Who Am I?

“Who am I?”

The middle aged couple who claimed to be my parents gaped at me when I uttered those three words. They exchanged worried glances, and communicated through vague facial expressions I couldn’t decipher.

“Sweetie, are you sure you don’t remember anything?” the woman who I assumed to be my mother asked.

I shook my head.

“Well, it’s alright,” my father spoke, “You’re awake now and that’s all that matters to us.”

My mother squeezed my hand, forcing a smile, “We love you, Kayla.”

“Kayla.” I rolled my tongue over the name, tasting it, hoping it would trigger a memory. “Kayla.”

This is a story for the #Visible July 2015 contest.