Standing in their doorway, I watch the two girls playing with their dolls, smiling at how well they are getting along.

Truthfully, they’re our Eleanor’s dolls, but sharing has magically become easier overnight. In the past Eleanor has had problems with the concept of sharing. During playdates, she would gather all her toys in one place—a collection of dolls, building blocks, toy furniture, and random knick-knacks—ignoring the other children. She’d cycling through playing with each thing, unwilling to share anything, even if it had remained untouched for several minutes.

This morning she woke up before Veronica and I. Running into our room she exclaimed, “Mommy! Daddy! I have a new friend!”

I’m not sure how long they were awake prior to this exclamation. I wish I could have been a fly on the wall to watch their first interaction.

They had been playing all morning.

It had quickly become confusing having two Eleanors in the house. Veronica, over breakfast, suggested that we call them Ella and Nora. The other Eleanor clapped her hands in excitement. “Just like the princess!” she gasped, shooting her hands out as if she was throwing icicles.

“I don’t think that’s what her name was,” I said. “Her name was—,” but I see Veronica shake her head and I let it drop.

We let our Eleanor choose first and she chose Ella while the other Eleanor glumly took up the mantle of Nora.

“It’s a cool name,” I told Nora. “It sounds like the name of a hurricane.”

“Oh great,” she says in reply. “You tell bad jokes, too.” She glares at me, crossing her arms.

“It’s not a joke,” I tell her. “Last year there was a hurricane—” Out of the corner of my eye I see Veronica shake her head, so once again, I let it drop.

Once breakfast and their re-naming was completed, the two girls went back to playing. Ella gave Nora a tour of our house before introducing her to the rest of her collection of dolls and stuffed animals.

Veronica and I observed at a distance, occasionally whispering about what we were going to do beyond this moment.

How do you introduce people to a doppelganger? How do you explain it to her grandparents, neighbors or her kindergarten teachers? The explanation wasn’t explainable. Even though there were facilities scattered throughout the world searching for dark matter or trying to prove String Theory, there had been no significant discovery even though billions of dollars had been spent on the research and detection technology.

Veronica’s arms slide across my waist as she rests her chin on my shoulder, watching the girls.

Whatever we say and however we say it, the evidence of some strange occurrence was there, playing with dolls in our Eleanor’s room.

“I don’t think we should tell anyone,” Veronica whispers.

“Why?”

“Because the other you might come back for her. We should give it a few days.”

“What if he doesn’t come back for her? What if he can’t?”

“It had to be an accident,” Veronica says. “Who would send their daughter into the multiverse and not come looking for her?”

I don’t respond, because the answer that was reverberting around in my head was, “I would” or at least another version of me. Nora wasn’t here from some mishap of the universe, but was sent here intentionally because of the decisions a psychologically damaged version of myself made.

The rest of the day played out normally—or rather as normally as it could. There was lots of playtime, the occasional reminder to both the girls to take a break and go potty, and plenty of shrieking. Our Eleanor was a shrieker and so, apparently, was her doppleganger. The combined shrieks were almost unbearable, making it almost impossible to concentrate on other tasks or hold a conversation with Veronica. Ella and Nora would chase each other around the house, shrieking constantly, and our conversation would happen in short little bursts, splitting the various sides of our repartee into a question or comment followed by a pause as the two girls tore through the kitchen. Eventually our conversation would pick back up with an answer or comment only to be interrupted a few moments later

Later that day, we sat on the floor of the living room, reading a story about a witch and her very full broom when Nora climbed into my lap next to Ella. As I read, I was aware of the sensation of weight on both my legs. It was an odd experience, but it made me think of what was to come with baby number two. One would be bigger while the other was small. One would be lighter while the other was heavier. But now, with both girls on my lap, where would the little baby go? One of the girls would need to sit on the couch next me, so that I could hold their new baby brother in one of my arms. But then how would I turn the pages?

“Daddy,” Ella nudges me, “you’re not reading.”

I shake my head, focusing on the page; allowing myself to be more present while reading about how the witch tries unsuccessfully to get an elephant onto her broom.

For bedtime, Veronica arranged a makeshift bed for Nora on the floor. She piled several blankets for cushioning before laying down a sheet, pillow, and another blanket for Nora to lay underneath.

The two girls settle into their beds and after several shushings close their eyes and go to sleep.

