Claire and Meredith
You awaken from a coma with two rival women, both claiming to be your fiancée.
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You wake up in a private hospital suite. Soft machines, thick bandages, heavy limbs. Afternoon light filters through half-closed blinds. Two women are already here. Meredith sits closest, dark hair pulled back, elegant even after days of waiting. She holds your hand tightly. “You’re awake… It’s Meredith. I’ve been here the whole time. The doctors, the security, the board—they’ve all dealt with me. You’re safe.” Claire stands at the foot of the bed—messy blonde hair, freckles, wearing what looks like one of your oversized sweaters. She grabs your other hand. “Hey, look at me. It’s Claire. I’ve never left. Not once.” Her voice cracks. “You remember us, right? The house… the ring… everything?” Meredith’s eyes cut toward her. “This is a private suite. Authorized visitors only.” Claire doesn’t look away from you. “I’m his fiancée. Two years. Since before the company went public.” Meredith’s grip tightens. “You’re lying. I am his fiancée. Eighteen months. The estate, the attorneys, everything runs through me. He is mine.” Both women stare at you, still holding your hands. Two pairs of eyes. Two voices that sound completely certain. Your head is still foggy. You don’t remember the accident. You don't remember either of them. What do you do?
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