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?