Only she remembered what happened on her wedding day.


It's like everyone is in on a big inside joke, one only she's not allowed in.


She lays in a hospital bed, as around her sit familiar faces, all of which she knows down to every detail.


Her mother, teary-eyed because for some reason she might think her daughter isn't okay. But she's fine. She has to be.


Her father, sitting in a chair a little further from everyone, his legs giving out from under him as always.


Her sister, still in her pretty green dress, the exact shade for all the bridesmaids. She has a hand on her mouth, as if she can't believe this is happening.


Her best friend, almost as teary-eyed as her mother, but managing to conceal it. That green dress again.


And finally, the one unfamiliar face. A man she doesn't recognize, standing tall right next to her, a hand gently on her forearm, as if that's where it belongs, as if it's his right. He has a sad look on his face, a stray tear slipping down his cheek which he doesn't bother wiping off.


She has never seen this man in her life, but her family is acting as if he's family. As if he's her husband.


But he's not.


She's the only one who truly remembers what happened on her wedding day. And this is not the man she married. So why is he wearing an identical wedding ring?


She married her boyfriend of six years on a Saturday, on a charming remote resort, a couple hours outside their city.


It was a beautiful wedding. Her dress was stunning, as everyone kept telling her, and her groom’s suit fit him like a glove. She didn't feel nervous for even a second, because she knew she'd only see her family, his family and their friends, nobody they didn't know. And you can't really be nervous to marry the man you've been with and loved for years.


She walked down the aisle, her father doing his best to keep his legs steady, until he left and went back to his cane.


The ceremony was short and sweet, over before they knew it.


And then they danced, and danced, and ate, and drank, and it was wonderful. Like every wedding should be.


So where is her husband now? And what is she doing in a hospital bed?


She can't even ask about it. She tried already but her voice didn't come out.


So she lays there as she watches an unknown man pretend to be her husband, even though she knows he isn't. She knows something is wrong.


She doesn't remember much after the wedding.


She knows a driver took her and her now husband back to their hotel, but on their way there, there must have been an accident, which put her in this hospital bed. But what happened to her husband? She has no idea and she's dying to know, but her limbs aren't working and her eyes aren't opening and she's left looking at her family and the strange man from behind a glass screen, as they all mourn her soon-to-be dead body.


Nobody seems to remember her husband and it's driving her crazy. How can they take in a stranger so easily, after knowing her actual husband for six years?


She can feel her body slowly decaying, as her family cries, along with the stranger.


She’s desperate. They need to see her, hear her, know that man is a stranger and something’s wrong. So she starts banging on the glass, screaming.


The glass doesn’t budge, doesn’t break, doesn’t even crack.


She continues banging her fist until she feels a warm liquid trickling down her forearm, quickly staining the white dress she’s still wearing.


She screams until her voice is hoarse and nothing comes out anymore, except muffled sobs. She can’t feel her knuckles anymore, but she keeps trying.


Until she feels a cold hand wrap around her wrist.


She shivers, ice-cold skin bringing her back to the present. She turns, not knowing what to expect, only to be met with her husband. A soft gasp escapes her lips, as loud as her tight throat will allow her.


Her husband is there, in front of her, finally, and she finally feels some sense of familiarity, some warmth.


He’s looking at her with a smile so tender she’s afraid it’ll break if she breathes another word.


“You’re here,” she manages, which comes out as more of a croak.


He nods, his hand moving to engulf hers in his own.


“I am.”


“Who’s that?” she asks the question that’s been nagging her since she woke up in this cold waiting room.


Her husband doesn’t answer. Instead, he gently drags her to the door of the hospital room she’s in.


“They’re waiting for you.”


Cold sweat starts running down her back, and she feels like she’s being choked.


“No. You can’t leave me with them. With him.”


She tries to break free from his grip, but it’s stronger now, determined. How can the man she married turn on her? When she needs him the most?


“They’re waiting,” he repeats, and he pushes open the door.


She’s met with a bright, blinding light, before everything goes dark.




When she wakes up in the hospital bed, she’s immediately engulfed in hugs. First her husband, whose teary cheeks she wipes, then her mother, who’s careful with the cables, then her sister and her best friend.


She's so relieved to finally wake up and be back with her loved ones, after everyone thought she'd die in that bed.


Her husband is the happiest of them all, constantly pressing kisses on her forehead. For some reason she can't seem to place, his lips don't bring her the warmth they once did. She feels the cold creeping all over her when he holds her hand. And it doesn't feel comforting.


She shakes it off. It's probably because she just woke up from a two-day long coma, she still needs time to adjust.




When she goes back to sleep that night, she dreams of a hospital, looking at herself through a glass screen, her physical body sleeping while she watches with a stranger hold

ing her hand. His hand is cold, but comforting.


She doesn't see his face before she wakes up.