Chapter 4: A Stranger in the Mirror
1859 Words
- SERAPHINE
A week of silence.
One night, after everyone left, the doctor came back alone. No nurses around.
He sat beside my bed and spoke quietly. “Miss, I'm Dr. Ezra Cavanaugh. You’re doing a good job pretending.”
My heart stopped. I felt the rhythm on the monitor spike, a frantic blip-blip-blip that betrayed me.
“Don’t react,” he added immediately. “Just listen.”
I forced my body back into a state of frozen stone. Inside, hope and terror were knotted together so tightly it actually hurt to breathe.
“I don’t know what you’re afraid of,” he continued, “but I know this—they want you moved out of this hospital. Soon.”
My jaw clenched until it ached.
“And I know you don’t want it,” he said. “That much is obvious.”
He stood. “I’ll slow things down as much as I can.”
And then I heard his footsteps move away.
I lay there in the dark, tears soaking into the pillow. This hospital was a cage, but it was the only thing keeping me from being buried in a second, more permanent grave.
And they were trying to take it away anytime soon.
I kept telling myself the lie that time was moving on like chapters in a book. But the truth was, time here didn't go anywhere. It just hung over me, watching and waiting for me to fail.
As the days passed by, my patience was wearing thin. I needed to act quickly and break out of this vicious cycle.
On day seven, I decided to stop pretending.
When the morning light hit the room, my eyes were open. I stared at the ceiling, my throat burning as if I’d been screaming in my sleep for a century.
I swallowed. My throat burned, like I’d screamed for days without making a sound.
“Water,” I croaked.
The sound of my own voice made me flinch. It didn't even sound like mine—it was thin, raspy, and weak.
A nurse rushed in a few minutes later, like she’d been waiting outside the door for permission to walk in.
“Oh—oh! You’re awake,” she said, already halfway to the bed. “Can you tell me your name, sweetheart?”
There it was. The trap wrapped in kindness.
I stared at her, at the little name tag clipped crookedly to her scrubs. Emily. Pink pen. A cartoon sticker of a cat.
I swallowed. “I… I don’t know.”
The words scraped my throat on the way out. The lie felt easier than the truth.
Her smile twitched, just for a second. “That’s okay,” she said gently. “That can happen after a trauma. Do you remember anything at all?”
I stared at the blank wall behind her, letting my face go numb, and my expression remain empty.
“Pain,” I whispered. “Just... cold and agonizing. And then... nothing.”
She nodded, already writing. “Do you know who you are with? Family? A husband?”
“I don’t remember,” I said again. “I don’t remember anyone.”
The lie settled into place easier than I expected.
“I’ll get the doctor,” she said, already backing out.
Dr. Ezra arrived an hour later. He didn't rush to my side. He stood at the foot of the bed, watching me with a measured look.
“Good morning,” he said calmly. "Do you know who you are?"
I looked him straight in the eye and shook my head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know.”
Something flickered in his eyes.
“That’s all right,” he said slowly. “Do you remember the accident?”
“Only pieces,” I said. “None of them makes sense.”
The nurse nodded and began taking notes, but she never once looked down at the paper; her eyes remained locked on mine.
“And the people who were with you?” he asked. “Did they feel familiar?”
I closed my eyes, as if searching.
“No,” I said. “I couldn't remember them.”
The room fell into silence.
In that silence, I understood something clearly for the first time since waking up.
This lie wasn’t just protection. It was my weapon.
Because if they thought I remembered nothing, then I forced them to lower their guard and reveal everything.
His smile froze. It was so subtle that I only caught it because I was waiting for him to slip up.
Ten minutes had passed, or perhaps it was three hours. Time was still playing tricks on me, slipping through my fingers.
He stood at the end of my bed with his hands buried in his coat pockets. His voice was gentle, but his eyes were dangerously alert.
“Welcome back,” he said. “You gave us a scare.”
“Can you tell me where I am?” I asked.
“It's St. Alaric Memorial Hospital,” he replied. “And do you know how the accident happened?”
I hesitated. Just enough to make it real.
“I don't think I remember anything about how it happened,” I said slowly. I didn't want to say anything more than that, since I don’t feel like I can trust anyone right now.
He nodded and made a note.
Dr. Ezra didn’t speak right away. He studied my face like it was a puzzle missing a piece he didn’t like.
“I see,” he said before he turned away. “Well, your family is quite anxious to see you.”
