Chapter One : The Other Woman
Marceline saw her boyfriend kiss another woman.
For a moment, she couldn’t understand what she was looking at.
The restaurant window stood between them, reflecting the dim streetlights behind her. Inside, beneath the warm amber glow, Adrian leaned across the table and kissed a woman sitting opposite him.
Marceline stopped walking.
Her fingers tightened around the strap of her handbag.
Adrian.
Her Adrian.
The man who had kissed her goodbye less than two hours ago.
I won’t be late.
He had smiled when he said it.
He had kissed her forehead.
He had told her he loved her.
And now his hand was resting against another woman’s cheek.
Marceline’s first thought was simple.
He’s cheating.
The second thought made her stomach drop.
She looks like me.
No.
That wasn’t right.
She didn’t look like Marceline.
She was Marceline.
Marceline stared through the glass.
The woman slowly pulled away from Adrian.
Long dark brown hair fell over her shoulder in exactly the same way Marceline’s did. Her face had the same delicate shape. The same warm brown eyes. The same straight nose.
Even from across the street, Marceline could see the tiny scar above the woman’s left eyebrow.
Her scar.
The one Marceline had gotten when she was twelve.
Her breathing became shallow.
She stepped closer to the window.
The woman laughed softly.
Marceline knew that laugh.
She had heard it in recordings of her own voice.
She had heard it in mirrors, in empty rooms, in memories.
It was hers.
Her eyes moved to Adrian.
He wasn’t looking at the woman like a stranger.
There was familiarity in his expression.
Comfort.
Something deeper than that.
Something that hurt more than the kiss.
Marceline’s hand went cold.
She should have walked inside.
She should have opened the door, confronted him, thrown the wine in his face, demanded an explanation.
Instead, she stood frozen on the pavement.
Because something was wrong.
Terribly wrong.
The woman suddenly turned her head.
Straight toward the window.
Marceline stopped breathing.
Their eyes met.
For one impossible second, the noise of the city disappeared.
Cars passed behind her.
People walked along the sidewalk.
A bus groaned somewhere in the distance.
But Marceline heard none of it.
The woman’s eyes remained fixed on hers.
She didn’t look surprised.
She didn’t look frightened.
She looked…
amused.
Then her lips curved into a small smile.
Marceline took an involuntary step backward.
The woman lifted her hand.
Slowly, deliberately, she touched the small scar above her eyebrow.
Marceline’s fingers flew to her own scar.
Her heartbeat became violent.
No.
That was impossible.
The woman lowered her hand.
Adrian noticed her staring.
He turned.
His face changed instantly.
The color drained from it.
“Marceline?”
She heard her name through the glass.
The woman beside him smiled again.
Marceline couldn’t move.
Adrian stood so quickly that his chair scraped against the floor.
He said something to the woman.
She didn’t look at him.
She kept staring at Marceline.
Then she leaned toward the table and whispered something.
Marceline couldn’t hear the words.
But she didn’t need to.
She knew the expression on the woman’s face.
It was the expression people wore when they knew something the other person didn’t.
Adrian hurried toward the restaurant door.
That finally broke the spell.
Marceline turned and walked.
Not ran.
Walked.
One step.
Then another.
Her mind refused to process what her eyes had seen.
She has my face.
Maybe it was the lighting.
Maybe Marceline was exhausted.
Maybe the woman had undergone some kind of strange cosmetic procedure.
Maybe
“Marceline!”
Adrian’s voice came from behind her.
She kept walking.
“Marceline, wait.”
His footsteps grew louder.
She stopped at the corner.
Slowly, she turned.
Adrian stood several feet away, breathing heavily.
He looked guilty.
That part made sense.
At least something still made sense.
“What was that?” Marceline asked.
Her voice sounded strangely calm.
Adrian opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
“Who is she?”
“Marceline, I can explain.”
“Who is she?”
He looked over his shoulder.
The restaurant door had closed behind him.
The woman was no longer visible.
Adrian looked back at Marceline.
“She’s nobody.”
A laugh escaped Marceline.
It wasn’t because anything was funny.
“Nobody?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“She has my face.”
His expression tightened.
“I know.”
Two words.
That’s all he said.
Marceline stared at him.
The world seemed to tilt slightly beneath her feet.
“You know?”
Adrian rubbed a hand over his face.
“I didn’t know she would be here.”
Marceline’s stomach twisted.
“Would be here?”
He said nothing.
“How long have you known her?”
“Marceline”
“How long?”
He looked away.
That was enough.
She stepped closer.
“How long?”
“A few months.”
The words landed harder than the betrayal itself.
Months.
Not a mistake.
Not one night.
Months.
Marceline felt something inside her crack.
“And you never thought to tell me?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Complicated?”
She almost smiled.
