I Prayed for a Miracle—Now I Lock My Door at Night

“What?” I whispered.

He rubbed his face harshly.

“I don’t remember being… me,” he said, voice cracking. “I see pictures. People tell me stuff. But it feels like… like I’m watching some other guy’s life.”

My heart split open.

He gestured toward the album.

“That guy,” he said, pointing at a photo of himself in a football jersey, smiling like the sun. “He continue reading …