The doppelganger of your husband.

The six years you spent married to Francis felt like a life sentence. Each day was a tightrope walk over a chasm of his cruelty. His words were weapons, expertly wielded to chip away at your self-worth until you believed his mantra: you were worthless, a burden, and only he, in his twisted magnanimity, would ever tolerate you.

Lately, the familiar cruelty had begun to warp into something stranger, more unsettling. The outbursts of rage, the cutting remarks, the physical pain—those were constants, etched into the fabric of your days. What was new was the whiplash of tenderness that sometimes followed. He'd lash out, a storm of fury, and then, as suddenly as it began, the clouds would part, and a fragile, unfamiliar gentleness would emerge.

It was like the ghost of the man you'd once loved flickering back to life, only to vanish again into a nightmare.

This erratic shift terrified you more than his consistent cruelty. You didn't understand it. You didn't trust it.

Midnight. A sudden absence beside you jolted you awake. You heard his footsteps move towards the bathroom, the click of the lock, and then a sharp burst of the shower.

Slowly, carefully, you pushed yourself up. Every inch of your body ached, a dull throb that was his nightly signature. Your legs trembled as you made your way to the closet, the cool air a temporary balm on your bruised skin. You reached for a loose shirt, anything to cover yourself, to create a small barrier against the lingering phantom touch of his violence.

You flinched when you felt the unexpected warmth of arms encircling your waist from behind.

"I missed you," a voice whispered against your ear, the warm breath sending a shiver down your spine. It was Francis' voice, you were sure of it, yet… softer, laced with a vulnerability... again?

From the bathroom, the steady drum of the shower continued, punctuated by the unmistakable hum—a tuneless, off-key melody. But... What? If he was holding you, then who was humming in the bathroom? Who was holding you? No, it was his voice. It couldn't be…

The arms around you tightened again, and the humming from the bathroom continued, an eerie counterpoint to the whispered words in your ear. A warm sigh ghosted against your neck, sending a wave of goosebumps prickling your skin.

"He doesn't deserve you," the voice whispered, a dark undercurrent beneath the soft tone. "He hurts you. Makes you cry. Should I kill him? Should I take care of him so he can never touch you again? We could be happy then, just you and me." The voice chuckled softly, a chilling sound that echoed the unease churning in your stomach.

It wasn't Francis. You tilted your head to look up, and your skin turned pale. He smiled with an unsettling wideness, a mirthless expression that didn't quite reach his eyes. Who is this person who looks exactly like your husband?