BETWEEN ME AND YOU

THE STRANGER'S FAMILY

The rain had begun just just as they were wheeling her out of the hospital. It was that steady kind of rain that made the streets glisten like silver and turned the sky into a shade of gray.

Kristine watched it through the window of the car, her reflection ghosted over the blurred city lights. The woman in the glass looked calm, almost serene, but inside of her, she felt hollow, like someone had scraped out her memories, while only echoes left.

Banjo drove in silence beside her. His hands were steady on the wheel, but his knuckles tightened, betraying the storm he carried. Their son—Yuan, sat in the back seat, humming softly as he clutched a small plush bear. He looked too young to understand the fracture in the world around him, too hopeful to see that the woman sitting in the passenger seat wasn’t the same mother he remembered.

When they reached home, the gate creaked open to reveal a modest two-story house. The air smelled faintly of damp earth and gardenias. Banjo stopped the car right in front of the main door, and hurried to open the door for her, and for a moment hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure whether to offer his hand or his heart.

Kristine stepped out slowly, her legs are still weak from weeks in bed. The pavement was slick beneath her slippers.

Yuan ran ahead, and shouting, “Mom’s home!”

That word hit her, like a stone that was thrown directly into her heart. "Home... her home. And not mine..." she reminded herself.

She was confused about what this all meant. Why did she have to live in the body of a stranger who was already married? And what had happened to her real body? She thought hard, but her memories were still a bit hazy.

Inside, the living room was neat, as if untouched like a museum of someone else’s life. Family pictures lined the walls, a wedding portrait, a smiling couple holding a newborn, a beach photo of three people against the sunset.

"Wow, Mrs. Kristine Gomez sure is one lucky mother! A beautiful home, a family that brings her so much happiness... it's like she's living the dream, that I have..." Kristine Sanchez just feel the amazement as she takes it all in. It's the kind of life she all hopes for. A little slice of perfection.

In every frame, she saw herself. But the woman in those photos radiated joy that she couldn’t feel, and the love she couldn’t recall.

“Everything’s the same, just as you left it,” Banjo said softly.

She looked around, uncertain how to respond. “It’s… beautiful,” she said, though the word felt like being borrowed.

Banjo guided her to the sofa carefully, as if she were made of glass.

“I made your favorite soup,” he added. “Tinola" You used to love it when you were sick.”

Kristine nodded, but the smell only reminded her of hospital broth and antiseptic. The taste of her real comfort food, is ramen from a tiny stall in the street. A memory of eating with a man whose laughter still lived in her dreams, rose unbidden in her mind. Rico’s face flickered in her thoughts, it was so clear, but it hurt.

Kristine Sanchez blinked hard and forced a smile for the little boy placing a bowl in front of her.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

Yuan beamed, his eyes brightened up “Do you remember me now, Mom?”

Her hand froze in the mid-air and the spoon she's holding trembled.

Banjo looked up from the kitchen's doorway, his breath caught. As he observed her reactions.

Kristine Sanchez wanted to lie. To say yes, is to wrap the child in comfort and make the pain go away. But something inside her wouldn’t let her build hope on false memories.

“I’m trying,” she said gently. “But my head still feels… fuzzy.”

Yuan smile faltered for just a heartbeat before he nodded bravely. “That’s okay. I’ll help you remember.”

Banjo turned away, pretending to busy himself with dishes, though his shoulders shook slightly. The clattering of plates helped drown out the sound of a man struggling to hold back his tears.

Later on, when Yuan had gone upstairs and the house had fallen quiet, Banjo joined her in the living room.

The rain had stopped, but thunder lingered in the distance.

“Do you want to rest in the bedroom?” he asked.

She hesitated. “Our bedroom?”

Banjo nodded.

So they climbed the stairs together, the silence between them heavy with all the words they didn’t know how to say. The door to the room swung open with a gentle creak. Inside, the atmosphere felt achingly personal, two pillows still bore the impressions of someone’s head, a framed wedding photo sat on the nightstand, and perfume bottles had gathered a layer of dust.

Kristine Sanchez stepped inside. Her eyes caught on a white wedding dress preserved in plastic, hanging by the closet.

And the air grew thick with something she couldn’t name.

“I can sleep in the guest room,” she said quietly.

Banjo shook his head. “No. This is your room. It’s still yours.”

Kristine Sanchez looked at him, her eyes reflecting the way she noticed the weariness carved into his face. His eyes told the story of a man who had devoted too much of himself to a memory. There was sorrow in every movement he made, and a deep sense of loyalty in the quiet moments they shared.

“You said… I died.” Kristine whispered.

He stiffened. “You heard it..."

“In the hospital.” Her voice trembled. “The doctor said you buried your wife. If that’s true… who am I?”

Banjo swallowed hard, staring at the floor.

“I don’t know,” he said. “All I know is that you’re here now, and that’s enough for me.”

She felt the ache in those words, the desperation of someone clinging to a miracle that didn’t make sense.

“But I’m not her,” she said softly. “I don’t remember being her.”

“I know.” His voice broke.

“But when I look at you, I see her. I see the woman I lost. I hear the way you used to laugh, the way you’d hum when you cooked, the way you held Yuan when he was sick. Even if you don’t remember, I do. And I can’t...” He stopped, his jaw tight. “I can’t lose you again.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. The ticking of the wall clock sounded like thunder.

Kristine Sanchez turned away, afraid that if she looked at him any longer, she’d start to believe she was that woman.

That night, sleep refused to come. The rain returned, tapping gently on the windowpane.

She lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The scent of unfamiliar sheets filling her senses. Every creak of the house, every gust of wind carried whispers she couldn’t understand.

Sometime past midnight, she rose quietly and walked to the dresser. The mirror reflected a face she still didn’t know. She touched her cheek, and her lips, as if searching for clues beneath the skin.

Suddenly, a flash came out...

She was standing in another hospital, fluorescent lights humming overhead. Her uniform smelled of disinfectant.

A man lay on a gurney, smiling weakly as he said, “If I die, promise me you’ll live for both of us.” Rico said.

The name slammed into Kristine's chest. She gasped, gripping the edge of the dresser to steady herself. Her knees weakened under the weight of two lives colliding.

Banjo stirred at the sound. He sat up, eyes bleary, voice hoarse. “Kristine?”

She turned, trembling. “Banjo… I saw him again.”

“Who?”

“The man from before. From my dreams. I think… I think I loved him.”

Banjo froze. His heart hammered painfully in his chest. "What's his name?"

"Rico." Kristine finally said.

The name "Rico" is the same name in which Banjo cursed the man he knew. He had stolen his wife’s heart long before the death had taken her.

Banjo stood slowly, his voice is low. “He’s gone, Kristine. That life... it’s gone.”

“But why do I remember it?” she cried. “Why does it feel more real than this?” Her words shattered the last of his restraint.

“Because you’re confused! You hit your head, you’ve been through trauma...”