Veronica and I leave the room and sit on the stairs.

My mind is full of what ifs and what should we dos.

Sensing the building chaos in my brain, Veronica puts her hand on my knee and says, “Let’s see what tomorrow brings.”

And I nod, acknowledging and accepting that, as usual, she was right. We need to see what tomorrow brings.

Eventually, we go downstairs, sitting in the kitchen, talking and theorizing about tomorrow and the day after that. We’d call the school, telling them that our Eleanor was down with the flu. That would buy us a few days with them and my parents before any suspicions arose. We weren’t very social with our immediate neighbors, so if we weren’t outside with the girls we should be fine. But one day, if the other me doesn’t come back, we would need to be able to explain.

“What if we just told the truth?” I ask Veronica.

“What?” Why?”

“Because she does exist. She can’t just stay in our house all the time. She’ll need to go to school or the doctor and how do we explain that?”

“We could homeschool them,” Veronica says.

I laugh. “Sure. That fixes the challenges with school. But what about everyone else? What happens when our neighbors see two identical girls running around our front yard?”

“Couldn’t we just say that she’s our niece?” Veronica offers.

“We’re only children,” I respond. “Besides, she doesn’t have a birth certificate or a social security number.”

“Could I tell them that there was a mixup during Eleanor’s birth and I really had twins?” Veronica asks. “One of them was taken away and now we’ve found her—Praise Jesus.”

“How many people have you told your birth story to? How could you have left out that you had twins?”

Upstairs there’s a thump and soft footsteps. I can hear the girls’ door open. Getting up from the table, I walk over. Ella and Nora are standing at the top of the stairs, holding hands.

“Hey,” I whisper, “You’re supposed to be in bed.”

“I had a bad dream,” Ella says.

“Me too,” says Nora.

“I’m sorry,” I tell them. “Was it scary?”

They nod.

“It was just a dream and it’s over now. Would you like mommy and daddy to tuck you in?”

“You’re not my real daddy,” Nora says.

Veronica comes up behind me. “Would you like me to tuck you in?”

Nora smiles and nods.

Back in their room, I kneel on the floor next to Ella’s bed while Veronica sits on the floor with her hand on the rising and falling chest of Nora. Ella’s eyes are getting tired, and I’m sure Nora’s are doing the name. Her eyes begin to shut slowly. Lower, lower her eyelids fall, but then they shoot open. Ella scoots backward in her bed, looking at me and then past me, her eyes darting around the room, wide with fear. I hear Nora gasp as well.

“Did you hear that?” Ella asks.

I look at Veronica. She shrugs and I shake my head.

“Shhhhh,” Nora says, putting her finger to her mouth to quiet us.

“There it is again,” Ella says.

Crossing the room, I turn off the ocean sounds coming from the sound machine. I stand still, arms folded, watching the two girls. Veronica is looking around as well. I don’t hear anything, but the girls continue to gasp and point every few seconds to various places in their room. It’s like a game, but their facial reactions tell me that it’s not a fun one. There’s genuine concern and fear written across their faces.

“What is it?” Veronica asks. “What are you hearing?”

“Mommy,” Ella says, “someone is crying.”

“It’s a girl,” Nora exclaims, “it’s another little girl.”

I closed my eyes, focusing, and sure enough, I could hear the faint sobs of a little girl.

“Why is she sad, Daddy?” Ella asks.

“It’s probably a neighbor,” I respond.

I get up, leaving the bedroom, and head downstairs.

I open the sliding glass door that leads to the porch and listen. Nothing.

I walk to the front door, open it, and step outside listening. Nothing.

When I get back upstairs. Veronica and the girls are sitting next to each other, their attention focused on the corner of the room next to the dresser.

“It’s coming from there,” Veronica says, pointing to the corner.

I edge closer and sure enough, the sound is slightly louder.

“I think it’s happening again,” Veronica whispers.

“What?” I ask.

“It’s him,” Veronica says. “The other you. He’s messing with the multiverse.”

I step closer. “Who are you?” I ask, speaking into the shadows that occupy that corner of the room.

We listen intently and we can hear the crying subside.

“Who are you?” I ask again, a bit louder

There’s a distant scream, mostly inaudible. But through the garbled sounds and gasps and coughs I hear, “Daddy!”