The Other Me in the Mirror

My three-year-old daughter hides behind the sofa whenever I try to hold her now.

“Mommy is scary,” she whispers, clutching her stuffed bear.

I thought it was just a toddler’s overactive imagination.

Until I checked the camera feed in my own bedroom.

I watched a woman who looked exactly like me step out of the shadows of our antique mirror, slip into my husband’s bed, and kiss him.

——

I sat locked in the study, staring at the live feed from the camera I’d planted in the master bedroom. Out of the heavy shadows cast by the floor-to-ceiling mirror, a woman stepped onto the rug.

She wore my missing champagne silk nightgown. Her dark hair fell over her shoulders in the exact same cut as mine.

Dominic shifted in his sleep. His arm snaked out. He pulled her pliant body against his chest, his large hand stroking her spine.

Bile surged up my throat.

I killed the screen and stumbled into the hallway.

Freya stood dead still near the top of the stairs. Her bare feet were pale against the dark runner. She gripped the leg of her stuffed bear, trembling.

"Baby, why are you out of bed?" I crouched down, reaching out to scoop her up.

Freya flinched violently.

"It's just mom," I kept my voice low.

Freya hesitated. Slowly, she raised a tiny, shaking finger, pointing past my shoulder toward the closed door of the master bedroom.

"Mommy," she whispered. "Is the singing lady gone?"

I froze. "What lady?"

Freya’s lower lip quivered. "The one by the big mirror. She smiles and sings the baby lullaby. She keeps rubbing her tummy... but there's no baby. I'm scared."

This was why she fought my hugs. This was why she screamed when I tried to tuck her in. 'The mommy at night is scary.'

I snatched Freya off the floor, and kicked the master bedroom door wide open. I slammed the light switch up.

Dominic groaned, shielding his eyes from the sudden brightness. He was alone in the bed.

The antique mirror reflected nothing but my own pale, panicked face.

I dropped Freya into the armchair and tore across the room. I shoved my hands into the shadows behind the mirror. I dragged my knuckles against the wall.

Nothing.

"Genevieve?" Dominic sat up. "What the hell are you doing?"

I spun around. "Where is she?"

He rubbed his face. "Where is who?"

"Don't play stupid! The woman!" I pointed a shaking finger at the empty space. "She came out from behind the mirror and got into this bed. I saw her on the camera."

Dominic swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. He walked over and pressed the back of his hand to my forehead.

I slapped his arm away. "I'm not crazy. I have the video."

I clicked my phone on and pulled up the app. I shoved the screen into his chest.

A gray box popped up: [File Corrupted.]

I snatched it back, wildly dragging the timeline back to eight o'clock. Static. Nine o'clock. Snow.

"There is no video, Genevieve."

"She was here—"

"If you would just listen to me, quit that demanding job, and focus on preparing your body for a second child, you wouldn't be having these psychotic breaks."

"Leave my job out of this."

Dominic sighed heavily. He gestured toward the door. Freya was curled tightly in the armchair, weeping silently into her bear.

"You're scaring her," he said softly.

He gripped my shoulders and pulled me back toward the bed. "I'm under a lot of pressure at the bank. I can't handle you acting out like this to avoid talking about having a son."

He pulled me down onto the mattress and wrapped his arms around me.

The moment my face pressed into his neck, I stopped breathing.

Underneath his usual sandalwood cologne, an entirely different scent clung to his skin. It was an aggressively sweet, floral odor. A perfume I had never owned. It was the exact smell Freya complained about.

I lay rigid against his chest, staring into the dark until the sun came up.

The next morning smelled of sizzling bacon.

"You look awful," Dominic noted, sliding a plate across the island. "Sleep it off today."

I ignored the fork. "We need to talk about the camera footage."

Dominic stopped chewing. "Are you really going to use our daughter to invent a cheating ghost story? Because you don't want a second baby?"

"Freya saw her. She told me—"

"Freya," Dominic crouched beside the highchair, ignoring me completely.

"Sweetie, tell Mommy. You just had a bad nightmare last night, right? There was no lady."

Freya looked at his stern face. She bit her lip and slowly nodded.

By noon, I was sitting at my drafting table at the firm, staring blindly at a structural blueprint.

A heavy file folder slapped onto my desk.

My partner, Sarah, crossed her arms. "That's the third revision you totally botched, Gen. Ever since you handled that last project, you've been a ghost."

I didn't argue but requested some time off.

When I was home, it was dead quiet.

I grabbed a hammer from the garage and tapped every inch of the wall behind the antique tri-fold mirror. Solid concrete.

Frustrated, I gathered the kitchen trash and shoved the back door open to take it to the curb. As I tossed the bags, a blinking red LED caught my eye.

Across the low fence, my neighbor Margo had installed a new smart doorbell. The wide-angle lens pointed directly at my front porch.

I marched across the grass and hammered on Margo's door.

"Genevieve!" Margo smiled, opening the door.

"Margo, I'm so sorry. I think someone stole a package off my porch last night. Mind if I check your camera? Around ten o'clock?"

"Oh, you poor thing. Of course."

Margo pulled out her phone and opened the app.

No one came until I set the timeline to 9:45 PM, when a woman appeared on my driveway.

She wore a navy wrap dress, dark hair falling over her shoulders. She pressed her thumb to the biometric lock.

The bolt clicked. The green light flashed. She walked inside.

Margo squinted at the screen. She let out a polite, confused little laugh.

"Genevieve... isn't that you?"