nds, muffled at first, then sharpening into the rhythmic beep of a machine and the rustle of starched fab

back – headlights, screechi

husband, marrying my sister, Jessica. My whole life, my work, my identity, systematically erased, forgotten. Jessica, triumphant. My mother, Karen,

doctor would later explain, about the crash itself. But the "premonitions," as the outline called them, were cry

quiet. Karen Hayes stood at the foot of my bed, arms crossed, her expression more annoyed

dulled by a new, cold resolve. The premonitions had shown me the full extent of her bias, Jessica's m

r," I said, my voice ra

as been worried sick. We all have. And Mich

flower, needing constant care and attention. Me, the difficult, ungrateful one.

ged," I said, my tone

n offered to look into that journalism grant for you, the one you were so obsessed with before

her. The premonitions screamed a warning: Jessica wanted that grant to sabotage me. She feared

firm despite my dry throat. "Th

tness. This wasn't the Sarah she knew, t

sually neat hair slightly disheveled. "Sarah? You're awake?" Relief flicke

th manufactured concern. "She's already being difficult. Talking about

Mom, let her rest. Sarah, how are you feeling?" He came c

to deflect. "Jessica thinks she could write some communi

o recover. That grant is a huge undertaking." He was already siding with them, or at least, trying

ness, how easily Jessica and Karen swayed him. He wasn't malicious, just... w

id, my voice steady. "Divorce papers.

s too, a detail from a bitter arg

s ago. It meant nothing. I never filed them. You must be confused from the acciden

Sarah, are you trying to des

te me. The premonitions were my armor now, my chilling clarity. I knew what they were capable of. And I k