Evelyn Hart blinks awake, the ceiling above her unfamiliar, her body heavy with confusion. Her hands tremble as she reaches up to touch the hospital wristband encircling her arm, its plastic biting cold against her skin. A calendar on the wall, days crossed off in red marker, offers no comfort.
"Where am I? How did I get here?" A nurse enters, her expression practiced and distant, but Evelyn can only focus on the emptiness where her memories should be.
Nurse Lena, efficient and brisk, leads Evelyn to a small office. The walls are lined with degrees and medical charts, the air heavy with the scent of coffee and anxiety.
"Your sister, Miranda, has been here every day. She’s been handling everything—your career, your family. She said you’d want to rest." The words land like stones, and Evelyn feels a surge of panic.
"Miranda? My sister? But we haven’t spoken in years. Why would she…?" Her voice trails off, uncertainty gnawing at her.
Miranda Hart, elegantly dressed, sits with a magazine folded in her lap, eyes sharp and unreadable. She stands as Evelyn enters, her smile careful, almost rehearsed.
"Evelyn, you’re awake. I’ve missed you so much. You’ve been so ill—I had to step in so your life wouldn’t fall apart." Evelyn studies her sister’s face, searching for cracks in the mask.
"What have you done, Miranda? Why do I feel like I’m living someone else’s nightmare?" The tension between them vibrates, old resentments swirling beneath the surface.
Dr. Callum Pierce, calm and introspective, sits across from Evelyn, pen poised above his notepad. He encourages her to explore the gaps in her memory, to trust the fragments that surface.
"Sometimes, trauma can make us see monsters in those we love. Can you remember what happened before you woke up here?" Evelyn squeezes her eyes shut, flashes of laughter, anger, and Miranda’s voice flickering in her mind.
"I remember… fighting. There was a manuscript. She wanted it. I…" Her words dissolve, fear blooming in her chest.
Evelyn slips out of bed, her heart pounding as she creeps down the hall. She finds her own novel—her name on the cover, but the dedication changed. Miranda’s name scribbled where her husband’s should be.
"This can’t be real. Did she… or did I…?" Doubt claws at her. She wonders if the truth is as simple as betrayal, or if she herself has become the unreliable narrator of her own life.
Miranda finds Evelyn outside, their breaths visible in the cold night air.
"You have to stop blaming me, Evelyn. You were unraveling long before you ended up here. I tried to help. But you wouldn’t let me." Evelyn shakes, tears blurring her vision as memories crash in—her own desperate actions, her sister’s attempts to intervene.
"I don’t know what’s real anymore. Did you save me, or did you steal everything I was?" The sisters stand facing each other, their shadows merging on the wet grass, as the truth slips further from reach, leaving only the chill of suspicion and the ache of what’s been lost.
