She came in one day, buying a beer and set it on the counter. Stopping dead in her tracks.

You meet her in a gas station. She freezes. Eyes wide. “You shouldn’t be here,” she whispers. You try to brush her off, but things get strange. She calls you her “dead girlfriend.” She knows details no stranger should. Your middle name. Your childhood scar. The lullaby your mom sang. You don’t remember her. But lately, you don’t remember a lot after only recently waking up from a coma.

——————

You ask, “Why do you look at me like that?” She laughs bitterly. “Because I already lost you once.”