The humid air of the alien jungle clung to Major Samantha Carter's skin as she sprinted toward the Stargate. The mission had gone catastrophically wrong. What should have been a routine reconnaissance turned into a desperate battle for survival.

"Carter, move!" Colonel O'Neill's voice barked through her radio, sharp with urgency.

Sam adjusted her grip on her P90, her instincts driving her forward. The Gate loomed ahead, shimmering with the bright, blue glow of the open wormhole. Safety was just steps away.

Then she felt it—an intense, burning pain in her side.

Her momentum faltered. She hit the ground hard, her head violently bouncing off the ground, and her weapon skittered away. Around her, the chaos blurred—the hiss of staff weapons, Daniel shouting her name, and the low rumble of Teal'c's voice offering cover fire.

She struggled to move, her vision darkening, her limbs heavy. O'Neill's voice echoed through the haze; his tone uncharacteristically desperate.

"Carter! Stay with us!"

The last thing she saw was the sky, framed by rustling alien leaves, before the darkness swallowed her whole.

Sam woke to the soft warmth of sunlight filtering through sheer white curtains. The faint scent of lavender hung in the air, blending with the subtle aroma of coffee wafting from somewhere beyond the room. Her body felt heavy, her mind foggy, as if she were emerging from the deepest sleep of her life.

The first thing she noticed was how soft the bed felt beneath her, a sharp contrast to the usual sterile infirmary cot she had expected. Then, a soft, small voice pierced the quiet.

"Mommy?"

Sam's eyes fluttered open, and she turned her head toward the sound. A little girl with blonde hair and big blue eyes stood by the bed, clutching a worn stuffed bunny to her chest. She was gazing at Sam with a mix of concern and confusion.

"Hi," Sam whispered.

The girl's face broke into a bright smile, and she scrambled up onto the bed, throwing her arms around Sam. "You're awake! Daddy said you needed to rest, but you've been asleep forever!"

Sam froze, her arms hovering awkwardly in the air as the warmth of the child's hug pressed against her. "I…"

Before she could finish, the door to the bedroom opened, and Daniel Jackson stepped inside, balancing a toddler on his hip. A faint layer of stubble covered his jaw, and his shirt was wrinkled, as if he'd been up all night.

"Claire," he said gently, "what did we say about letting Mommy rest?"

"But she's awake now!" Claire protested, her arms still around Sam.

Daniel's eyes shifted to Sam, and relief flooded his expression. "Sam," he said softly, stepping closer. "How are you feeling?"

Sam stared at him, her mind spinning. He looked exactly like her Daniel, but the toddler in his arms—and the child hugging her—told her this wasn't her reality.

"Daniel?" she whispered, her voice cracking.

"It's okay," he said, his tone gentle as he set the toddler down. The boy, with messy brown curls and bright eyes, immediately toddled over to Sam, tugging at the edge of the blanket.

"Mommy, play!" the boy demanded, holding up a toy car in his chubby hands.

"Nick, let Mommy rest," Daniel said, lifting the boy again with practiced ease. He gave Sam an apologetic smile. "Sorry. They've been worried about you."

Sam blinked, her throat tightening. "Daniel… what's going on? Where are we?"

Daniel frowned, his brow creasing with concern. "We're home. Are you okay? You fainted a couple of days ago, and Dr. Fraiser said you needed rest. I've been trying to keep the kids out of your hair as much as I can."

"The kids…" Sam repeated, her gaze shifting between the toddler in Daniel's arms and the girl beside her.

Her eyes darted to the corner of the room, where a bassinet sat against the wall. Inside, a tiny baby with a soft pink blanket stirred, letting out a faint whimper.

"Claire, Nick…" Daniel prompted gently. "Go check on Jacob. I think he's still coloring in the kitchen."

"Okay," Claire said, sliding off the bed. She grabbed Nick's hand, leading him out of the room. "Come on, Nick."

