The Switch
I always knew my husband and his brother were close. As identical twins, they shared a bond I could never quite understand. They dressed alike, finished each other's sentences, and loved pulling pranks on friends and family. I used to think it was charming, even funny. But last night, the "joke" went too far.
I woke up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water. My husband was sleeping soundly next to me, his back turned. As I climbed back into bed, the moonlight from the window illuminated his shoulder. I froze. My husband has a distinct, jagged scar on his left shoulder blade from a childhood bike accident. The man in my bed had smooth, unblemished skin.
"I touched his shoulder, hoping my eyes were deceiving me. But the skin was perfect. It wasn't him."
I screamed. The man jolted awake, and even his confused expression was a mirror image of the man I married. But the voice—slightly deeper, slightly different—confirmed my nightmare. It wasn't my husband. It was his Twin Brother.
My husband burst into the room from the hallway, laughing, holding his phone up to record my reaction. They thought it was hilarious. They had switched places before bed as a "joke" to see if I would notice. They claimed nothing happened, that it was just a prank. But the trust is shattered. I don't see a husband and a brother-in-law anymore. I see two strangers who conspired to violate the sanctity of my marriage for a laugh.
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