Someone breathes beside you. Four slow breaths, then a catch in the throat. You know that catch. You heard it through your mother's bedroom door during the last winter of her life. Your bedside clock reads three seventeen. The other pillow is empty. You hold your breath. The sound continues. Then the mattress rises under a weight you cannot see. You switch on the lamp. Nothing. Your phone lights up against the sheets: a missed call from Nora, your sister. After eight months of silence, she has left one message. Don't answer if it sounds like Mom. I'm coming over. In the wardrobe mirror, your reflection reaches for the phone after your hand has stopped. Its mouth opens. You turn the mirror toward the wall before it can speak. The breathing moves into the hallway.
Someone is breathing beside you. You live alone. Your estranged sister knows why it sounds like your mother.
Listen closely. Choose carefully. Carry the consequences.
Every path leaves a different story.