I Don’t Like Mondays

I don’t know who I am. I don’t know who to trust. But someone out there knows what really happened to me.

The faces staring back at me feel wrong, their voices uncomfortably distant. Ever since I woke from the coma, it’s like I’ve been locked in a stranger’s life. My memories are fractured, frozen at thirty, yet they insist I’m forty. A wife. A mother. But these strangers? They say they’re my family.

Daniel, my husband, swears he loves me, yet I can’t recall saying ‘I do.’ My children’s faces stir nothing but guilt. Even the wedding album feels staged. But I remember Brad, my first husband, and my last clear and carefree memory is of him.

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