I rushed out to give it to him, but was struck by an oncoming car. When I regained consciousness, strange memories flooded my mind. For two years, the fake Edna had been living in my body. In these memories, Hector had spent time with the fake Edna—eating, watching movies, and traveling together. He no longer claimed to be too busy, nor did he ask her to be more sensible.

On her birthday, Hector booked an entire amusement park and surprised her with a doll costume, presenting a carefully prepared gift. Fireworks lit up the sky all night, nearly illuminating the entire evening. They had even planned a trip to Paris, where Hector promised to give her a beloved princess pumpkin carriage and castle.

The night before their departure, the fake Edna drank too much and stumbled down the stairs. The following day, it was me—Edna—who woke up in the hospital, not the version Edna Hector had been with.

Less than two weeks passed before Hector began to notice something was wrong. He asked, "Who are you?"

"Eds used to love having a lively home, always playing music, but for the past two weeks, the speakers have gathered dust. She couldn’t handle spicy food, mixing chili sauce with everything. And most importantly, Eds always cared deeply about her job at the piano store. Yet, you suddenly resigned three days ago and interviewed for a lab assistant position."

"Eds once said she didn't like doing experiments. She preferred music, photography, and romantic things—not boring research."

"You’re not Eds, so who are you?"

Hector’s eyes bore into me, fierce and searching, as if he wanted to see my soul through my face. I took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. "Hector, I am Eds!"

I didn’t know how to explain the past two years to him. I could feel that I was her, but at the same time, I wasn’t her.

Eventually, Hector took me to see a doctor. He left no stone unturned, visiting specialists in Neurology, Psychiatry, and Psychology. The diagnosis was that I had a split personality: the primary personality had returned, and the secondary one had disappeared.

That was the first time I saw Hector's eyes reddened. He asked the doctor in a trembling voice, "Will she come back?"

"No, she won’t."

Hector's body swayed slightly, and he gripped the table for support, asking, "No, there’s still a chance?"

"Unless the primary personality disappears, or chooses to give up."

Give up? Hector tilted his head and locked eyes with me, his expression one I’ll never forget. It was sinister, and paranoid, yet there was a glimmer of hope that could not be ignored.

I started to realize that everything might be different after all. At first, I hadn’t cared much. Whether the main personality or the second one, it was still Edna. What did it matter? Hector loved Edna for who she was, and I believed that I could do the same things she did.

But in the two years I’d been absent, the love between "me" and Hector had replayed in my mind, fueling my hope for the future. However, I failed to see that she and I were, in the end, two separate souls—something Hector could tell clearly.

Hector no longer called me Eds; he called me Edna, or sometimes, just "Hey." Under the same roof, he barely acknowledged my presence.

In the mornings, I would make breakfast and place it on the table, but he would glance at it and walk away. In the evenings, he wouldn’t come home for dinner, even when I sent him a message saying I had prepared his favorite dishes. However, he never stayed out all night.

I searched my memories and realized that the fake Edna had once said to him, "Hector, I don’t like it when you come home late. I worry about you." Because of that, no matter how busy he was, Hector always made sure to come back before 10 PM, and whenever he went on a business trip, he would send me a message ahead of time.

He wasn’t talking to me; he was trying to speak to his Eds through me. The only interaction we had was his persistent question: “Will she come back?”

Every three days, he would ask stubbornly. And each time, I gave him the same answer: “No.”

“Hector, no one wants a secondary personality to replace the main one. I am Edna. The fake Edna will never return!”

“She’s not the fake Edna!” Hector’s voice suddenly rose, nearly shouting. It startled me. He was rarely this emotional. Usually, he was composed, detached, and silent.

I swallowed the bitterness in my throat and tried to change the subject with a smile. “Let’s go to the concert. Look—it’s Kian Soltani’s. Didn’t you say you loved his cello the last time we watched him?”

I pulled two tickets from my bag, tickets I had spent a small fortune on, and held them out. But Hector stepped back as if I were holding something poisonous. He left abruptly, without a word.

In my desperation, I tried imitating the fake Edna, drinking poison to quench my thirst. I secretly learned piano, practicing for two hours every evening after work before heading home. I spent another thirty minutes each night perfecting my smile in the mirror. The fake Edna had been vibrant and lively—everything I was not.

I even forced myself to eat spicy food, enduring swollen lips and teary eyes. I popped a piece of candy in my mouth and kept going. Eventually, my body gave out, and I ended up in the hospital.

When Hector found out, he flew back from Japan immediately.

You see, it worked. When I used to get sick, Hector would just make a phone call, express polite concern, and have his assistant send over some skincare products. But now? Now I received the kind of attention that only the fake Edna had been afforded.

Still, his mood was dark, and his anger and contempt were unmasked.

“Can you stop this nonsense? No matter how hard you try to act like her, you’re not her!”

“Eds was a musical genius. You’ve been practicing for so long, and you still can’t play even the simplest piece. Her smile came from the heart—genuine and beautiful. Yours is stiff and forced.”

“And you’re not allowed to eat spicy food, stay up late, or drink alcohol. It’s bad for your health.”

Then, in a softer voice, almost a whisper carried away by the wind, he added, “What will you do if Eds comes back and your health is ruined?”

