my spine.

I looked deep into Steve Manson's eyes and asked again, "Are you Steve Manson?"

His expression remained calm. "No."

My lips trembled. "Then, who are you?"

He couldn't answer this, for he could only respond with "yes" or "no" to questions—or, in special cases, "yes and no", which I had heard for the first time earlier.

I scrutinized the face that bore an uncanny resemblance to Steve's. A scar traced the edge of his forehead, a lasting reminder of what had happened three years ago.

Back then, an object had been hurled from a high-rise building. He had shoved me out of the way and taken the blow himself, leaving a deep gash on his forehead. The wound required seven stitches, and the scar remained to this day.

This was Steve's scar. I couldn't be wrong.

I fell silent, a million conflicting thoughts screaming at each other.

Steve's responses had always been factually accurate, even when the questions asked were supposedly beyond his knowledge. For example, he could predict the score of the Global Cup Finals and tell me if a certain celebrity's scandal was true.

In fact, I had even earned a ton of money relying on this niche skill of his. So, I had long moved past the stage of doubting his ability.

Even if one day I asked, "Will there be an earthquake in five minutes?" I would pack my bags and run for my life as soon as he answered, "Yes."

Yet now, he told me he wasn't Steve. Even when I asked if the real Steve had died, he answered, "Yes and no." Honestly, it spooked me.

If the person before me had never been Steve, who the hell had I been spending the last three months with? And where was the real Steve? Could he really be a zombie or something?

Just as I pondered if I should tie him up and interrogate him, a series of urgent knocks sounded on the door. I opened up and saw two police officers standing before me.

"Renee Rosewood, is it? We're from the Metropolitan Police Department. Before we proceed, we'd like for you to remain calm," one of the officers said.

"At approximately 9:30 am, we received a report and recovered a severely decomposed body from the riverbank. We found an ID on the victim identifying him as your husband, Steve Manson.

"We're here to ask whether you know anything about this."

I almost lost my footing. "You're kidding."

The officers exchanged a cautious look. "What do you mean by that, Mrs. Manson?"

I dug my nails into my palms, forcing myself to stay calm. "There's no way my husband is dead. He's right there."

I pointed at the quiet figure sitting on the couch, his head dipped.

The officers were taken aback. They made a beeline for the living room couch and began comparing the man on the recovered ID and Steve. Seeing that they looked identical, the officers fell silent.

"My husband is a scatterbrain. He always loses his stuff," I hurriedly explained. "I'm sure someone picked up his ID on the street and got into an unfortunate accident. I mean, what a coincidence, ri—"

The older-looking officer interrupted me and asked Steve, "Sir, are you Steve Manson?"

Flatly, Steve answered, "No."

The air turned cold, and so did the way the officers looked at me.

Without a second thought, I retrieved Steve's hospitalization records. "Officers, please hear me out. Three months ago, my husband was in a car accident that severely damaged his hippocampus.

"Besides losing part of his memory, he also developed a language impairment. He can only answer with "yes" or "no". If you don't believe me, I can prove it."

I walked toward Steve. "Steve, do you like eating shit?"

"No."

"Steve, are these two officers bad guys?"

"No."

"Steve, are you really Steve?"

"No."

A helpless smile tugged at my lips. "See? His current cognitive ability is about that of a seven-year-old child. He can't really be held accountable for what he says."

The officers exchanged a look, read through the professional-looking hospitalization records, and called to verify them. After confirming I had been truthful, they visibly relaxed.

"Looks like it's just a misunderstanding. Still, please come with us to the precinct to give a formal statement."

I asked if I needed to bring Steve along. To that, the older officer pondered and said, "Sure. You wouldn't be at ease knowing he's at home alone, right?"

Hence, Steve and I went to the precinct together.

Earlier, I had deliberately asked questions that would ensure a definite "no" answer. The second question helped me confirm that the officers were good, which meant they wouldn't make things hard for me.

After giving the statement, we prepared to leave. Suddenly, a female officer barged in with a solemn look. "Hold on. I have a few more questions."

The female officer shot the low-ranking officer a look before sitting across from me. "I suspect that you haven't been entirely truthful."

I clenched my fists. "What do you mean?"

She stared intently at me, turned off the surveillance cameras, and lowered her voice. "Don't you recognize me, Renee? It's me, Hayley Brown."

A chill ran through me. Honestly, I didn't recognize her at first glance. She was my high school classmate, a woman who had had a crush on Steve for the longest time.

She never got along with me and had pursued him for quite some time. After he rejected her, I never saw her again. To my surprise, she had ended up becoming a police officer.

"The DNA test on the body hasn't returned yet. We can't confirm if the deceased is Steve Manson. For now, we have reasons to believe this is an actor you hired to impersonate him."

Hayley glanced at Steve sitting off to the side, her voice softening slightly. "Steve, do you remember me?"

He looked at her for a second, then quickly lowered his head. Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought I saw a flicker of pain in her eyes.

I quickly chimed in. "His brain is damaged now. He can't answer anything except simple yes-or-no questions."

Hayley tapped her pen against the paper, lost in thought. "Let me ask you, then. Why did Steve get into that car accident in the first place?"

I froze for a moment, pulled back into that painful memory. Back then, I found out Steve was cheating on me. He had started lying very well about a year ago.

At first, it was lipstick left on the passenger seat. Then it was a strand of unfamiliar long hair tangled around a button. Then came the frequent excuses of working overtime and nights when he simply didn't come home.

All signs pointed to his infidelity.

He removed the dashcam and wiped every trace of footage from his phone. I couldn't find a single piece of solid evidence, so I broke down, confronting him like a madwoman.

