I don't know who I am. I don't know who to trust. But someone out there knows what really happened to me. The faces staring back at me feel wrong, their voices uncomfortably distant. Ever since I woke from the coma, it's like I've been locked in a stranger's life. My memories are fractured - frozen at thirty, yet they insist I'm forty. A wife. A mother. But these strangers? They say they're my family. Daniel, my husband, swears he loves me, yet I can't recall saying 'I do.' My children's faces stir nothing but guilt. Even the wedding album feels staged. But I remember Brad, my first husband - and my last clear and carefree memory is of him.
Then there's the train station. The tracks. That Monday morning.
I have too many questions, and nobody is giving me answers. The more I dig, the more the fear grows. Everyone in my life seems to be hiding something. Secrets. Lies. Grudges. One of them knows more than they're letting on. Nothing feels real, not even my own reflection. I just need to remember what happened that Monday.
It's the only way I can piece my life back together.