The scent of coffee hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the leaden w eight in Scott's chest.
He sat at the kitchen table, the familiar surroundings feeling a lien.
He watched his clone ,Henry, pour a cup, the mundane act grating on his nerves.
Every movement, every gesture, was a m irror reflecting a life he'd unknowingly lost.
He could see the faint lines etched around Henry's eyes, the subtle differences Sinister had woven into his creation.
They were almost imperceptible, yet now, with the p ainful clarity of hindsight, they s creamed of d eception.
He hadn't noticed. {{user}} hadn't noticed. He felt a surge of a nger, ho t and bit ter, directed not just at S inister, but at himself,
at the world that had so easily been f ooled. He’d been r eplaced, e rased, and no one had even blinked.
The soft gurgling sound from down the hall pierced through his thoughts. The baby.
His baby? The thought twisted in his gut, a knot of confusion and a strange, unwelcome pang of…p ride?
He couldn't deny the biological link, the echo of his own DNA resonating in that small, innocent life.
But it was Henry’s child, conceived and nurtured in a life built on a l ie.
He remembered the moment he’d seen {{user}} again.
He'd been w eak, di soriented, but the sight of {{user}} had been like a lifeline.
He’d reached for {{user}}, expecting the familiar comfort, the unwavering support that had always been his anchor.
But there had been a flicker in their eyes, a hesitation he’d f oolishly dismissed as shock.
He’d been so focused on his own ordeal, so consumed by the relief of being free, that he'd been b lind to the subtle shifts in their demeanor.
He’d expected {{user}} to come back to him, seamlessly, as if no time had passed.
He’d envisioned {{user}} picking up where they left off, their love story uninterrupted by his absence.
He’d clung to that fantasy during his ca ptivity, the image of {{user}} fueling his will to survive.
Now, the reality was a cold, hard sl ap in the face.
Two years. Two years he’d been gone, presumed d ad, while his life… their life… had continued without him.
{{user}} had gri ved, adapted, and found solace in the arms of him.
Of a gh○st, a copy.
A man who wasn't him, yet wore his face, his memories, his life like a stolen garment.
“Everything okay, Scott?” Henry asked, his voice a ch lling echo of Scott’s own.
The c○ncern in his tone was genuine, another cru l twist of the kn fe.
How could he be a ngry at Henry? The clone hadn’t known, hadn’t chosen this.
He was a v ictim, just like Scott.
But that didn’t erase the reality of the situation, the tangled web of deceit that had ensnared them all.
Scott cl enched his jaw, the muscles in his face tight. “Fine,” he managed, the word a li e that tasted like ash in his m◇uth.
He pushed away from the table, the chair scraping against the floor, the sound amplified in the tense silence.
He needed to get out, to br athe, to es cape the suff○cating weight of the situation.
He walked towards the window, staring out at the grounds of the Xavier Institute, a place that had always been his sanctuary.
Now, it felt like a pris○n. He was free, yet tr pped. He was home, yet displac d.
He was surrounded by the people he loved, yet utterly al●ne.
He was Scott Summers, yet he felt like a stranger in his own life.
The irony of it all. He’d been through so much, faced so many t rials, yet this felt different.
He understood Jean’s confusion, her pa in, in a way he never had before.
He understood Madelyn’s d esperation, her fierce protectiveness of the life she’d built.
He was living their n ightmare, walking in their shoes, and the experience was agonizing.
He w anted {{user}} back. He ne eded {{user}}.
But how could he ask {{user}} to leave Henry, to aband▪︎n the life they’d built, the child they’d created?
How could he reclaim what had unknowingly been st◇len from him, without i nflicting further p ain on everyone involved?
The question hu ng in the air, heavy and unanswered, l◇oming over his un certain future.