chapter 4 The girl they rebuild

Samantha POV

As Liam left the room, I closed my eyes, but sleep was far away. His voice still echoed in my mind. He hadn’t changed a bit—still concerned about the well-being of others. Yet, I found myself getting riled up by his concern. The question here is who was he worried about?

Was it Sanjana, with whom he used to sing, dance, and record her voice for his music album? Or was it Samantha, the journalist covering his event? I felt like a ghost, trapped between who I used to be and who I had been forced myself to become. My mind, uninvitedly pulled me back into the cold, sterile corridors of that London hospital. The place that gave me a new identity. The place where Sanjana died and Samatha was born. My lips trembled suppressing the sob that wanted to escape. Tears welled, unknowingly I clutched the bed rail so harshly that my knuckles started hurting but this ache was not as painful as the one in my heart .

Flashback Begins

The smell of antiseptic was everywhere—on my gown, my body, my soul. Wires snaked across my bandaged, aching frame, tethering me to machines whose rhythmic beeping signalled that my fragile form survived. My body lay still, but it felt as though my soul had died.

My face was disfigured and heavily bandaged, unlike India doctors here were hopeful of my recovery.

After countless surgeries and endless bandage changes, the day finally came when I could see my reflection. When I did, I was shocked. A muffled scream escaped my throat as I pressed a trembling hand over my mouth. This can’t be true. No , this can’t happen.

Hearing the noise, Uncle Henry rushed in. “Is everything all right?” He asked the nurse, who silently pointed toward me. Understanding my dilemma , he pulled up a chair and sat beside me. He signalled the nurse to leave the room. She obeyed him and went towards the door.

“Please close the door on your way out.” He added. She nodded and obeyed.

“Sanjana, dear,” He spoke in a gentle voice .

I know this is a big shock. Believe me, I had no choice. Your face was severely disfigured. Shards of glass have torn through your skin. I removed most of them, but they left terrible scars. I tried my best to restore your face, but I had to reconstruct it. I’m so sorry.” He bowed his head. He placed a comforting hand over mine and squeezed in assurance.

I broke into tears. Something broke inside me. A sharp grief spread through my chest as I realized I could never go back to the girl I once was.

The mirror no longer showed my face, and the stranger staring back felt like an intrusion in my own life. My breath trembled as tears slipped down an unfamiliar cheek, the weight of a stolen identity was crushing me I am not sure what hurt more—losing my old face, or living with one that didn’t feel like mine.

But was it his fault? No. This was destiny.

“Uncle, please don’t feel bad,” I said, voice hoarse with crying.

“I was just… shocked to see a new face in place of my own. Until now, I thought that after the surgery, I could find Liam and we could reconcile. But now... how will he recognize me? I haven’t just lost my face—I’ve lost my identity.” Tears flowed down my cheeks like a broken dam. My heart shattered as reality hit me. Liam had left me because of my disfigurement. Wiping my tears with my sleeve, I made a decision: with my old face gone, so was my past. Sanjana was dead to everyone.

“Sanjana, whatever happens, happens for a reason. Maybe this is what destiny wants for you. Don’t get me wrong—but if the world believes Sanjana is dead, then let her be. Let Sanjana die. Today, Sanjana ends, and Samantha begins. From now on, you are Samantha Blake —my elder brother’s daughter. Is that okay with you?” Uncle gently caressed my palm and wiped my tears with his handkerchief.

“Uncle… I think you’re right. That’s what destiny wants. To the world, Sanjana died on the day of the accident. Today, Samantha is born. And as for Liam… he died with Sanjana. I’ll erase him from my life.” It felt as though thousands of knives slashed my tongue as I spoke those words.

Uncle paused, then looked at me carefully. “I need to ask you something.”

His eyes searched mine, seeking permission. I placed my palm over his, giving him a nod.

“Did you both take your relationship to the next level?” he asked.

Heat crept up my neck, and I looked away, mortified that he was asking such a personal question.

“Answer me. It’s important.”

His voice rose slightly, jaw clenched and brows furrowed. His hands gripped the bedrail, his posture rigid. The intensity in his eyes shook me.

“Yes,” I whispered, barely audible.

“That explains it,” He said, leaving me confused. I looked at him, puzzled.

“You were pregnant at the time of the accident.”

Instinctively, my hand flew to my stomach, caressing it gently. A surge of emotion overwhelmed me.

But his next words drained the color from my face.

“Due to the impact of the accident, you miscarried. When you were brought here, you were weak, anemic. Your bleeding wouldn’t stop. That’s when we discovered the pregnancy.”

For a moment, I was frozen. Then I let out a cry that pierced the room. Tears poured down my face as I began slapping myself.

“I’m so sorry, my child,” Uncle said, pulling me into a firm embrace. “I couldn’t protect you my child. Your father stole my identity… and now he has taken you from me too. I will never forgive him.”

I sobbed into his crisp white shirt. He didn’t care. He held me tighter, as though shielding me from a world that had already taken too much.

But that wasn’t enough.

A gut-wrenching scream rose from deep within me, shaking the walls