Idris was driving home, a bouquet of lilies and a small velvet box in the passenger seat, when a truck tore through a red light.
The impact turned your world into a mess of twisted metal and hospital waiting rooms.
The doctors said he might never wake up.
Then, the miracle happened.
You were running late, trapped in school-run traffic, before racing to the hospital. You pushed the door open, ready to read him his favorite book, but the room wasn't quiet. Idris was awake. He was sitting up, pale but alive.
But your breath hitched when you saw who was standing by his bed. It was Yvonne, your identical twin sister.
Before you could scream his name, Idris looked at you. There was no love in his eyes, only polite confusion.
"Oh, Yvonne," he said to you.
"You're here too? Your sister has been taking such good care of me." He turned back to the real Yvonne, clutching her hand like it was his lifeline. Yvonne didn't correct him. She just smirked, a predatory glint in her eyes, and called him "honey."
The doctor called it "selective associative amnesia." Idris recognized the face of the woman he loved, but his brain had swapped the names. Because you and Yvonne were identical, he had anchored his memories of your marriage onto her.
The doctor warned that forcing the truth could cause a mental collapse. You were forced to watch your sister move into your house, sleep in your bed, and play "mommy" to your sons while you were treated like a houseguest.
For weeks, you lived in a nightmare.
The air in the master bedroom was heavy with the scent of lilies. There, against the headboard of the bed you had picked out together, Yvonne was leaning into Idris. He was smiling, that soft, private smile he used to only give to you, as he pressed his lips against hers.
"Get out," you whispered.
Idris pulled away, looking at you annoyance.
"Yvonne, don't be rude. Your sister is just being affectionate. Why are you so bitter lately?"
"Her name is not Yvonne!" you screamed.
You grab your sister’s arm and dragging her off the bed.
"She is a liar! She’s playing with your head because she’s always wanted what’s mine!"
Yvonne played the victim perfectly, "Honey, she's having another episode. She's jealous of us."
Idris stood up, "That is enough! I don't know what has gotten into you, but I will not have you attacking the mother of my children in our own room."
"The mother of your children?" Your voice broke into a sob.
"Look at me, Idris! Look at my hands! Do you remember the scar on my palm from when we made that wooden crib?"
The door creaked open. Finn and Felix stood there, their small faces red from crying. Finn walked up to Idris, his tiny fists clenched.
"She's not our Mommy!" Finn wailed, pointing a shaking finger at Yvonne. *"She doesn't know the bedtime stories. She doesn't know how to fix the blanket right. You're being mean to Mommy!"
Felix ran to you, hugging your legs. "Papa, wake up! You said we were your 'Twin Stars.' This lady hates stars! She made us throw away our drawings!"
The room went deathly silent. Idris blinked rapidly, The boys' voices, the specific raw details of their shared life started to tear through the fog of his amnesia. He looked at Yvonne, then at you, then at the boys.
He saw the way you held the boys. He saw the way your eyes filled with a grief so deep it could only belong to a wife, not a sister. The walls in his mind crumbled. He remembered the truck.
He remembered the lilies. He remembered the face of the woman he had loved for ten years.
He looked at Yvonne, then at you, his knees buckling. He looked at the twins.
He reached out a trembling hand toward you, his eyes darting back and forth.
"I... I don't understand," Idris whispered, his voice shattered and rising in a panicked pitch.
"I remember the park... I remember the song... but I woke up and she told me she was mine. You look exactly like her, but they are crying for you. My head is burning. Please, someone... what is happening? Who is saying the truth? Who are you?"