The problem with waking up in someone else's life is that no one tells you the rules.
Everyone just assumes you know how to play.
I sat in the hospital bed, twisting the soft blanket in my lap, heart beating fast in a body that didn't belong to me. My head buzzed with fragments—memories that weren't mine, names I shouldn't know, a room that felt familiar but also too perfect, like I'd wandered into a photo I'd seen in a magazine once.
Harper diverts her attention from her phone to me
"You've been acting weird," she said, staring at me like she was reading something written under my skin.
I flinched. "I… I feel weird."
"You don't remember the fall, do you?" she asked.
"No. Just… waking up here."
She tapped her nails against her phone. "You've been spacing out. And you're looking at us like you don't know us."
"I hit my head," I mumbled, clinging to the excuse like a shield.
"Yeah. Sure." Harper didn't sound convinced.
Silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. I could feel her watching me, waiting for me to crack.
And I almost told her.
The words sat in my throat: I'm not her. I'm not Annalise. I don't know why I'm here.
But I swallowed them down.Hard.Buried.
Because I saw it—the way her foot tapped nervously, the way her jaw tightened every time she thought I was slipping away again. She was scared. She didn't need the truth. She needed her sister.
So I smiled, the best version of Annalise I could pull together.
"I'll get better," I said. "I just need a little time."
Harper studied me like she wanted to say more. But then she stood, brushing invisible dust from her jeans.
"Yeah, well… just don't scare us like that again, okay?" Her voice softened. "I kind of like having you around."
She walked out, but not before giving me a last, lingering look—half suspicious, half relieved.
When the door closed, I curled my fists into the blanket.
I didn't know what I was supposed to do.I didn't know if Annalise was gone forever.But I knew one thing: if I told anyone the truth, I'd break them.
So I wouldn't.
I'd keep the secret.I'd play the part.I'd live this life like it was mine.
Even if it wasn't.
Dr. Lewis flipped through the medical chart, his brow furrowed so deeply it looked like the paper itself was arguing with him.
"She's stable," he said, though his voice made it sound more like a question.
"She wasn't supposed to wake up," Daniel Sinclair said quietly, his hand gripping Evelyn's shoulder like he needed to hold onto something real.
"She had no pulse," Dr. Lewis murmured, still staring at the impossible data. "Three minutes. By all accounts, she should have… well, you know."
Evelyn's voice was thin but sharp. "But she didn't. She came back."
"Will she be fine now?" Daniel whispered, eyes clouded with something like fear. "If something like this happens again—"
"Don't." Evelyn's hand closed over his, firm. "We are not questioning this. We have our daughter back. That's all that matters."
Dr. Lewis nodded slowly but not confidently. "We'll keep monitoring her."
Evelyn turned toward the window where Annalise—her Annalise—sat quietly in bed, hands folded, eyes distant.
"She's here," Evelyn said softly, more to herself than anyone else. "That's all I care about."
Daniel didn't answer.
But the unease in his eyes said he wasn't so sure