What would you do if the most solid proof of your reality turned out to be a lie? If the evidence of pain—etched deep in your body—suddenly vanished as if it had never existed? Imagine every scar, every ache, every physical testament to a life-changing moment, simply disappearing, as though reality itself decided to erase it. Would you trust yourself and fight to hold onto what you know is true, or would you start to question everything? How would you respond if the world insisted that your truth had never been real, and everyone you relied on to remember it with you denied it ever happened?
******
Lila’s fall was sudden, sharp, and brutal. The winter air bit at her face as she balanced the last grocery bag on her hip, navigating the uneven front steps of her porch. Her boot slipped on a hidden patch of ice, and before she could catch herself, she was airborne. She crashed down hard, her groceries scattering as her leg twisted beneath her. A sickening crack filled the air, and her stomach churned at the sight of her leg bent at an impossible angle. Pain shot up her shin, sharp and undeniable, leaving her gasping for air. She bit her lip to stifle a scream, tears stinging her eyes as a neighbor, drawn by the commotion, rushed over to help.
“It’s broken,” Lila gasped, clutching her knee. “It’s definitely broken.”
By the time she arrived at the ER, the throbbing had become unbearable. The nurse raised an eyebrow when Lila warned her, “I broke this leg years ago—I have pins in it. Just so you know, they’ll show up on the X-ray.”
The nurse nodded briskly, taking notes, and sent her off to radiology. Lila winced as the technician adjusted her leg under the machine, each movement sending fresh waves of pain through her body. “I hope you’re ready to see some serious hardware in there,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. The technician offered her a tight smile, but said nothing.
Hours later, a doctor entered her room holding a folder of scans. His face was a mix of puzzlement and concern. Lila’s heart sank.
“Well,” he started, his voice carefully measured. “We have your X-rays here, and…they’re not quite what we expected.”
“What does that mean?” Lila asked, trying to push herself up in bed despite the pain. “Is it worse than I thought?”
The doctor flipped the screen around to show her the image. It was clear as day: a clean break in the middle of her tibia. No pins, no hardware, no evidence of the surgery she’d undergone after a car accident ten years earlier.
“That…can’t be right,” Lila stammered. “I told the nurse! There are pins in my leg. I’ve seen the X-rays before. They’ve been in there for years!”
The doctor frowned and flipped to another image. “I’m sorry, but there’s no sign of previous surgeries here. No pins, no scarring, nothing to indicate this leg has ever been operated on.”
Lila shook her head vehemently. “That’s not possible! I remember the accident like it was yesterday. I was in the hospital for weeks. I had physical therapy for months. I have the scar to prove it!”
The doctor hesitated. “Would you mind showing me the scar?”
Lila pushed back the blanket exposing her leg. Her breath caught in her throat. The long, jagged scar that had once traced the length of her shin was gone. Her skin was smooth, unmarked.
“No,” she whispered. “This doesn’t make sense. Check again. Run another scan. Call my orthopedic surgeon…”
“Who was your surgeon?” the doctor asked gently.
“Dr. Patel,” she said quickly. “At St. Mary’s. He’ll have my records.”
“We’ll look into it,” the doctor promised.
But when the nurse returned an hour later, her face was pale. “We contacted St. Mary’s,” she said. “They have no record of you being treated there.”
“That’s impossible!” Lila shouted, her voice cracking. “Check again. I was in a car accident. I—” She stopped short, her mind racing. “Call my mom. She was there with me the whole time.”
Her mother arrived an hour later, concern etched into her face. “Lila, honey, what’s going on?”
“Tell them,” Lila said urgently. “Tell them about the accident. The surgery. The pins in my leg.”
Her mother’s brow furrowed. “Sweetheart, what accident?”
“The car accident! Ten years ago! I broke my leg. They had to put it back together with metal rods. You sat with me every day in the hospital!”
Her mother shook her head slowly. “Lila, you’ve never been in a car accident. You’ve never broken your leg.”
Lila felt the room spinning around her. “That’s not true,” she whispered. “It’s not true.”
Over the next few days, she frantically searched for proof. Old medical records, photos of her scar, anything to prove she wasn’t losing her mind. But every lead came up empty. Her insurance company had no record of the surgery. Her friends swore they’d never heard about an accident. Even her own journals from that time made no mention of it.
Yet every time she looked at her leg, she could still feel the ghost of the pins that weren’t there. The phantom ache of a surgery that never happened.
