THE WOMAN UNLOCKED MY APARTMENT WITH A KEY, CLAIMING MY HUSBAND INVITED HER — BUT WHEN SHE SAW HIM, SHE ASKED, “WHO’S THAT?”

I came home after two exhausting months at the hospital with my mom. I was just out of the bathroom when I heard the front door unlock.

A young, pretty woman stepped inside as if she owned the place. Before I could react, she blurted, “Who are YOU?” I stared.
“Excuse me? I live here. Who are YOU?”
She frowned.

“I’ve never seen you before.” “I was away. Who gave you a key to MY apartment?”
“Michael. He told me I could come anytime.” My stomach dropped. Michael—my husband. I took a sharp breath.

“Well, now that I—his WIFE—am back, you obviously can’t.”
Her expression turned cold. “Oh? He told me he was single… I’m sorry, I guess I should go.”
“No, wait!” I said. “Come with me.” I led her to the kitchen, where Michael was peacefully eating breakfast. She glanced at him, turned to me, and asked, “Who’s THAT?”

I felt the blood drain from my face. My heartbeat pounded in my ears.

“What do you mean, who’s that?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

The woman crossed her arms, her confused expression not changing. “That’s not Michael.”

My stomach twisted. My pulse raced. I turned to my husband—or at least, the man I had been calling my husband for the past three years.

He was staring at us, mid-bite, his fork frozen in the air. His face went ghostly pale.

The woman looked at me again, then back at him. “That’s not the man I’ve been dating.”

A cold shiver ran down my spine.

I slowly turned to face him. “Michael,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Would you like to explain what’s happening?”

He swallowed hard, setting his fork down with a clatter. “Babe, I—”

“Don’t call me that.”

The woman beside me scoffed. “Unbelievable.” She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her photos. “Here. This is the Michael I’ve been seeing for the past six months.”

She turned the screen to me.

And there he was.

A man who looked identical to my husband.

But not him.

My breath hitched. My knees wobbled. The man in the pictures had the same sharp jawline, the same dark eyes, the same neatly trimmed beard. But the more I looked, the more I noticed the subtle differences—his hair slightly shorter, a small scar above his brow that my Michael didn’t have.

I turned back to the man at the table. “What the hell is going on?”

He ran a shaky hand through his hair. “I can explain.”

The other woman let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, this should be good.”

He exhaled. “I have a twin brother.”

My stomach clenched. “A twin? Since when?”

“Since birth,” he muttered, rubbing his temples.

I shot him a death glare. “Don’t get smart with me right now, Michael.”

The other woman’s face twisted in fury. “Are you telling me I’ve been dating your twin this whole time?”

Michael nodded.

“And you never thought to mention it?!”

“I—”

I held up my hand. “No. No more lies.” I turned to the woman beside me. “What’s your Michael’s full name?”

She pursed her lips. “Michael Carter.”

A sharp chill ran through me.

I stepped closer to my husband. “What’s your full name?”

He hesitated.

“Say it.”

His eyes met mine. “Matthew Carter.”

I staggered back, gripping the edge of the counter.

“Oh my God.”

The woman gasped beside me. “Are you kidding me?”

The pieces were falling into place in my mind, faster than I could process.

The past three years. The way Michael—Matthew—never let me meet his family. The weird gaps in his stories. How he always seemed nervous when certain topics came up.

He wasn’t hiding an affair.

He was hiding his entire identity.

I sucked in a breath. “You’re not my husband.”

Matthew’s face crumpled. “Please, just listen—”

“NO!” I shouted, stepping away from him like he was a stranger. Because he was.

Tears burned my eyes. “Did Michael even know I existed? Does he know you’ve been pretending to be him?”

Matthew’s silence was deafening.

The other woman cursed under her breath. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

I clenched my fists. “Get out.”

“Babe, please—”

“I SAID, GET OUT!”

Matthew swallowed hard, glancing between us. Then, finally, he stood, grabbed his keys, and walked toward the door.

I didn’t move until I heard it slam shut behind him.

The room was dead silent.

The other woman exhaled shakily. “So… what now?”

I let out a hollow laugh.

“Now?” I whispered, wiping a tear off my cheek.

“Now, I find my real husband.”