Claire blinked, and the cathedral of mirrors dissolved into white.
Suddenly, she was no longer holding her child.No longer in the room with Danny.
She stood alone in a crumbling house—their house, but older. Abandoned. Paint peeling from the walls like forgotten promises.
Footsteps echoed behind her.She turned.
A woman stood there, identical to her in every way… except for the eyes—cold, sharp, and devoid of light.
"You're me," Claire whispered.
The other Claire smiled bitterly."No. I'm who you would've become… if you'd stopped hoping."
Claire's throat tightened.
This version of her had lost Danny—and never believed he'd come back.
She saw it in the darkened ring finger, the unopened nursery, the way her hands clenched into fists instead of reaching for anything.
This Claire had raised the child alone.Out of duty. Not love.Survived—but never lived.
"You forgave him," the reflection sneered. "And look where that got you. Bound to a fate you never chose."
Claire's heart cracked under the weight of a truth she didn't want to admit:
A small, bitter part of her had once wanted to stop waiting.To hate him for dying.To forget.
The world around them flickered like a dying film reel—skipping frames, distorting colors.
Windows wept ink.The ceiling sagged like the sky was collapsing from exhaustion.
And in the mirror-lined walls, hundreds of versions of Claire screamed silently—Some with daggers, some with wedding rings, some alone in cold beds—All of them haunted by choices they never made.
And this one, this version before her, was the loudest of all.
The other Claire stepped forward, face inches away.
"So tell me, do you still believe in him? In the child? In this cursed fate you're living?"
Claire clenched her jaw, eyes wet with fury and fear.
Before she could answer—
the child's voice echoed across the white void:"Only one of you can leave."
And the floor shattered beneath them both.