I should have stayed in a coma.​ I can’t remember a single second of my life before waking up in a hospital bed in Knoxville, Tennessee. Not who I am. Not what I am. Not the man next to me claiming to be my husband. But the last shards of my life are about to be burned to the ground. Because someone has to pay for the sins of the past, and I’m wearing the face of the woman who committed them. The old adage is wrong. What I don’t know will definitely kill me.