Aiden came first. He had dark circles under his eyes, a soft sweater instead of his usual suit, and hair just messy enough to look like a tragic accident.
“Hey,” he said quietly, like he was afraid I’d shatter.
I said nothing, staring at him with a questioning look.
He took a seat next to my bed and reached for my hand. His palm felt warm, a familiar sensation that I remembered despite everything.
I hated that my body remembered him before my heart caught up.
“I thought we lost you,” he said, his voice cracking at just the right place. What an Oscar-worthy.
I stared at our joined hands and wondered how many times those fingers had tampered with a brake line to plan my disappearance.
Then, the door opened. Marielle stepped in, dressed head to toe in black. A black face mask covered her mouth, and oversized sunglasses hid her eyes completely, as if she were a celebrity hiding from the paparazzi rather than a grieving friend. Even in a hospital room, she didn’t take them off right away.
The moment she crossed the threshold, Aiden dropped my hand and pulled his fingers away as if they’d never belonged there in the first place.
She paused by the door, standing there like she was preparing for a performance, then stepped inside slowly.
“Oh, thank God,” Marielle breathed, rushing forward. “You scared us to death, Sweetie.”
She leaned in to hug me carefully so she wouldn't tug at any of the wires. Her lips brushed my ear as she whispered, “Look at you. Still surviving.”
A chill shot down my spine when I heard her words.
She pulled back. “You really don’t remember us?”
I shook my head slowly. “I’m sorry. I don’t.”
“Oh, honey. It’s okay. We’ll help you. We’ll bring everything back.”
She made it sound like a promise.
I knew it was a threat.
Aiden picked up her cue. “We’re your family,” he added softly. “This is Seraphine, your best friend. And I’m Aiden... her husband.”
The word hit me like a splash of ice water.
My breath caught in my throat. I felt like I’d been punched from the inside.
He wasn't just lying; he was taking my identity. He was giving Marielle my name while I was lying half-dead right in front of him.
He watched my face for any sign of recognition.
Fortunately, I worked hard for days to bury my emotions deep where he couldn't see them.
“I guess I have a lot to learn,” I said plainly.
Aiden’s jaw tightened almost invisibly. “You do.”
Marielle smiled and squeezed my arm. “We’re here for you. Whatever you need.”
Yeah. I was sure they were.
They visited every day after that. They would circle me like vultures over a carcass, waiting for the first sign of weakness.
I felt it then. The cold and sharp certainty that whatever this was, it wasn’t over.
They came by every single day after that. They brought flowers and chocolates, feeding me scraps of news from the outside, as if I were a child kept indoors as punishment.
Aiden filled the silence with talk of court delays and business pressures, constantly reminding me of how lucky we were to be alive.
Marielle talked about redecorating my apartment. About how my favorite café had closed. About how tragic it all was.
They never talked about the accident. They never talked about the funeral for my family.
More importantly, they never breathed a word about who I actually was. It was as if they were waiting for the right moment to feed me a version of my life they’d carefully scripted, piece by piece.
And no one corrected the staff when Marielle introduced herself as Mrs. Griffiths.
On the tenth day, the nurse came in with a tray of supplies. “It’s time to remove the bandages, dear. Are you ready?”
My fingers dug into the thin hospital blanket. I hadn't seen my face since the world ended. I nodded.
The nurse worked gently, peeling away the layers of sterile gauze. Each layer unwrapped a little more of the world, until finally, the last piece was gone.
I closed my eyes and blinked until the blur disappeared, and slowly everything became clear.
When the last piece fell away, she smiled. “Alright, dear. It's done,” she said. “The swelling has gone down beautifully.”
Before she could move away, I reached out and grabbed her arm. My voice was a desperate rasp. "A mirror. Please. Just… to see myself."
The nurse hesitated, glancing toward the door, then reached into her pocket and handed me a small, silver-backed mirror. “The doctor said it's okay if you want to see,” she said gently. “Just take it slow, okay? No pressure.”
I took it, my hands trembling slightly.
I lifted the mirror and then... froze. My breath hitched. I expected to see the scars, the bruises, the remnants of the girl I used to be.
But as the mirror came into focus, my world shattered for the second time.
My eyes widened as the ugly truth hit me.
The nose was too straight. The jawline belonged to someone else entirely.
I wasn't looking at Seraphine Wynther but a complete stranger.
- Writer
