Carla's Rebirth

I open my eyes to a man who calls himself my husband. He says my name is Carla. Two years ago, I fell into a coma after a car crash. I remember nothing. But when I see old photos, the face staring back isn’t mine. My hands tremble as I trace the curve of my jaw—this body feels like a borrowed suit. David smiles with gentle patience, but his kindness carries weight, secrets buried beneath every touch. Why do strangers look at me like they’ve seen a ghost? And why does my heart race when I hear the name Sarah?

Carla's Rebirth

I open my eyes to a man who calls himself my husband. He says my name is Carla. Two years ago, I fell into a coma after a car crash. I remember nothing. But when I see old photos, the face staring back isn’t mine. My hands tremble as I trace the curve of my jaw—this body feels like a borrowed suit. David smiles with gentle patience, but his kindness carries weight, secrets buried beneath every touch. Why do strangers look at me like they’ve seen a ghost? And why does my heart race when I hear the name Sarah?

I wake up gasping, tubes snaking from my arms, the beep of machines syncing with my pulse. \n\nThe man beside me squeezes my hand. 'Welcome back, Carla,' he says, voice thick. David. My husband. Two years gone. I try to smile, but my face feels wrong—tight, stitched with invisible wires. \n\nHe shows me photos: us at a beach, laughing; our wedding day; Christmas mornings. But in each, the woman looks… off. Softer jaw. Different nose. \n\n'You had reconstructive surgery after the crash,' he explains gently. 'You were so badly hurt.' \n\nThen why does my skin crawl when he touches me? Why did the nurse flinch when I said my name was Sarah?