Nobody stood behind her.
But the nursery door was now closed.
She knew she had left it open.
Her pulse pounded in her ears as Emma suddenly began crying—hard, desperate cries that sounded almost like warnings.
Olivia backed toward the bedroom window and dialed 911 with trembling fingers.
No signal.
The phone screen glitched violently for a second.
Then the baby monitor turned on by itself.
Static exploded through the speaker.
And beneath it—
Breathing.
Heavy breathing.
Olivia slowly looked toward the closet again.
The door was fully open now.
Inside, hanging beside Emma’s tiny dresses, was an old yellowed photograph taped to the wall.
Olivia stepped closer before she could stop herself.
The photo showed a hospital room.
A woman holding a newborn baby.
But it wasn’t just any woman.
It was Olivia.
Or someone who looked exactly like her.
Except the photo was dated twenty-seven years earlier.
A cold wave crawled down her spine.
“That’s impossible…” she whispered.
Then a voice spoke directly behind her.
“You were never supposed to remember.”
Olivia spun around.
The woman from the monitor stood in the nursery now.
Closer than before.
Older. Pale. Eyes filled with tears.
And in a trembling whisper, the woman said:
“I’m your mother.”
