I woke up to the sterile scent of hospital disinfectant, the harsh white light above me making me squint. Blinking away the haze of confusion, I tried to piece together where I was and why. The last thing I remembered was going to bed in my small, one-bedroom apartment after another long day at the accounting firm. My name is Peter Sullivan, and my life, as far as I knew, was as ordinary as they come.

I shifted in the bed, the thin hospital sheets rustling beneath me. Looking around, I saw the familiar sights of a hospital room: the heart rate monitor beeping softly, the IV drip beside me, and the floral patterned curtains drawn around the bed. But something felt off, as if I were seeing this scene for the first time.