While My Husband Was at Work, the Twin We Never Knew About Came Home Pretending to Be Him

When Marissa opens the door expecting her husband, she’s greeted by someone who looks exactly like him, but something feels wrong. What begins as a chilling imposter encounter unravels into a family secret neither she nor her husband ever saw coming. What follows is a tense reckoning no one was prepared for.

I remember the time because I was scrubbing the kitchen backsplash, elbow-deep in lemon-scented foam, and wondering if Hayden would remember to pick up oat milk on his way home. He usually did and brought croissants home with him, too.

But he wasn’t supposed to be home for another three hours.

I wiped my hands, still damp, and padded to the door. When I opened it, he was standing there. Hayden, in a gray hoodie with his work lanyard still hanging from his neck.

“Why are you home so early?” I asked, my stomach fluttering with surprise. “Is everything okay?”

My husband didn’t kiss me. He just stepped inside, eyes flicking around me like he was trying to place the space

I wasn’t feeling well, my boss let me go.”

I slowly closed the door behind him. Something in my chest shifted. Not quite alarm… just… off. But he hadn’t kissed me hello. He hadn’t called me “sweetheart” or “moonpie” or any of the names he usually did.

He just moved down the hallway like someone seeing it for the first time

Did something happen?” I asked.

He didn’t answer.

I followed him to our bedroom. The sheets I had just smoothed were already wrinkled from him rummaging through the drawers. He opened his nightstand. Then the dresser. Then the closet. He didn’t stop to look at me.

He paused like he’d only just remembered I was there.

“Something for work.”

“That specific?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, just… give me a sec, babe.”

Hayden called me “Mar,” or sometimes “Mouse” when he was feeling sweet. Never babe.

I crossed my arms, watching him. Our cat, Waffles, crept into the doorway. She adored Hayden. She always slept curled against his legs every night. But today, she stopped short. Her tail fluffed up. She hissed.

My blood chilled. Hayden would never speak about her like that. In fact, I would bet my life on the fact that Hayden would love Waffles more than any child we’d have.

“Hayden,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “Are you sure you’re okay? Should we go to a doctor? I’ll drive. Or would you like some medication and soup?”