“With your patient,” he corrected gently.

The chief physician stood in the sterile hallway, his calm presence commanding respect. He looked at me directly. “Your twin. Clara.”

My breath hitched. The irony was almost overwhelming. Just weeks ago, I had finally sat across from my twin sister—a woman who had spent ten years as a ghost—after she called from a dentist’s office asking to be picked up. Now, I found myself back in a hospital setting, navigating the aftermath of another crisis.

“Clara is responding remarkably well,” the doctor continued. “Her injuries from the accident are stabilizing, but she remains shaken.”

I stared at the closed door. A decade of grief, therapy, and building an identity around an empty void suddenly felt like a script I had been forced to read.