The Stranger in My Mother's Eyes

I was chatting enthusiastically with my classmate from Germany when Mom suddenly chimed in:

What are you talking about?

I froze.

Mom was indeed a housewife.

But in her youth, she had spent five years in Germany. Her German was even more fluent than mine.

Yet she couldn't recognize that I had just called her name.

Was she really my mother?

No one knew that Mom had lived in Germanyno one except me.

When I decided to study abroad in Germany, I started learning German in advance.

There was one word I kept mispronouncing no matter how many times I tried.

While trimming vegetables, Mom corrected my pronunciation with perfect, fluent German.

I asked her how she knew German.

She said she'd spent a few years in Germany and even had a name there"Elara."

I wanted to ask more, but she seemed reluctant to discuss it.

I didn't think much of it at the time and gradually forgot about it.

Until today, when my German classmate called. Halfway through our conversation, I went to get some water.

Passing through the living room, I suddenly felt playful and called out "Elara."

She didn't react at all.

I called again, a bit louder this time.

She looked up at me:

"What are you saying? Finished chatting with your friend?"

I stood frozen.

Her German was so goodhow could she not understand my conversation with my classmate?

And even if her German had gotten rusty over time, how could she forget her own name?

I stared at her for a few seconds.

She lowered her head to peel an apple, her knife technique skilled, the peel coming off in one long, continuous strip.

That was her habit. Nothing wrong there.

On her middle finger was a faint scar, left there when I was six years old.

The finger matched too, but something felt off. I just couldn't put my finger on what.

She noticed my gaze and looked up:

"Hurry and eat. I made your favorite chocolate nut cake."

I sat at the dining table, my heart pounding.

"Mom, did you put peanuts in it? I'm allergic to peanuts."

She glanced up at me, her tone calm:

"Didn't your allergy clear up? Peanuts add texture to nut cake."

I exhaled in relief.

If she weren't my mom, hearing me mention a peanut allergy would have made her say something like "Oh shoot, I forgot you can't eat peanuts."

But she remembered that my allergy had cleared up two years ago.

I silently laughed at myself for being paranoid.

Dad emerged from his room, and his eyes lit up when he saw the chocolate nut cake.

"Chocolate nut cake again! Millia's favorite."

He cut me a large slice.

I smiled and took a bite.

The cake was delicious, but my smile froze on my face.

Something was wrong! Completely wrong!

She wasn't my mother!

Dad noticed me spacing out and asked:

"What's wrong? Your mom's cake not good?"

I forced a smile and swallowed the cake:

"It's good. Tastes just like always."

It really was deliciousrich chocolate, plenty of crushed nuts, no problems there.

But the almond slices hadn't been removed.

Mom liked almond slices, but because I didn't, she never included them when making nut cake.

She'd done this for over twenty years without a single mistake.

But today, I tasted the bitter almond slices.

Mom sat across from me, nagging Dad about smoking less and reminding me not to stay up late in Germany, just like always.

She even gossiped about the neighbor Mary's daughter.

I smiled and responded, but inside I was growing cold.

She showed no signs of being different. Even certain small habits and her tone of voice were identical to Mom's.

But I clearly sensed she wasn't Mom at all.

I stole a glance at Dad. He kept his head down, eating, occasionally looking up to respond.

If Mom had been replaced, he should be the first to notice.

Yet he sat there peacefully, completely oblivious.

After dinner, I made an excuse to return to my room.

I opened my phone and pulled up Mom's social media account.

Her last post was three days agothe day I returned home.

She'd posted a photo of an airplane with a caption:

"My little bird is finally coming home."

Very ordinary, very normal, in Mom's usual tone.

But the photo was wrong. It was too casualthe plane was crooked in the frame, the horizon tilted.

I zoomed in. The composition was completely haphazard.

It looked like someone had randomly raised their phone and pressed the shutter.

But Mom wasn't like that. She was meticulous about everything, with high standards for all tasks.

Even photographing a tree required her to adjust the angle for ages, ensuring every line in the frame was perfectly straight.

This photo wasn't taken by her.

It looked more like something deliberately taken to show me, to prove she was my mother.

My heart went cold. I kept scrolling.

On April 1st, Mom had posted a photo.

It was of roses in the garden.

The edges of the petals were outlined in golden sunlight, the background perfectly blurred, the horizon perfectly level.

This one was right.

I enlarged the photo, searching for differences bit by bit.

Suddenly I noticed something in the shadow of the rose stems in the lower left cornera note, pressed under the flowerpot.

I zoomed in further. The note had a line of small text, in German.

Jeder Mensch ist geheimnisvoll.

Every person is mysterious.

Was this sentence a clue Mom deliberately left, or just coincidence?

I sent the sentence to my German classmate, who quickly replied.

Jeder Mensch ist geheimnisvoll. Du hast gar keine Ahnung, wie gut oder schlecht er ist, bis du ihn wirklich kennst und die Wahrheit siehst.

Every person is mysterious. You have no idea how good or bad they are until you truly know them and see the truth.

Why would Mom leave this sentence?

I suddenly remembered something from two years ago when Mom and I watched a TV show at home.

