The Other Woman

I remember the day I lost my Nana to another woman. I was visiting her apartment with my parents, and she kept going in and out of her bedroom, becoming more and more agitated as though she’d lost something important.

“Can I help, Nana?” I asked. As we sat on the edge of her bed, she told me about a woman in her building who was imitating her every move, even putting on the same clothes as her just to torment her.

“I tell her to go away,” said Nana, “but she just stares back at me. I don’t know how to stop her.”

I squeezed her hand, trying to comfort her like she’d done for me countless times. It was then that I looked up and saw her wardrobe mirror covered with cardboard.

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