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— Well... what is it? — said Milford, swallowing hard and staring closely at Monica’s face — his sister, who sat there with her mouth open, staring at her phone screen. It seemed his quiet question had curved around her in some impossible arc, because she didn’t even twitch an ear, still glued to the screen. But as soon as he started buttoning his coat, she suddenly came to life.
— Hey! No, don’t you dare cover up! It looks like it actually works! — Monica shouted so sharply that Milford froze with his fingers on the coat button.
— What?.. — he managed to squeeze out uncertainly.
Monica got up from the café table and came closer to Milford, turning her phone toward him, showing a few screenshots.
— That’s you! — she said with a strange mix of excitement and horror. — Jeronima Star.
— Who? — Milford frowned, reaching out for the phone, but Monica stepped back, clutching it to her chest like the find of the century.
— Wait, just a sec... — She quickly scrolled through several pages in the app, her face looking more and more stunned with every swipe. — Here... listen. Jeronima Star — born in 1983 in Mobile, Alabama. Journalist, TV host, owner of some fashion podcast and... — Monica looked up and let out a short snort. — Married to the owner of a sports bar chain, Dan Star.
Milford blinked.
— Some... housewife from TikTok? — he scoffed. — And... 1993, that’s when our parents only just met, right? And why the hell would that be me? I’m even younger than you, and this one’s some kind of... — he glanced at the phone screen, — MILF.
— Well yeah, looks like the only alternate version of you happened to be born before you, — noted Monica, and nodding toward his open jacket, added: — And she’s doing pretty damn well for herself, apparently. I like her... elegance, and how her breasts show through that T-shirt... And those hips — must’ve come from Grandma. Damn... You got lucky!
— Monica! — shouted Milford, but his sister just waved him off, not taking her eyes off the screen, as if afraid the image would disappear if she blinked.
— No, you don’t get it! — she almost stammered. — It’s not just a face match... Look here. — She zoomed in on the photo: a woman in her forties, well-groomed, wearing a soft white blouse with ruffles and leopard-print leggings, stood in the exact same pose as Milford, holding a coat the same way. The resemblance was chilling — the same eyes, the same shape of lips, even a mole that could be seen on her left breast under the white blouse. — This is you... if you hadn’t been born Milford...Full story (11 700 characters - 5 parts + add. images) is open to subscribers here or on Patreon