Darkness. Thick, dense, infinitely deep. And suddenly—a brightest flash of light, as if someone had sliced through the darkness with a sharp blade. Karina tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids wouldn’t obey—heavy as lead. A pulsating pain throbbed in her head, radiating to her temples in rhythm with her heartbeat.
“Looks like she’s coming to,” came a muffled voice nearby.
“Blood pressure is stabilized, pulse steady,” replied another voice—male, calm and confident.
Karina gathered her strength again and tried to pry her eyelids open. This time it worked—but the harsh light made her immediately squint. She slowly raised her hand to shield her eyes and suddenly felt pain in her wrist. Something was there—cold, metallic, connected to an IV drip.
“Please try not to move,” someone said nearby. “You’ve been given an intravenous infusion.”
She took a deep breath and tried to open her eyes again—this time more slowly, letting her vision adjust to the light. At first, everything was blurry, but then the outlines sharpened: a white ceiling, fluorescent lamps, a figure in a white coat standing beside the bed.
“Where am I?” Karina whispered, surprised at her own hoarse voice.
“You’re in a hospital,” answered a woman, probably a nurse. “You were in an accident. Do you remember anything?”
An accident? Karina strained her memory. Fragmented images flickered before her eyes: rain, slippery road, bright headlights of an oncoming car, screeching brakes… and then—nothingness.
“A little… I was going home. It was raining,” she said with effort.
“That’s right,” nodded the nurse. “That was three days ago. You were unconscious all that time. The doctor will come soon and explain everything. Meanwhile, try to rest.”
The nurse smiled and left. Karina was left alone, stunned by the thought: three days unconscious… three days gone from her life.
The ward was typical for a hospital: white walls, a nightstand with a water jug, an IV drip by the headboard. Her bag lay on a chair—probably brought by her mother. Karina tried to sit up, but her body protested. She looked herself over: her right arm was in a cast, her left had scrapes and bruises, and her leg was also wrapped in a cast. Touching her face gently, she felt a bandage on her forehead and a swollen cheek. There was no mirror nearby, but she clearly didn’t feel well.
The door opened, and a tall man in a white coat entered, holding a tablet.
“Good day, Karina. I’m Dr. Sokolov. How do you feel?” he asked gently.
“Like I was hit by a car,” she muttered, trying to joke, but her voice was too weak.
“In fact, you crashed into a tree trying to avoid a collision,” the doctor said, looking through the records. “You’re lucky it was only fractures and a concussion. It could have been much worse.”
“When can I be discharged?” she asked.
“Not before a week. We need to monitor your brain — a concussion is serious. Also, your leg needs special care,” explained the doctor.
Karina sighed. A whole week in the hospital felt like forever.
“May I come in?” a voice came from the door.
“Of course, just don’t upset the patient,” the doctor replied and stepped aside.
A slender young woman with long blonde hair tied in a ponytail entered. She was holding a bouquet of flowers. Seeing her, Karina felt a strange sensation—as if she knew this woman but couldn’t remember who she was.
“Hi, dear! How are you feeling?” the stranger asked, placing the flowers in a vase.
“Okay… Sorry, do we know each other?” Karina asked, trying to recall.
The woman froze, her face went pale.
“It’s me, Lena. Your sister.”
Karina frowned. She never had a sister. She was an only child. Always had been.
“I don’t have a sister,” she said firmly. “You must have the wrong room.”
Lena hesitated, then hurried into the corridor. A minute later, she returned with the doctor.
“Karina,” Dr. Sokolov began, “this really is your sister, Lena. Don’t you remember her?”
“No,” Karina repeated. “I’m Karina Volkova, 27 years old. I’m an architect at the company ‘Modern Solutions,’ living in Moscow on Gagarin Street. My parents are Anna and Sergey Volkov. I have never had brothers or sisters.”
The doctor and Lena exchanged worried looks.
“Perhaps you’re experiencing temporary memory loss after your concussion. It’s not uncommon. Memories will return over time,” the doctor explained gently.
“I haven’t lost my memory!” Karina protested, growing increasingly anxious. “I remember my life perfectly!”
“Karina,” Lena said, taking her hand, “your surname is Soboleva. You’re a journalist at ‘Moscow News.’ We grew up together. I’m your older sister.”
The room spun before her eyes. It was a nightmare. Or a cruel joke. But why would someone torment a person who just woke up after an accident?
“I want to see my parents,” Karina said, trying to keep calm.
Lena and the doctor exchanged glances again.
“Karina…” Lena began, her voice trembling. “Mom and Dad died five years ago in a plane crash. You don’t remember?”
Karina felt the ground slip beneath her feet. No. That couldn’t be. She had talked to her mother just recently; they planned her father’s birthday…
“No…” she whispered, pulling her hand away. “No, that’s not true. They’re alive. I talked to Mom… before the accident.”
“Karina,” the doctor continued gently but insistently, “you may have false memories. After a brain injury, this happens—the brain creates a protective reality, more comfortable for the psyche.”
