The Stranger in My Photos 32

I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

The mirror stayed empty. My room stared back at me from the glass, hollow and too quiet.

My phone buzzed again. My hand shook as I looked down.

"Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of them."

Them?

My stomach twisted. I didn’t have time to ask what that meant — because my bedroom door creaked open.

Slow. Deliberate.

I turned, pulse hammering in my ears.

It was my mom.

She smiled when she saw me.

“Hey, sweetie,” she said softly. “You okay?”

Her voice was warm, familiar — but something was wrong. Her eyes lingered on me a second too long.

Like she was studying me.

“Yeah,” I croaked. “I... I’m fine.”

Her smile didn’t falter.

“Good,” she said, voice smooth and calm. “So am I.”

Then she walked away.

My heart sank.

My mom never calls me sweetie.

And when I turned back to the mirror, the stranger was there again.

But this time, he wasn’t alone.

My mom stood beside him.

They both waved.


2 2

👌🏿👌🏿👌🏿, more to come..
3 2

Nice 👍👍
1 1