The Stranger in My Photos 10
I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t.
The woman in the closet didn’t move again. She stayed there, head tilted, that stitched grin frozen on her face. I watched her for hours, afraid to blink.
At sunrise, she was gone. The closet was empty — but the shirt she wore was folded neatly on my bed. It smelled like rust.
My phone buzzed again. One new photo.
It wasn’t of me or him this time. It was my living room. The window was open.
And sitting on the couch was my mom.
She looked just like she did before she died, down to the little scar on her cheek. But something was wrong with her eyes. They were too bright, too clear — like she hadn’t blinked in hours.
A message popped up beneath the photo:
"She wants to come in. Let her?"
Before I could process it, my doorbell rang.
Three slow, deliberate chimes.
I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe.
Then I heard my mother’s voice, muffled through the door. Soft, shaky.
"Sweetheart… why won’t you let me in?"

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More in some time ...👌👌👌🤔
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