“I’m not crazy!” she burst out, tears running down her cheeks. “I know who I am! I remember my life!”
“No one is saying you’re ill,” the doctor said soothingly. “It’s temporary. Things will change over time. The main thing is to be patient.”
“I brought something,” Lena said softly, unzipping her bag. She took out an old photo album and placed it on the bed next to Karina. “Maybe this will help you remember.”
Karina looked at the album skeptically. It seemed to radiate tension: either confirming her memories or destroying them completely. With trembling fingers, she opened the first page.
And froze. The photo showed two girls about fourteen: one was clearly herself—in a school uniform with braids. The other—slightly older, slender, with long blonde hair. They hugged and smiled widely at the camera. Behind them was a house Karina instantly recognized as her childhood home—but she couldn’t recall the photo shoot.
She turned the page. The next photo: a family of four. A man and a woman, and two girls—again, her and the unfamiliar Lena. The parents’ faces resembled her mom and dad but not exactly. Like some doubles or slightly altered versions of reality.
“These… aren’t my parents,” Karina whispered, though her voice was already losing confidence.
“Karina,” Lena said softly, “these are our parents. Their names were Mikhail and Elena Sobolev. I was named after Mom.”
Karina silently continued flipping the pages. One by one, photos appeared of a life she believed she never had: a school graduation where she stood holding flowers next to Lena; family vacations in the mountains; a university ceremony receiving a diploma. And in every picture—her, happy, real, living a life that wasn’t hers but so believable.
“I don’t understand…” she finally whispered, feeling the ground vanish beneath her. “I don’t remember any of this. How is this even possible?”
“We already talked about this,” Dr. Sokolov interrupted. “After a brain injury, the brain may create false memories or erase real events, replacing them with others. It’s a protective mechanism.”
“But why would I invent another life?” Karina asked, closing the album. “What was so bad about my real life?”
Lena sighed and spoke quietly:
“The last five years have been incredibly hard for you. After your parents died, you struggled to recover. Then there was a divorce…”
“Divorce?” Karina repeated, surprised. “I was married?”
“Three years,” Lena nodded. “You officially divorced just a month ago. It was very painful.”
Karina shook her head. Nothing made sense. She couldn’t have been married. Her parents were alive. She was sure of it.
“Give me the phone,” she said firmly. “I want to call Mom.”
Without a word, Lena handed her a mobile. Karina dialed a familiar number. Her heart raced with every ring.
“The subscriber you’re trying to reach is temporarily unavailable or out of coverage,” the automated message said.
Karina tried again. Same result.
“That means nothing,” she said stubbornly. “Maybe Mom’s phone is dead or she’s on a business trip.”
“Give me your phone,” Karina demanded. “I’ll call my company. They’ll confirm I really exist.”
Lena silently took the device. Karina dialed ‘Modern Solutions,’ confident she’d hear the secretary’s voice say: “Good afternoon, Karina! Andrey Petrovich is expecting you.”
“Hello, ‘Modern Solutions.’ How can I help you?” came a female voice.
“Hello, this is Karina Volkova. I need to speak with Andrey Petrovich, my supervisor.”
Pause.
“Sorry, but we have no employee by that name,” the woman answered. “Are you sure you dialed correctly?”
Karina slowly lowered the phone. The ground slipped from under her feet. She remembered her workplace, colleagues, projects she worked on. How could it all be a fantasy?
“Let me see,” Lena took the phone and opened a news app. “Look here.”
The screen displayed articles with headlines about corruption in the city administration. The author was Karina Soboleva. Photos: her, just a bit older, with a notebook in hand, with a microphone, in front of a courthouse.
“You’re one of the leading journalists at ‘Moscow News.’ Your articles have won awards,” Lena proudly added.
Karina began reading. The articles were sharp and insightful. And the style—that was her style. Only she wrote like that. But she didn’t remember any of these articles.
“I don’t understand…” she whispered, handing back the phone. “I’m an architect. I have an architecture degree. I always dreamed of designing buildings.”
“You studied journalism at Moscow State University,” Lena gently corrected. “And graduated with honors. Your diploma is still at my place.”
Karina covered her face with her hands. It was too much. How can you forget an entire life and live an imaginary one instead? But if it was just an illusion—then why so many details, smells, feelings?
“I need time…” she said tiredly. “Please leave me alone.”
“Of course,” Dr. Sokolov nodded. “Rest. Sometimes memory returns in dreams. It’s normal.”
Lena looked anxiously at her sister:
“I’ll come by tomorrow. Everything will be fine, I promise.”
After they left, Karina was alone, staring at the ceiling. What if it was all true? What if all her previous life was a product of a sick imagination created by her brain to escape pain? But how could the brain invent so many details—the taste of morning coffee, the smell of blueprints, her mother’s voice calling her to the table?
She closed her eyes, trying to recall the last day before the accident. Apartment, breakfast, the road home in the rain, slippery road, bright headlights… and darkness.
