The Twin I Married Was Never Mine

The hospital lights were too harsh—white, sterile, unforgiving. They made everything feel colder than it already was, like the room itself couldn’t decide whether it was meant for healing or endings.

I lay flat on the examination bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling tiles as the doctor went over the procedure one last time. Her tone stayed steady, detached, professional—something I clung to because I couldn’t afford anything softer.

“This is still your decision,” she said gently. “Once we start, there’s no going back.”

“I understand,” I replied.

My voice didn’t break. Not even slightly.

The baby that was never supposed to be there.

The life that would’ve tied me even tighter to something I was already suffocating in.

A child I no longer knew how to feel anything for—after everything that had happened.

It didn’t take long.

It was over before my mind could fully catch up. And when it was done, there was no rush of emotion waiting for me on the other side.

No sorrow.

No relief.

Just… blankness.

I changed back into my clothes in silence, holding the discharge papers like they belonged to someone else—like I was just carrying proof of something I couldn’t quite accept as mine. Each step out of the hospital felt heavier than the last, the sunset bleeding across the sky in dull orange streaks.

I drove home without thinking. Muscle memory, nothing more.

The moment I stepped inside, warmth hit me first—roasted herbs, butter, something freshly cooked. It was almost disorienting.

Mason—no, the man pretending to be Ethan—was in the dining room setting the table. Wine glasses aligned perfectly. Candles already lit. Soft lighting made everything look almost normal.

Almost.

He turned immediately. “Love, where were you?”

I stopped walking.

He came closer, concern already etched into his face. “You were out all day. I kept calling. You didn’t answer. I was worried sick.”

“I just needed some air,” I said quietly.

That was all I would ever say.

Never the truth.

Never about the baby.

His expression softened like he believed me. “I made dinner,” he said, gesturing toward the table, almost hopeful. “And I got something for you too.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out two tickets. “You’ve been talking about this for years.”

The Phantom of the Opera—Live.

Something inside me twisted.

Once, I would’ve been ecstatic. Once, I might’ve cried from happiness.

Now it just felt like something I didn’t have the energy to hold.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured. “I don’t feel well. I want to rest.”

I turned toward the stairs—

“Not feeling well?”

The voice cut through the air sharply.

I froze.

The real Ethan stood at the end of the hallway. Chloe beside him, arms crossed, lips curled in a satisfied little smile.

His gaze landed on me immediately—sharp, controlled, already judging. “Or is it that you just don’t want to see me?” he asked coldly. “Chloe told me you still refuse to even acknowledge me properly, even after I apologized.”

My stomach dropped. “That’s not true.”

Chloe let out a soft laugh. “Oh, Clara, please. Don’t act confused. You clearly don’t want us here. You even tried to hurt me earlier.” She tilted her head. “But it’s fine. We’re family now. Or is it because you still want both twins again like before?”

My jaw tightened. “That’s not what happened. You’re the one who—”

“It is,” she cut in smoothly.

Mason exhaled, irritation flashing across his face. “Chloe, stop. She’s my wife—”

But she wasn’t done.

“You’ve always been like this,” Chloe continued, ignoring him. “So innocent on the outside, but—”

“I only want Ethan,” I interrupted, my voice breaking despite myself. “But clearly… he doesn’t want me.”

Silence dropped instantly.

Heavy. Suffocating.

Ethan stiffened.

Chloe blinked.

And even Mason looked thrown off.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to breathe.

Then I turned away.

“Clara—wait.” Mason followed a few steps up the stairs. “What was that just now? What’s going on with you?”

“It’s nothing,” I said without looking back. “I’ll get ready.”

“For what?”

I paused, then finally turned to face him.

“For the tickets. You already bought them. We’re going.”

Something like relief flickered across his face—but I felt nothing.

Not anymore.

Getting ready felt like dressing someone else’s life onto my body. The dress. The makeup. The hair pinned neatly in place. Every movement felt distant, automatic, hollow.

Like I was preparing a version of myself that no longer existed.

Dinner passed like a blur.

Mason tried—he really did. Soft jokes. Gentle words. Small attempts at normalcy. I responded out of habit, not feeling.

Then Ethan and Chloe arrived.

Of course they did.

A “family evening,” they called it.

As if anything about us had ever been a family.

As if pretending could fix what was already broken beyond repair.

The theater was beautiful—crystal lights hanging overhead, deep red velvet seats, gold details everywhere—but I couldn’t take any of it in properly. My chest felt tight. My skin felt too hot. My stomach kept twisting in slow, painful waves.

“Clara?” Mason whispered beside me. “Are you okay?”

I nodded quickly, forcing it.

But halfway through the performance, my body gave up on pretending.

“I… I need air,” I said abruptly, standing too fast.

“Clara?” Ethan’s voice came from behind me, a flash of concern breaking through—but I was already moving.

I pushed past him and hurried out.

The second the cold night air hit my face, my knees buckled.

I bent over and vomited onto the pavement, my whole body shaking uncontrollably. I clung to a nearby pillar, gasping, trying to steady my breathing while the world spun violently around me.

Just breathe.

Just stay upright.

Just don’t fall—

But I couldn’t hold on.

Two figures approached.

“Hey, sweetheart,” one of them said, voice slurred and far too close. “You don’t look so good. Need a hand?”

The other chuckled. “Or maybe some company instead.”

The first reached for me.

I pulled away instantly. “Don’t touch me.”

He smiled like I was joking. “Relax. You’re alone out here. We’re just being nice.”

My heartbeat spiked.

“I said don’t touch me.”

He didn’t listen.

Instead, he grabbed my arm and yanked me closer, breath reeking of alcohol. “Come on, don’t be difficult—”

“Let go!” I screamed.

But my strength was gone.

My legs gave out beneath me.

Everything blurred at the edges, darkness creeping in fast as the ground rushed upward.

And then I fell.

The last thing I heard before everything went silent was running footsteps—

And a voice breaking through the night, shouting my name.

“Clara!”