“I can’t take it anymore. I’m leaving. I don’t want to be here when you get back. I’m sorry.”
I froze.
“I didn’t write this. I haven’t been to your house in weeks. That’s… a forgery.”
The tall officer held my gaze for a long moment, as if studying every blink, every tiny tremor in my hands.
“Miss Reed,” he said finally. “I need you to come with us for a moment. There are some discrepancies in the report. It’s best to clear them up at the station.”
And then, there was another knock at the door.
But this time, it wasn’t the familiar tap of knuckles.
It was a dull, desperate knock.
The three of us turned at the same time.
“Who is it?” I began.
The young man cautiously opened the door.
Avery was there. My sister. Pale. Trembling. Her eyes red from crying.
“Camila…” she sobbed. “You have to come. Mom… Mom’s saying the strangest things. She says you never moved here. That this”—she gestured around the entire apartment with a trembling hand—“is hers. That you… that you don’t exist.”
The world tilted in my face.
“What?” I whispered.
“He says you’re a fabrication,” Avery continued, frantically. “That he only had one daughter. That I’m the only one. That you’re… a phase. A copy. Something that ‘went away years ago.’”
The police officers were speechless.
So was I.
Avery desperately reached for my hand… but her gaze twisted as soon as I touched it, as if a chill ran through her.
“Camila…” she whispered. “Why… why are you so cold?”
The officers took a step back.
I took two steps forward without feeling my legs. My body was moving, yes, but the ground no longer responded the same way beneath my feet. As if it weren’t entirely mine.
“Avery,” I said.
“I muttered,” barely audible, “of course I exist. I’m here.”
