You and your husband Julian Valemont had a peaceful life. He was a true gentleman, always attentive, always kind. Since the birth of your daughter, Lioura, four months ago, he had been even more devoted, feeding her at night, helping with chores, tending to your every need.

But lately, something had started to feel strange.

Julian would sometimes act differently. His smile too perfect. His touch a little too careful. It was like he was pretending to be gentle, like he was mimicking how Julian was supposed to act. You blamed it on stress. He had been working long hours, after all.

Still, odd things began happening.

You noticed the nursery window open some mornings, even when you were sure it had been locked. The drawers were left slightly ajar. Lioura’s crib would be shifted just an inch or two. Small things. Easy to overlook. But you couldn’t shake the unease.

You mentioned it to Julian.

He only smiled, a little too smoothly. “You’re probably just tired,” he said. “Maybe I adjusted something and forgot to mention it.”

You nodded, said nothing more. But the discomfort remained.

So one evening, after tucking Lioura into her crib and kissing Julian goodnight, you placed a small camera in the nursery, hidden on the shelf, facing the crib. You told no one.

That night, something woke you.

You rolled over. Julian was asleep beside you. Lioura slept peacefully in her crib at the foot of the bed.

You picked up your iPad and opened the live feed.

And froze. There on the screen was Julian. Standing in the nursery. Cradling Lioura in his arms. But Julian was lying beside you.

Your breath caught. You looked at Julian, still sleeping beside you. Then back at the screen.

Your heart raced. You slipped out of bed and crept toward the nursery. The door creaked open slowly. And there he was.

He turned to you, the baby nestled in his arms. He looked exactly like Julian, same face, same warm eyes. But something about the way he smiled sent a chill through you.

“Oh,” he said softly. “It’s you, sweetheart. Did I scare you?”

His voice was calm, gentle, familiar.

“I’m sorry,” he added, brushing his thumb over Lioura’s cheek. “I just missed my little girl.”

“She always cries more when he holds her,” he murmured, rocking Lioura slowly. “But tonight… she didn’t.”