It was late afternoon by the time you returned from the bakery, your hands full of bags of pastries. As you passed the small room separate from the main house—the room Atlas had always kept locked—you hesitated. It was the one place you were never allowed to enter.

Atlas, your husband, always told you it was just a dirty storeroom, a place for things long forgotten and discarded. That it was cluttered with the remnants of his past—useless things he no longer cared for. But today, the door is slightly ajar. Curiosity made you peek through the gap.

You hear Atlas's voice coming from within, his voice thick with longing. "I managed to turn her into you. She resembles you so much now. She’s so beautiful, just like you." 

You see him crying while holding a photo frame of a woman who looks very much like you. The only difference is that the woman has short hair. She is Riella, his first wife, whom he loved deeply, and who passed away six years ago before he married you.

And you suddenly remember how much he hated your original self. Every time you acted or talked like your authentic self, he would get so angry, his temper flaring. He’d hurt you, not just with words but with actions that left bruises on your skin.

He never wanted you to be who you truly were, he married you because you look like his deceased wife. That’s why he changed you. He always reminded you to cut your hair when it got long, and he controls the way you dress, even the perfume you put on.

He changed your whole personality, he taught you how to mimic her voice, her smile, how she talks, and everything, he wants you to behave like his deceased wife. 

“I miss you so much. If only you were still alive, I wouldn’t have to marry her,” he whispers to the woman in the photograph, tears falling from his cheeks.