But what if that wasn’t the end of the day, but the beginning of a new world? What if she really lived in another body, with another family, another profession?
Before falling asleep, Karina only thought about one thing: what if her memory fully returned? Would there be anything left inside her from that life? Or would she vanish like smoke upon awakening?
She was awakened by sunlight filtering through the blinds. She opened her eyes, expecting to see the hospital ward, white walls, medical drip. But instead, a familiar room appeared before her. Her room. The ceiling with a small crack in the corner—she had long planned to call a repairman.
Karina sat on the bed, her heart beating fast and anxiously. She looked at her hands—no signs of fractures, scrapes, or casts. She touched her face—no scars, no bandages. Standing up, she took a few steps—her legs didn’t hurt. Everything was fine.
“That was a dream… just a dream,” she whispered, feeling tears of relief well up.
Approaching the window, she drew the curtains. Outside was spring, sunshine, the first leaves on the trees, a clear blue sky. No sign of rain. No sign of an accident.
Karina grabbed the phone and dialed her mother’s number. The rings sounded, and after a couple of seconds, a familiar voice answered:
“Hi, darling! You’re early today. Is everything okay?”
“Mommy…” Karina whispered, tears flowing freely. “I’m so glad to hear you. I love you so much.”
“And I love you, dear,” her mother replied, a bit confused by the sudden flood of emotions. “How are you? Everything okay?”
“Yes, yes, I just had a strange dream,” Karina explained. “I saw you and Dad… something terrible happened, and my whole life was completely different. It was like I lived someone else’s life—different profession, different family…”
“My poor girl,” her mother said gently. “Sometimes dreams feel so real you think they’re true. But Dad and I are healthy and well. So come over for lunch, as always.”
“Of course, I will!” Karina answered firmly. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
Hanging up, she felt an overwhelming desire to check if everything was really as it should be. She dialed her company’s number.
“Good afternoon, ‘Modern Solutions,’” a familiar secretary’s voice answered.
“Hello, this is Karina Volkova from the design department. Could you connect me with Andrey Petrovich?”
“Of course, Karina, one moment!”
A few seconds later, her supervisor’s voice sounded:
“Hi, Karina! Are you on time today? We have a shopping center presentation in two hours.”
“I’ll be on time, Andrey Petrovich,” she answered, feeling warmth inside. “Just wanted to confirm the meeting time.”
After hanging up, Karina began to get ready for work, but differently than usual. Slowly, savoring every moment: the taste of morning coffee, the scent of her favorite shampoo, the softness of her blouse fabric. Everything felt so real—so precious.
Opening the wardrobe, she paused for a second, as if expecting to see something unusual. But there were only her things—the skirts, dresses, blouses she herself chose and loved to wear. No trace of another life.
On her way to work, she decided to take a walk. Though she usually drove, today she wanted to feel the city. The sun caressed her face, the trees pleased with their first leaves, people hurried somewhere—and even that bustle now seemed part of something bigger. Life.
Passing a newspaper kiosk, Karina bought a copy of “Moscow News”—the paper where, according to her dream, she worked as a journalist. Flipping through the pages, she didn’t find her name but just smiled. Karina Soboleva stayed in the dream. Her real name—Volkova—was here, in reality.
The day at the office was ordinary: meetings, projects, discussions. But for Karina, everything had changed. She noticed details: how Sergey was engrossed in drawing a new plan, how attentively young intern Masha listened, how Elena Dmitrievna carefully corrected documents. These little moments, once unnoticed, suddenly became priceless.
After a successful presentation, Andrey Petrovich suggested celebrating the success together at a café near the office. Before, Karina almost always refused, citing work. Today, she gladly agreed.
“To the team and the new project!” he toasted.
“And for the fact that we’re all here, alive and together,” Karina added, raising a glass of juice. “To our life.”
In the evening, returning home, she decided to call her friend Natasha, whom she hadn’t seen in a long time.
“Karinka?” Natasha was surprised. “Did something happen?”
“No, I just miss you. Maybe we could meet this weekend?”
They made plans, and Karina felt a warm wave of gratitude inside. This dream, though scary, taught her to appreciate every minute. What once seemed taken for granted—parents, friends, work—suddenly became the most important things.
Sitting on the balcony with a cup of tea, watching the sunset, Karina thought about everything that had happened. Maybe it was just a dream. Or maybe a gift of fate—a chance to look at her life from the outside and realize how much good it held.
“Thank you,” she whispered, not knowing to whom exactly—perhaps the Universe or herself. “Thank you for my life.”
The next morning, driving along the road where the accident happened in her dream, she noticed a tree by the roadside. She stopped, got out, and walked closer. Ran her hand along the trunk. It could have been that very tree… or just one of many. But for her, it became a symbol.
“I choose this life,” she quietly said. “My real life. And I will live every day of it to the fullest.”
Karina got back in the car and drove on. Ahead was a new day, full of opportunities, people, small joys—that simple and incredible happiness that’s easy to lose but hard to replace. And today she made a decision—to accept this world as it is and to cherish it.