The Stranger in My Photos 33
I couldn’t move. My throat tightened as I stared at the mirror. My mom — or whatever that thing was — smiled from inside the glass.
My phone buzzed again.
"They like this version of her better."
I swallowed hard. My voice barely came out.
“Mom?”
The version of her in the mirror tilted her head, the same way the stranger used to. Her eyes didn’t blink.
The real her — or the one standing in my hallway — peeked back into my room. “You hungry, sweetie?”
Her voice was too soft. Too perfect.
My hands shook. I forced a nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”
She smiled wider. “Good. I made your favorite.”
She never cooks my favorite. She doesn’t even know what it is.
When she disappeared back into the hall, I glanced at the mirror again. My mom’s reflection was still there, standing next to the stranger.
They weren’t waving anymore.
They were pointing.
At my bed.
I followed their fingers, heart racing, and slowly turned around.
The blanket was wrinkled, lumped in the center. Something shifted underneath it.
My phone buzzed again.
"Don’t wake it up."
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The Stranger In My Photos 33 🤔🤔