Chapter 2

“Just hide it for a day,” the man repeated. “She’ll never even know it’s missing.”

Nathan’s mind raced. The phone, the accident—those were real. The man had proven himself. But hiding a letter felt different. It felt like crossing a line he hadn’t known was there.

“What’s in the letter?” Nathan asked.

The man’s smile didn’t waver. “Nothing important. An old bill. A reminder from a friend. Your mother was going to throw it away, but I need you to delay that. It’s complicated, but trust me—it’s for the best.”

Nathan chewed his lip. His mother’s desk was in the study downstairs. She wouldn’t be home for another three hours. He could do it quickly, put it somewhere safe, and return it tomorrow. No one would know.

“Okay,” he said. “Just for a day.”

The man nodded, and something in his eyes relaxed. “Thank you, Nathan. You won’t regret this.”

Nathan left his room and padded down the carpeted stairs. The house was quiet, the only sound the hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen. He slipped into the study, a small room with a mahogany desk and rows of bookshelves. His mother’s desk was cluttered with envelopes, sticky notes, and a chipped coffee mug holding pens. He pulled open the center drawer.

Inside lay a stack of papers. On top was a cream-colored envelope addressed to his mother in handwriting he didn’t recognize. The return address was a post office box in a town he’d never heard of. Nathan lifted it carefully. It felt thin, like it held a single sheet of paper.

He stared at it. The paper smelled faintly of lavender. For a moment, he almost put it back. But then he thought of the man’s voice, calm and certain, and the way he had known about the phone and the accident. Nathan slipped the envelope into his pocket.

Upstairs, he lifted his mattress and slid the letter underneath. It was flat enough that no one would notice. He smoothed the comforter back into place and stood, heart beating a little faster than usual.

When he returned to the mirror, the man was still there. His room in the reflection looked slightly different—the worn brown chair now had a cushion that wasn’t torn. The wallpaper seemed a shade brighter.

“Done,” Nathan said.

“Good.” The man leaned back in his chair. “You’ll see. Things will start to get better.”

Nathan glanced at the photograph on his dresser. It was a picture of him and his mother at the beach two summers ago. His mother was wearing a yellow sundress, her hair blowing in the wind. He looked at it now, and something felt off. He picked it up.

His mother’s dress was blue. Pale blue, with white trim. He remembered yellow. He was sure of it.

“Did this change?” he whispered.

The man didn’t answer. Nathan turned the frame over in his hands. The photo was the same composition—same beach, same smiles—but the colors were wrong. He set it down, a cold knot forming in his stomach.

He heard the front door open. His mother’s voice called up the stairs. “Nathan? I’m home early. I forgot some paperwork.”

He stepped away from the mirror. The man was gone, replaced by his own reflection. Nathan walked downstairs, trying to look normal.

His mother was in the study, rifling through the desk. She looked up as he entered. “Hey, sweetie. How’s your stomach?”

“Better,” he said. “I think it was just something I ate.”

She nodded, but her eyes lingered on him a moment too long. “I’m glad. I had a strange feeling today, like something was off. Did anything happen while I was gone?”

Nathan shook his head. “No. Just stayed in my room.”

She turned back to the desk, shuffling papers. “I was looking for an old letter I meant to file. I could have sworn I left it in the center drawer, but it’s not here.”

Nathan’s throat tightened. “Maybe you moved it somewhere else.”

“Maybe.” She frowned, then smiled at him. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure it’ll turn up.”

But her smile didn’t reach her eyes. She watched him with that same expression he had seen before—the one that made him feel like she was looking at a stranger.

That night, Nathan lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The photograph on the dresser was still there. He hadn’t touched it again. But he couldn’t stop thinking about the blue dress.

He got up and walked to the mirror. The man appeared almost instantly, standing in a room that now looked almost comfortable. The scar on his mouth was barely visible.

“The photograph changed,” Nathan said. “My mother’s dress was yellow. Now it’s blue.”

“That’s normal,” the man said. “Every change you make in the present adjusts the past. It’s how we fix things. The important thing is that your life is getting better.”

“But I don’t remember her having a blue dress.”

“You will. Your memories will catch up. It’s like rewriting a story—you don’t feel the edits until you read the new version.”

Nathan wanted to believe him. But as he looked into the mirror, he saw the man’s reflection smile, and for the first time, he noticed that the man’s teeth were straight and white. Nathan’s own teeth had a small gap between the front two. The man’s didn’t.

“You said you’re me,” Nathan said slowly. “But your teeth are different.”

The man’s smile faltered. “Braces. I got them when I was twenty-two. You won’t remember that yet.”

Nathan nodded, but the knot in his stomach tightened. He retreated to his bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. The mirror was dark now, empty of everything but his own reflection.

He tried to sleep. But when he closed his eyes, he saw the blue dress, the man’s perfect teeth, and the way his mother had looked at him—like she was seeing someone she didn’t recognize.

And somewhere in the house, he heard his mother whisper to his father:

“He’s doing it again.”