In the show, the female lead wanted a divorce, but the male lead coveted her family's wealth. He not only killed her but pushed her parents off a cliff.

When Mom saw that scene, she said this exact sentence.

And coincidentally, Dad really was a poor boy who married a rich girl.

Could it be that Mom had a conflict with Dad and wanted a divorce, which was why she wrote this?

If Mom wanted a divorce, what would she do first?

I sat bolt upright.

If I were Mom and wanted to leave a dangerous person, I'd transfer my assets first.

Then find a safe place. Germany?

I immediately called the airline's customer service.

"Hello, can you check if Chloe booked a flight to Germany in April?"

"Yes, Ms. Chloe booked a one-way ticket to Berlin on the evening of April 2nd."

My heart raced faster:

"Did she board the flight?"

"This ticket shows as unused."

I hung up.

The rose photo was posted April 1st. The ticket was for April 2nd.

But Mom never boarded.

Perhaps she never even left the house!

I didn't dare think further.

This mom in the house was definitely fake. So where was my real mother?

Had they hidden her, or had she already been killed?

Mom was so smart. She couldn't have left nothing behind.

I closed my eyes, desperately trying to remember.

Growing up, Mom and I had shared many things no one else knew about.

Some moments only she and I knew.

If she really wanted to leave a clue, she would put it somewhere only I could find.

My eyes shot open.

As a child, I had a tin box where I kept my collection of stickers and marbles.

Once, Mom joked that if she ever needed to leave me a secret, she'd put it in that box.

Because Dad would never bother going through my junk.

I quietly went up to the attic and pulled the tin box from the back of the storage shelf.

Inside were the marbles I'd played with as a child, along with an additional note.

It contained only a string of numbersan unfamiliar phone number.

I dialed the number.

"Hello, I'm Millia. Do you know Chloe?"

Silence on the other end for a second.

"I'm Attorney Lehman. Ms. Chloe previously commissioned me to draft a will. She planned to leave all her assets to you."

"However... she didn't show up on the appointed day."

"When was the appointment?"

"April 2nd in the afternoon. Ms. Chloe said she needed to go to the hospital in the morning, so she could only schedule the afternoon."

Hospital. My head buzzed.

"Was she sick?"

"Ms. Chloe didn't specify the reason. She only mentioned needing to get a checkup."

"Which hospital?"

"I'm sorry, that's Ms. Chloe's private matter. I don't know."

He hung up. I gripped my phone, blood rushing backward through my body.

I opened my phone and quickly searched for "hospital."

There were three hospitals near our house: First Hospital, Howard Hospital, and the Maternal and Child Health Center.

I called all three hospitals.

But only one respondedthat Ms. Chloe had not visited the hospital on April 2nd.

I sat on the floor, my mind racing.

April 1st: photographed roses, sent a distress signal.

Then scheduled an appointment with a lawyer to draft a will.

April 2nd morning: planned to go to the hospital for a checkup but didn't goor perhaps Mom never intended to go to the hospital and it was just an excuse.

April 2nd afternoon: planned to go to the law office for asset certification, but didn't go.

April 2nd evening: planned to fly to Germany to find me, also didn't go. But the ticket was booked, meaning Mom definitely intended to go.

So something must have happened between the afternoon of April 1st and the morning of April 2nd!

What happened in those less than twenty-four hours?

As I pondered this, I caught sight of a figure at the attic entrance.

I whipped my head around.

Dad stood there, leaning against the doorframe, watching me quietly.

His eyes were calm, as if he'd been watching me for a long time.

"Who were you calling?"

He smiled faintly at me, like a leopard that had locked onto its prey.

My back was already drenched in cold sweat.

I clenched the note tightly in my palm.

Suppressing my panic, I kept my voice as steady as possible:

"Nothing. Just chatting with a classmate. Need to write a paper."

Dad nodded without saying more, his thumb gently rubbing the corner of his shirt.

That was something he only did when nervous.

I decided to test him.

"Dad, don't you think Mom's been a bit different lately?"

A flicker of panic flashed through his eyes.

"Not at all. Your mom's been looking forward to you coming home. Maybe she just missed you too much."

I smiled:

"Maybe I'm overthinking it. I missed you guys too."

Then I faked a yawn and rubbed my eyes:

"I'm so tired. I'm going to bed."

I walked past him calmly, my steps measured.

Down from the attic, through the hallway, into my room.

The moment I closed the door, my whole body trembled.

I immediately pulled out my phone:

"Hello, I need to report something to the police."

"My mother is missing. I suspect she's been kidnapped or killed, and the perpetrator is in the house right now."

I gave them my address. The police said they'd dispatch officers immediately.

I breathed a slight sigh of relief. Just then, I heard rustling outside the door.

I pressed my ear against the door.

"She's too smart, just like her mother. She must have discovered something."

"Hide the medicine first. Don't let her see it."

"Give this to her. Only when she's completely silenced will we be safe."

My heart went cold. They were going to drug me.

In that instant, countless thoughts raced through my mind.

They must know I'm suspicious, so they want to silence me permanently.

As I considered how to escape, the door was suddenly knocked.

"Millia, I've warmed up some milk for you. Come out."

The doorknob moved but didn't turn.

"Millia, why did you lock the door? Open up!"