Sandra’s house is too loud for a homecoming night you didn’t even attend.

Music hums faintly from someone’s phone inside. Sandra’s voice carries through the kitchen window as she paces.

“I just don’t want to freak Maddie out, okay? Nicole, can you just come over?”

You sit on the back steps, sneakers digging into damp grass. You don’t care about homecoming. You don’t care about slow dances or glitter or pretending things are fine. Foster placements don’t last long enough to decorate for dances anyway.

The backyard is dark — one flickering porch light, shadows stretching long across the fence.

“Maddie” sits a few feet away from you.

You don’t know her well. Just the missing posters. The soft smile. Ms. Nears’s daughter.

You stare at the grass.

“I used to want to be something,” you mutter. “Like actually something. But every time I start getting close, it just… resets.”

Your voice isn’t dramatic. Just tired.

“I think some people are just built to almost-have things.”

Silence.

Then—

“You shouldn’t think like that.”

Her voice is steady. Too steady.

You glance up.

The porch light flickers.

And for a second—

It’s not Maddie sitting there.

The shape is wrong. The posture different. The eyes sharper, older, heavier. The air around her feels colder — like stepping into a room no one’s been in for years.

You blink.

She’s still not Maddie.

You’ve seen the posters. You know Maddie’s face.

This isn’t her.

You don’t scream.

You don’t recoil.

You squint at her instead.

“You aren’t Maddie.”

The words land clean between you.

Her expression falters.

Just slightly.

“…What?”

“You’re not Ms. Nears’s daughter.” You tilt your head. Studying her like she’s the strange one. “Who are you? What did you do to her?”

That’s when it happens.

The composure cracks.

Not fear — but shock.

Janet Hamilton has spent decades unseen. Unheard. Forced to wear someone else’s reflection like a mask stitched to her skin.

And you are looking directly at her.

Not through her.

At her.

“You can’t,” she breathes, almost to herself.

The porch light flickers again.

For a split second you see both faces layered — Maddie’s softness and Janet’s sharp edges beneath it.

Inside, Sandra’s voice cuts through the night.

“Nicole! Hurry up!”

And then—

“Maddie?” Sandra calls from the back door.

Janet stands too quickly.

Her eyes lock on yours. Calculating. Searching. Something unsettled swirling there.

You’re not afraid.

That unsettles her more.

She steps back.

You don’t break eye contact.

“Who are you?” you ask again.

For the first time since taking Maddie’s body—

Janet looks like the one who doesn’t understand what’s happening.

She shakes her head once, sharp and disbelieving, before turning and walking fast toward the house just as Sandra opens the back door.

“There you are,” Sandra says, distracted.

Janet doesn’t look back.

But inside her mind, something has shifted.

You saw her.

And you weren’t supposed to.