When Marissa opened the door, she expected her husband—same worn hoodie, same tired smile. But the man standing there was wrong.
No kiss. No playful nickname. Even the cat arched its back and spat.
Then he began wandering their home, asking about savings they didn’t have, tracing his fingers over framed photos like a tourist.
Marissa stayed calm. Led him to the basement. Turned the lock.
The real Hayden arrived pale and breathless.
When the police came, the man they dragged out wore Hayden’s face—but hollow. No warmth, no history. Just a stranger wrapped in stolen skin.
**Grant.**
Hayden’s twin, severed at birth, shuffled through foster care, forgotten. They’d met by chance at a bar, a joke Hayden brushed off—until Grant decided to step into his life.
He wasn’t dangerous. Just broken. And Hayden, against logic, couldn’t send him away.
By autumn, Grant had a job. By winter, a hesitant dinner invitation.
Marissa sipped wine through stiff smiles. Waffles the cat stayed glued to Hayden’s lap.
She still checks sometimes—watches the way Hayden scratches behind Waffles’ ears, the way the cat purrs.
The right one stayed.
And Waffles knows.