In return, all I got was his impatient roar. "Enough! Do you realize how paranoid and crazy you look right now? You wanna check my phone? Here, go ahead! You'd better get on your knees and apologize to me if you can't find anything!"

By the time I completely gave up on Steve and prepared to file for divorce, the accident happened. He had been driving while exhausted, and his car collided with a truck halfway up the mountain road.

I sighed deeply. "Should I say karma exists? He was on his way to see his mistress when he got into the crash. He got hit so badly that he turned into an idiot. The case is already on file. You can check it."

Hayley nodded and sent a message on her phone. A reply came back quickly. After reading it, her expression grew heavier. "What you just said is true, but that still isn't enough to prove this man is Steve."

I was done holding back. "Are you nuts? Can't you tell this is clearly Steve? Remember the hundreds of portraits you drew of him when you were studying offender prof—"

She cut me off. "I suspect you killed Steve, Renee."

I laughed in disbelief. "Say another word like that again, and I'll file a complaint against you. And how exactly can you identify a badly decomposed body as Steve? With an ID card?"

"Not just that," Hayley said calmly. "The height and weight of the body matched Steve's medical records… And there's also a tattoo. Though the face is gone, the tattoo on his hand is unique."

She paused, then closed her eyes. "I tattooed it on him myself."

The interrogation room fell into an eerie silence.

Steve hadn't uttered a word so far until the tattoo was mentioned. His fingers moved slightly. The next second, I grabbed his hand and rolled up his sleeve, exposing a small, ugly dog tattoo on the inside of his wrist.

Seeing that, Hayley looked flustered.

"Are you going to tell me you tattooed this on another person as well?" I questioned her harshly.

"And here I'd been wondering for years why he had such a peculiar tattoo. Turns out you did it. What now, Officer Brown? Still have any other reasons to believe I killed Steve? What motive would I even have?"

Her brows tightened. "Tattoos can be replicated—"

I cut her off. "Replicated? And then what? I would've needed to find someone who looks exactly like him, down to every single detail. Would that even make sense?

"Ever since the accident, he has basically turned half-senile. He only recognizes me now. As long as I keep taking care of him like I never left, his parents will remain grateful to me. I can spend all his money however I want.

"But if he's dead, his parents will fight over the assets with me. What would I possibly gain from killing him?"

The older officer cleared his throat sharply. "Watch your words. Don't say anything you shouldn't be saying."

I zipped my lips and shook my head, smirking coldly. I had nothing to worry about because I simply hadn't killed anyone. No matter how much they investigated, I could easily clear my name.

What puzzled me was why the dead man had Steve's ID and who he really was.

Regardless, I had to keep the fact that Steve could only answer truthfully with "yes" or "no" a secret. Otherwise, more trouble would follow me.

Hayley's interrogation went on for a long time, but it wasn't fruitful.

Based on the estimated time of death, if it had been a homicide, my home surveillance footage proved there was no possible window I could've committed the crime.

While Hayley and the older officer went to push for the DNA results, I leaned in close to Steve's ear. "Is the real Steve dead?"

He paused for a second, then answered quietly, "Yes and no."

"Is everything you say the absolute truth?"

"Yes."

My tension finally eased. Then, I couldn't help but mock him a little.

"You're really a menace, Steve. Not only did you cheat on me with my best friend, but you even have an old flame still obsessed with you. Anyway, if the real Steve is barely alive, is he a vegetable then?"

He pondered briefly. "No."

As confused as I was, I didn't intend to keep questioning him. The priority now was to get out of the precinct as soon as possible.

When Hayley returned, her eyes were filled with deep frustration and unwillingness to accept defeat. "The DNA results are out. The deceased isn't Steve. We'll need to compare other DNA records to identify him."

A sneer escaped me. "We're leaving, then."

She quickly stopped me. "But even if it isn't Steve, I still find the man beside you highly suspicious. My instincts tell me he's not Steve. You've hidden the real Steve, while this one is just a stand-in."

I looked into her eyes. "And what makes you so sure? Is this how you normally investigate cases, Officer Brown?"

"It's just my instincts," she said with a bitter smile. "Forget it. You can go. Pretend I didn't say anything."

I grabbed Steve's hand and walked out of the station step by step. Suddenly, Hayley called after us. "Wait! You said he can only answer yes-or-no questions, right?"

A bad feeling surged in my chest. Before I could react, she rushed forward and grabbed Steve's wrist. "Was the person who killed Steve Manson Renee Rosewood?"

I was stunned, but not more than when Steve answered in his clear voice, "Yes."

Wait a minute. This wasn't right. How could he have answered that? I didn't kill anyone!

"Freeze!" Hayley exclaimed, twisting my arm behind my back.

I struggled desperately. "This is illegal, Hayley!"

In the end, she separated me from Steve and restrained us both. I was locked back in the interrogation room, my phone confiscated.

When Hayley walked in, I snapped at her, "You lunatic! I'm going to sue you for this!"

She stayed surprisingly calm as she placed a phone before me. "I'm going to show you a video."

She played it. In the footage, she asked Steve, "Did Renee Rosewood kill the victim on the riverbank?"

His eyelashes trembled slightly as his lips moved. "Yes."

"Was it a contract killing?"

"Yes."

"Are you Steve Manson?"

"No."

"Are you hired by Renee Rosewood to be a stand-in for Steve Manson?"

"Yes."

"Is Steve Manson dead?"

"Yes and no."

My brain buzzed, killing all thoughts in my head.

Every answer Steve gave was enough to sentence me for life, but what terrorized me more was the possibility that he was telling the truth.

After all, I had never killed anyone.