It was Career Day in my classroom, and everything was going smoothly. Parents were trickling in, standing beside their children, ready to talk about their jobs. The students were buzzing with excitement, eager to introduce their moms and dads to the class.

Everyone was accounted for—except one.

Marvin, the new kid, was missing. He’d only joined our class a few weeks ago, and while he seemed shy, he was polite and eager to please. I was just about to pick up my phone and check on him when the classroom door swung open.

In walked Marvin, grinning as though nothing was out of the ordinary. I felt a wave of relief. But that relief transformed into pure, paralyzing shock when I saw who was standing beside him.

A woman. Not just any woman, but one who could have been the spitting image of my late wife, Tracy. No—she *was* Tracy. The same face, the same bright, hazel eyes that I had fallen in love with, the same long, auburn hair that she used to twist into a bun when she was busy. My heart slammed in my chest, my world tilting as everything around me blurred into the background.

I muttered, barely audible, “Tracy…?”

The woman smiled politely, her eyes not showing a hint of recognition. “I think you’ve got me mistaken. I’m Amanda,” she said in a calm voice, her tone as steady as someone who had never seen me before.

I stood there, frozen. *Amanda?* How could this be? There wasn’t a single day since Tracy had passed that I hadn’t thought about her—dreamed about her, missed her, grieved for her. I was there when we lowered her casket into the ground. I had said goodbye. And yet, here she was, standing in front of me, alive and breathing, acting as though she had no idea who I was.

I felt lightheaded, the room spinning. Could this really be a coincidence? Maybe she had a twin I didn’t know about? But no, Tracy had no siblings. She was an only child. So who was this woman standing next to Marvin?

I tried to convince myself that I had to be wrong—that grief and memory were playing cruel tricks on me. My mind raced as I tried to grasp for any logical explanation.

But then, I saw it.

Her arm. There, just below her elbow, was a faint, silvery scar. The same scar Tracy had gotten when she fell from her bike during a camping trip we’d taken years ago. I remember it vividly—how I had bandaged it for her, how she had laughed it off, saying it gave her character.

The sight of that scar shattered any doubt left in my mind. This woman wasn’t just a look-alike. She *was* Tracy.

My pulse quickened, and I could barely form the words. “That scar…” I whispered, my voice shaky. “How… how did you get that scar?”

Amanda glanced at her arm, her brow furrowing slightly. “Oh, this?” she said, looking mildly confused. “I had an accident when I was younger. Why?”

I could hardly breathe. My stomach knotted as memories flooded back—every moment we’d shared, every dream we had, every plan we had made before she was taken from me. And now, here she was, standing in front of me, alive but living a life I knew nothing about.

Marvin tugged at Amanda’s hand. “Mom, can we sit down now?” he asked.

Mom.

I felt my chest tighten as I realized what he had just said. This woman—Tracy, or Amanda, or whoever she was—was Marvin’s mother. But how? My mind raced through a million questions, none of which I could answer.

I had to know more. I needed answers.

“Can I talk to you for a moment? Outside?” I asked, my voice strained as I gestured toward the door.

She hesitated, clearly unsettled by my intensity, but eventually nodded. “Sure,” she said, her tone guarded. We stepped out into the hallway, leaving Marvin inside with the other students.

Once we were alone, I turned to her, my hands trembling. “I know this sounds crazy, but I knew someone who looked exactly like you. Her name was Tracy, and she… she was my wife. She passed away a few years ago, and I don’t understand how you’re standing here in front of me.”

She blinked, a mixture of confusion and disbelief on her face. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, her voice laced with sympathy. “I don’t know what to say. I’ve never met you before. I’ve never even heard of Tracy.”

I felt a lump forming in my throat. This didn’t make sense. How could she not remember? How could she have the same face, the same scar, but no memory of me?

“There has to be some mistake,” I said, my voice breaking. “I loved her. We were together for years. I… I buried her. How is this possible?”

Her expression softened, as if she could see the pain in my eyes. “I’m really sorry for your loss,” she said, her voice gentle. “But I don’t have any memories of a life like that. I’m Amanda, and I’ve been Marvin’s mom for as long as I can remember.”

As she spoke, I realized there were no answers she could give me. Whoever this woman was, she was living a different life now. Tracy—my Tracy—was gone, and all I had left were memories.

But standing in front of me was a living reminder of the life I had lost. And no matter how much I wanted it to be, it would never be the same.