But I heard him.

It felt like my tail had been stepped on. I grabbed the nearest cup and hurled it at him.

“She is me! She’s all of me! This is my body—I can do whatever I want with it!”

“She doesn’t exist! She’s not real!” I screamed, tears streaming down my face, repeating the words like a broken record.

It was the first time I had ever lashed out at Hector. Normally, I kept everything bottled up. I was naturally reserved, avoiding conflict whenever possible. Besides, Hector had always emphasized that he valued calm and sensible women, saying he despised those who made a scene.

But in that moment, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I didn’t know how else to release the frustration and helplessness boiling inside me.

The memories of those two years haunted me, constantly reminding me that being “sensible” wasn’t a prerequisite for being loved.

Hector’s blatant favoritism was like a slap to the face, forcing me to confront the truth: she wasn’t me.

Even though we shared the same face, Edna wasn’t the fake Edna.

No, I realized bitterly, to Hector, I was probably the fake one.

That day ended in yet another unhappy parting between us.

I didn’t have the courage to ask him to celebrate my birthday with me. Not that it mattered—he wouldn’t have agreed, even if I had.

A call from my childhood friend, Kim Kennedy, felt like a lifeline. She said she’d be back the next day and insisted we celebrate my birthday together.

“Don’t you dare ditch me for Hector!” she warned teasingly. “Don’t put love over friendship, okay?”

It's comforting. At least my childhood friend Kim doesn’t dislike me the way Hector does.

The year I woke up, Kim had left for the United States to pursue graduate school. We hadn’t seen each other since, and we only exchanged occasional messages on Instagram.

I missed her terribly.

The truth is, I’m afraid of loneliness. I crave love and connection, but it feels as though I was born unlovable. My parents always favored my lively sister, while my friends would quickly grow tired of my reserved nature and move on to more exciting companions.

The fake Edna, on the other hand, was the opposite. She was magnetic, effortlessly charming everyone around her. In just two years, she built a large circle of friends.

When I first returned, people reached out, eager to meet. I accepted every invitation, brimming with hope. But I soon realized I couldn’t keep up with their enthusiasm. I didn’t share their passion for classical music history, idols, or celebrities. And unlike the fake Edna, I couldn’t command attention in a crowd or charm them with ease.

Once, her friends even pushed me onto a stage during a gathering. “Eds, sing us a song!” they cheered.

I froze under the spotlight, my face burning red like a steamed crab. “I can’t,” I stammered. “I sing out of tune.”

Their playful jeering only grew louder. I had no choice but to stumble through a rendition of “July,” forgetting half the lyrics and singing off-key.

After that, no one invited me out again. Their parting comment lingered in my mind: “Eds, you’re a little different from before.”

Hurt but resigned, I returned to my solitary routine: shuttling between home, the lab, and the piano room. It didn’t matter. I was used to it. Or so I told myself.

On my birthday, I took the day off, applied light makeup, and went to the airport to pick up Kim.

She spotted me immediately, running over with excitement—but the shock in her eyes was impossible to miss.

“Why are you dressed so plainly?” she blurted. “Where’s your sexy, hot camisole? And your big waves? You’ve straightened your hair?” Her voice softened as she added, “Eds, why do I feel like you’re... a little different from before?”

That word again. Different. It pierced me like a needle, sharp and unrelenting.

Forcing a smile, I straightened up and replied, “You’re different too. Prettier.”

Kim, with her cascading waves, fitted camisole dress, and edgy motorcycle jacket, radiated confidence and allure—completely transformed from the sweet girl-next-door she’d been two years ago.

“You forgot? We got our hair permed together!” she teased, tossing her curls dramatically before slinging an arm around my shoulder. “Come on, I’m treating you to dinner! Oh, and I brought you a gift!”

Yes, we had gotten our hair permed together once.

Back then, if Edna had dragged Kim to the salon, she would’ve emerged smiling, praising “me” for my impeccable taste.

During dinner, Kim did most of the talking while I listened. She noticed something was off and asked a few probing questions, but when I avoided answering, she eventually let it go.

Before we parted, she handed me an out-of-print piano CD.

The fake Edna had mentioned it to Kim just once, and yet Kim remembered.

I couldn’t help but recall a similar moment from years ago when I told Kim I wanted the limited edition Lego “Snow Mountain Cabin” set for my birthday. She’d simply laughed and said, “What’s fun about Lego?” before gifting me an expensive set of cosmetics instead.

Her smug expression as she handed over the gift left me feeling hollow.

But I had learned to let it go.

Don’t fight it anymore, Edna, I told myself. Accept your fate.

No one’s happy to have you back—not Kim, not my mom, and certainly not Hector. They all prefer the lively, charismatic Edna.

No, in their minds, I’m the fake Edna.

It was past ten when I returned home. The house was dark, save for the faint glow of a single candle on a cake resting on the coffee table.

Hector was there, sitting in the shadows. The flickering light danced across his face, softening his features in a way that made him look almost tender.

“Eds, is that you?”

He must’ve heard me approaching. Slowly, he opened his eyes, squinting through the dim light. When he realized it was me, his expression shifted. He stood abruptly, crossing the room in a few quick strides before pulling me into a tight embrace.