As soon as they were gone, Daniel sat on the edge of the bed, his hand resting on Sam's. "You really don't remember?"

Sam stared at him, her chest tightening. "Remember what?"

"Our family," Daniel said, his voice laced with worry. "Sam, it's me. It's us. Claire, Jacob, Nick, and Hannah. This is home."

Sam shook her head, tears stinging her eyes. "No, Daniel. The last thing I remember, I was off-world with SG-1. We were under fire, and I—" She stopped, her hands trembling. "This isn't my life. I've never been married, and I definitely don't have any children."

Daniel's face fell, his brows knitting together. He reached out, cupping her face in his hands. "Sam, listen to me. You've been pushing yourself too hard—balancing the kids, working late nights on your research. Maybe… maybe you're just overwhelmed."

She searched his eyes, wanting to believe him but knowing deep down this wasn't real. "Daniel, I don't understand. How… how can this be my life? You and I are colleagues and good friends, but that's it."

He sighed, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "This is your life, and you need to rest. Please, Sam."

The baby in the bassinet let out a soft cry, and Daniel stood, walking over to scoop her up.

"Hannah," he said, cradling the infant in his arms. "She's been missing you, too."

Sam's heart ached as she looked at the baby. She didn't know how to feel—this life was beautiful, but it wasn't hers.

Sam spent the rest of the afternoon observing the life that seemed to belong to her. The house was cozy and filled with evidence of a happy family. Claire's artwork covered the fridge, Jacob's toy dinosaurs littered the floor, and Nick's laughter echoed through the halls as he chased his siblings.

At one point, Sam found herself in the nursery with Hannah, holding the baby as she fed her. The tiny warmth in her arms felt so real, it brought tears to her eyes.

"Are you okay?" Daniel asked softly from the doorway.

Sam looked up at him, unsure how to answer. "I don't know."

Daniel crossed the room and knelt beside her chair, his hand resting on her knee. "Whatever it is, we'll figure it out."

Sam nodded, but her heart felt heavy. She wanted to believe him, but deep down, she feared this wasn't something either of them could fix.

A couple of hours later, while the kids were napping and Daniel was out running errands, Sam decided to explore the house. She told herself it was to learn more about her life here, but deep down, she was searching for answers.

In the attic, she found a box labeled "Sam's Things." Inside were photo albums, medals, and journals. She opened one and was immediately struck by the familiar handwriting.

The entries detailed her life—missions with SG-1, her marriage to Daniel, the births of their children. But one entry in particular caught her eye:

"I never imagined this life for myself. I always thought I'd be a soldier first, but Daniel changed everything. He showed me that it's okay to want more, to build something beyond the mission. And now, with him and the kids, I've never been happier."

Sam's heart clenched as she read the words. They felt like her own, yet they belonged to someone else.

"Sam?"

She jumped, snapping the journal shut. Daniel stood at the top of the stairs, concern etched on his face.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he said, stepping closer. "What are you doing up here?"

Sam hesitated, holding up the journal. "I was… looking for answers."

Daniel frowned, taking the journal from her hands. "Sam, what's going on? You've been out of it today, and I can't keep pretending everything's fine."

She looked away, guilt twisting in her stomach. "Daniel, I don't know how to explain this, but I don't think I'm supposed to be here."

"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice tight.

"I mean… this isn't my life. At least, not the one I remember," she said, tears pooling in her eyes.

Daniel stared at her, his expression a mix of confusion and hurt. "Are you saying you don't want this life? That you don't want us?"

"No," she said quickly, stepping closer. "That's not it at all. I just… I don't know how I got here, and I don't know how to leave."

"Leave?" he echoed, his voice breaking. "Sam, you're scaring me."

She reached for his hand, desperate to make him understand. "Daniel, it's not that I don't care about you and the kids, but something isn't right. We don't have that kind of relationship, and I don't have kids. I don't belong here."