I woke up to a stranger wearing my face on the news. She stood beside my fiancé Marcus at a press conference, her hand resting on his arm exactly the way I used to. Same auburn hair. Same green eyes. Same beauty mark above her lip. "We're just grateful Emma survived," Marcus said, his voice cracking with emotion. But I was Emma. And I was here, in this hospital bed, watching someone else live my life. The accident had happened three weeks ago. A car crash on Highway 9. They told me I'd been in a medically induced coma. When I finally woke up yesterday, I asked for Marcus. The nurses exchanged glances. "Your fiancé visits every day," one said gently. "He was just here with your best friend Lily." Lily. My college roommate. My maid of honor. The girl who knew every secret I'd ever kept. I tried to explain that the woman on TV wasn't me. That someone had stolen my identity while I was unconscious. They smiled with pity and called for a psychiatric evaluation. Now I understood why. The woman on screen had my driver's license. My social media accounts. My entire life. And she looked exactly like me. The doctor entered my room, clipboard in hand. "Ms. Chen, we need to discuss your delusions—" "I'm not delusional," I said. "I'm Emma Hartwell. That woman is an imposter." He sighed. "You were in a severe accident. Identity confusion is common with head trauma. But your name is Sarah Chen. You're a nurse here at St. Mary's." I stared at him. "No. I'm a marketing executive at Hartwell Industries. My father owns the company." "Ms. Chen, you don't have any family. You've worked here for two years." My hands trembled. This was impossible. The doctor left, and I grabbed my phone from the bedside table. Except it wasn't my phone. Different case. Different lock screen. I tried my passwords. None worked. I pulled up Instagram and searched for my account. There I was—Emma Hartwell, 127K followers. Recent posts showed "me" at charity galas, beach vacations, romantic dinners with Marcus. All posted while I was in a coma. I scrolled to Lily's account. Her latest post was a selfie with the imposter, captioned: "So grateful my best friend is okay. Love you forever, Em." The comments were full of well-wishes and heart emojis. I zoomed in on the photo. The woman had my face, but something was off. Her smile didn't reach her eyes the same way. Her posture was too rigid. Then I saw it. A small scar on her left hand that I didn't have. She wasn't perfect. She'd made a mistake. I took a screenshot, my mind racing. If I could prove she wasn't me, I could expose her. Get my life back. But first, I needed to figure out who I really was. Because if I wasn't Emma Hartwell, then who the hell was Sarah Chen?