Vera stood frozen in the middle of the room. The woman in front of her had exactly the same face. Even the way she looked at Vera, the way she smiled—it all made Vera feel as if she were staring at herself in a mirror.
But there was one difference.
The woman's eyes held a profound sadness.
"Don't come any closer," Vera said, clutching the old book in her hands.
The woman stopped.
"I don't want to hurt you."
"Then explain who you are!" Vera snapped. "Why does your face look exactly like mine? Why has everyone been hiding this from me?"
The woman lowered her head.
"My name is Vera, too."
"That's impossible."
"I know it's hard to believe. But you need to hear everything."
Vera remained on guard.
"I was born in this house twenty-five years ago. I was the child this family was supposed to raise."
Vera furrowed her brow.
"I don't understand."
The woman walked toward the window.
"When I was little, a terrible accident happened in this house. My family lost me that day."
"So you died?"
The woman shook her head.
"No. I disappeared."
The night wind slipped through the gap in the window.
"Someone found me near the river a few days later. But when I returned, my family didn't recognize me anymore."
Vera stared at her in confusion.
"What do you mean?"
"They found another little girl in this house. That child had the same memories, name, and face as me."
Vera's chest tightened.
"That child..."
The woman looked straight at her.
"You."
Vera stepped backward.
"That's impossible."
"That's why you've always felt that something was wrong with your life."
Vera's mind began recalling all kinds of events from her past.
Dreams about this house.
Someone's voice calling her name while she slept.
The strange feeling she got whenever she looked at photos of her own family.
Everything felt like pieces of a puzzle finally starting to fit together.
"But I have parents. I have memories."
The woman smiled sadly.
"Memories can be created, Vera."
"No..."
"You didn't do anything wrong. You didn't know what really happened."
Vera looked down at the old book in her hands.
"Who wrote this?"
"I did."
Vera opened the book to its last page.
There was writing different from the pages before it.
"I'm waiting for someone who can return my place to me."
A name appeared beneath the writing.
Vera.
Suddenly, a knocking sound came from outside the room.
Knock... knock... knock...
They both turned toward the door at the same time.
"Grandma?" Vera called.
There was no answer.
Then a man's voice rang out.
"Vera, open the door."
Vera recognized the voice.
It was her father's voice.
"Dad?"
The woman in front of her immediately panicked.
"Don't open it."
"Why not?"
"Because he's not your father."
Vera fell silent.
The knocking grew louder.
"Vera, I know you're in there. Open the door."
Tears began to well up in Vera's eyes.
"If that's not my father, then who is he?"
The woman with the same name took Vera's hand.
"The person who's made everyone forget about me all this time."
Vera stared at the door.
"I need to know the truth."
"If you open that door, there's no going back."
"I've lived with lies for too long."
Vera slowly walked toward the door.
Her hand touched the doorknob.
From the other side, her father's voice sounded again.
"Vera, please. Open the door."
But this time, something was different.
The voice sounded as if it were holding back a laugh.
Vera turned toward the woman behind her.
"If I open this door, what will happen?"
The woman answered softly.
"You'll see who the real uninvited guest in this house is."
Vera drew a deep breath.
Then she opened the door.
The hallway outside was empty.
Her father was nowhere to be seen.
There was no one there.
Only a large mirror that hadn't been there before.
Vera approached the mirror.
At first, she saw only her own reflection.
But a few seconds later, the reflection in the mirror began to change.
In the mirror, a little girl stood behind Vera.
The little girl smiled.
Vera froze.
Because the little girl was Vera herself as a child.
But the girl raised her hand and pointed toward the woman in the room.
Then the little girl's lips moved.
"She's not the real Vera."
Vera spun around.
The woman was no longer where she had been.
The room was empty.
And for the first time, Vera began to wonder.
Was the woman claiming to be her really the victim?
Or was she actually the one who had been hiding the truth all this time?
On the floor of the room, the old book opened by itself.
A new page appeared, its writing slowly coming into view.
"Don't trust anyone who has your face."
Vera stood alone in the dark hallway.
Meanwhile, from the end of the stairs came the sound of someone's footsteps slowly drawing closer.
Someone who had come to explain everything.
Or perhaps someone who had come to make sure Vera never left the house again.