“You’re having dinner with a woman who looks exactly like me, and complicated is what you have?”
Adrian’s face had gone pale again.
“She isn’t”
He stopped.
Marceline narrowed her eyes.
“She isn’t what?”
He didn’t answer.
A terrible feeling crawled through her chest.
Not jealousy.
Not heartbreak.
Fear.
“What were you going to say?”
Adrian looked at her.
For the first time since she had known him, Marceline saw genuine fear in his eyes.
And somehow that frightened her more than the kiss.
“I think you should go home,” he said quietly.
Marceline stared at him.
“Why?”
“Just go home.”
“Why?”
“Please.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
Adrian stepped toward her.
She stepped back.
He stopped.
“I need you to trust me.”
Marceline almost laughed again.
“Trust you?”
His eyes dropped.
She understood then.
There was something he wasn’t telling her.
Something much bigger than an affair.
“Who is she, Adrian?”
He swallowed.
“I don’t know.”
Marceline stared at him.
“You just said you’ve known her for months.”
“I know.”
“Then how can you not know who she is?”
He looked toward the restaurant.
His voice dropped to a whisper.
“Because she won’t tell me.”
Marceline’s skin prickled.
“What does that mean?”
Before he could answer, the restaurant door opened.
The woman stepped outside.
Adrian went completely still.
Marceline turned.
She was closer now.
Close enough to see every detail.
The same eyes.
The same lips.
The same scar.
Even the tiny mole beneath her right eye.
Marceline’s own reflection had never looked so real.
The woman walked toward them.
Adrian moved instinctively in front of Marceline.
The woman stopped a few feet away.
Her gaze passed over Adrian without interest.
Then settled on Marceline.
She smiled.
“You’re earlier than I expected.”
Marceline felt the blood drain from her face.
Adrian whispered her name.
“Don’t.”
The woman ignored him.
Marceline’s voice barely worked.
“Who are you?”
The woman tilted her head.
For a moment, she looked genuinely confused.
Then she laughed softly.
“That’s a strange question.”
“Who are you?”
The woman’s eyes softened.
Almost sadly.
“You really don’t remember?”
Marceline froze.
“Remember what?”
The woman looked at Adrian.
He looked terrified.
Then she looked back at Marceline.
“You shouldn’t have come here tonight.”
Marceline’s heart hammered against her ribs.
“Why?”
The woman took one step closer.
“Because he wasn’t supposed to tell you yet.”
Marceline looked at Adrian.
“What is she talking about?”
He didn’t answer.
She looked back at the woman.
“Tell me.”
The woman studied her face.
Then, very quietly, she said:
“Ask him what happened on October 17th.”
Marceline frowned.
“October 17th?”
The woman smiled.
“Ask him what happened that night.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know.”
Something about the way she said it made Marceline’s stomach twist.
The woman reached into her coat pocket.
She pulled out a small photograph.
For several seconds, she simply held it between two fingers.
Then she extended it toward Marceline.
Marceline didn’t want to take it.
Every instinct told her not to.
But her hand moved anyway.
She looked down.
The photograph showed a bedroom.
A familiar bedroom.
Her bedroom.
Her old bedroom.
The pale curtains.
The wooden desk beside the window.
The small crack in the wall above her bed.
Marceline knew that room.
She had grown up in it.
But there was something wrong.
Someone was standing in the photograph.
A girl.
Twenty two years old, perhaps.
Long dark brown hair.
Warm brown eyes.
A small scar above her left eyebrow.
Marceline’s hand began to shake.
The girl was sitting on the edge of her childhood bed.
Wearing a white sweater Marceline remembered owning.
Marceline turned the photograph over.
A date had been written on the back.
October 17, 2018.
Her breathing stopped.
She knew that date.
She had spent years trying to remember what happened that night.
There was nothing.
Just darkness.
A blank space in her memory.
Her parents had always told her she had been sick.
That she had slept through the entire night.
That nothing had happened.
But the photograph was proof that someone had been in her room.
Someone who looked exactly like her.
Marceline slowly raised her eyes.
The woman was still watching her.
“Who is that?” Marceline whispered.
The woman’s smile disappeared.
“You.”
Marceline shook her head.
“No.”
The woman took another step closer.
“That’s what they told you.”
Marceline’s fingers tightened around the photograph.
“Who?”
The woman glanced at Adrian.
Then back at Marceline.
“Everyone who wanted you to believe you were the only one.”
And before Marceline could ask what that meant, the woman turned and walked away.
Marceline watched her disappear into the crowd.
She looked down at the photograph again.
Her childhood bedroom.
Her face.
A date she couldn’t remember.
And suddenly, for the first time in her life, Marceline wasn’t afraid that someone else had stolen her identity.
She was afraid that someone had given it to her.
