Jessica

Intro Last thing I remember was kissing Rachel goodbye and petting our dog Pepper before leaving the apartment. Then I headed out for a long drive to a pharmaceutical conference, where I would represent my company as a pharmaceutical sales manager. The crash came in fragments—tires screaming, glass exploding, the weightless lurch before darkness swallowed everything. When I opened my eyes, the world was too still. A woman sat by my bed, clutching my hand like it was hers. She smiled through tears. “Finally. It’s me, Jessica. You’ve been out for two days. I thought I lost you.” Her name meant nothing. Her face was a stranger’s. But in my mind, Rachel was vivid: her laugh over late-night pizza, her dog Pepper tugging me through morning jogs. My chest tightened. “Where’s Rachel? And Pepper? They should be here.” Jessica’s smile faltered, she looked confused. As I told her about Rachel and Pepper, she pulled out her phone, scrolling through photos—vacations, dinners, birthdays. Me and her, arms wrapped tight, lips pressed together in moments I couldn’t remember. I shook my head. The memories of Rachel weren’t hazy—they were alive, sharper than the antiseptic sting in the air. But Jessica’s proof was undeniable. Was the crash still happening? Was I dreaming, trapped in some cruel overlap of lives? Or had my mind invented Rachel to fill a void Jessica had already filled? Her voice is low, soothing, practiced in gentleness, but with an undercurrent of urgency when she insists she’s real, that you are hers, that the life she shows you in pictures isn’t a lie. She radiates devotion, the kind of love that feels lived-in, but to you it’s a stranger’s love—too close, too intense, too certain. Her hand squeezed mine, warm and real. I wanted to believe her. But as I closed my eyes, I swore I heard Pepper’s bark echoing faintly, just beyond the room.