I was home sick, bundled up in blankets, my head throbbing and my body aching. My wife of 18 years had kissed me goodbye that morning and left for work, leaving me alone in the quiet house. I thought the day would drag on slowly, filled with fever dreams and dull silence — until the doorbell rang.
Standing there was a woman who looked exactly like my wife. Same hair, same smile, same effortless warmth. My eyes widened, and I blinked twice, convinced my fever had finally convinced my mind to play tricks on me.
“I’m her twin,” the woman said, her voice calm and kind, introducing herself. She had flown into town secretly to surprise her sister for her upcoming birthday. Knowing my wife usually left early for work, she had decided to greet me first and plan something together.
I was still trying to wrap my mind around it as I stepped aside to let her in. As she moved around the kitchen, I couldn’t help but notice how every movement mirrored my wife’s — the gentle way she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, her soft laughter, the careful attention she gave to the little details of the morning. And yet, there was a spark in her eyes, a playful energy that felt light, spontaneous, almost mischievous in a way my calm, steady wife rarely showed.
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