That night, as they lay in bed, the tension between them felt heavier than ever. Will stared at the ceiling, his borrowed features illuminated by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. Stacy was beside him, her back turned slightly as she fiddled absentmindedly with the hem of the blanket. Neither of them spoke for a long time, the weight of the day’s events hanging thick in the air.
Finally, Will turned toward her, his heart aching with a desperate need for some semblance of normalcy. “Stacy,” he murmured, his voice soft but trembling. When she turned to face him, he reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. For a moment, she didn’t pull away, her hazel eyes meeting his identical ones.
“I just…” he started, his voice cracking slightly. “I just want to feel close to you again. Like we’re us, not… this.”
He leaned in, his lips hesitating inches from hers. But as their faces drew closer, he saw it—the flicker of doubt in her eyes. It wasn’t hesitation born of rejection or lack of love, but the sheer strangeness of the situation. Kissing your spouse was one thing; kissing an exact copy of yourself was something else entirely.
Stacy placed a gentle hand on his chest, stopping him. “Will…” she whispered, her voice filled with emotion. “I’m sorry. I… I just need some time.”
Will froze, his heart sinking as he pulled back, realizing how much he’d misjudged the moment. “No, I get it,” he said quickly, his voice tight. “It’s too weird. I’m—this is—”
“Will, stop,” Stacy interrupted, her own eyes brimming with tears. “It’s not you. It’s not about love. I do love you. But this… this is just… I need time to adjust, to process everything.”
He nodded, swallowing hard as he tried to fight back the tears threatening to spill. “Yeah. I understand.”
They lay there for a moment, neither knowing what to say. Finally, Stacy moved closer, wrapping her arms around him. “I’m so sorry, Will,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I hate that this is happening to us.”
Will hugged her back tightly, burying his face in her shoulder. The tears came then, silently at first, and then freely. Stacy’s own tears soon followed, and they clung to each other, their sobs mingling in the quiet room.
Two identical women, but only one Will and one Stacy, holding each other in shared pain, grief, and love.
