Doppelganger at the Mall

“I bumped into my husband at the mall with a woman who looks just like me.” 

I was rushing with my sister to grab an early dinner when I spotted them from across the hall — my husband and a woman I’d never seen before. She was holding his arm, talking up at him with this wide grin, and she looked almost exactly like me. Same height, same hair, similar taste in clothing. I froze, swallowing the scream building in my throat. My sister grabbed my arm, whispering, “What the hell is that?”

“The hell if I know,” I managed, my nails digging into my purse strap like it could save me from this nightmare. I saw my husband’s hand brush against her waist, his laugh echoing faintly over the mall’s hum. “He told me he was at work. He hasn’t been answering my texts for hours.”

Even from here, I could see the way she leaned into him, how familiar they seemed. Like she belonged there, not me. My sister’s grip tightened. “What are you going to do?” she asked, but before I could move, my husband turned and spotted me, his face going pale, his eyes darting like he was calculating how to explain this. 

“Wait here,” I whispered, my palms sweating as I started toward him. But the woman’s voice cut through the air before I could speak. “Oh, you must be his wife,” she said brightly, smiling like she hadn’t just been cozying up to my husband. “He’s been telling me all about you.”

Then the phone buzzed again—it was HER. 

*Full story continued in the comments…*I stopped dead, the woman’s saccharine tone grating against my raw nerves. “He has?” I managed, my voice thin and trembling.

“Yes!” she chirped, her smile unwavering. “He’s just wonderful. We’re working on a… project.” She looked up at my husband, her eyes twinkling. He was still frozen, his face a mask of panicked confusion.

“A project?” I echoed, my mind reeling. What kind of project required… this?

Before either of them could answer, I took a deep breath, forcing myself to meet her gaze. “Well,” I said, trying to sound as if I wasn’t seconds away from disintegrating, “I’m sure it’s fascinating. Would you mind if I joined you? I’m sure my input would be invaluable.” My sister, bless her heart, gave a tiny nod of approval from the sidelines.

The woman’s smile faltered for the briefest of seconds. My husband, however, snapped out of his paralysis. “Honey, uh, yes, please. Come over.” His voice was strained, and I could almost feel the panic radiating from him.

We converged, a bizarre tableau in the middle of the bustling mall. The woman, who I now realized was impeccably dressed and perhaps a little too polished, introduced herself as… “Sarah.”

“Sarah,” I repeated, forcing a smile, “It’s a pleasure.”

We stood there, awkwardly. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken accusations and desperate attempts at normalcy.

Finally, I took charge. “So, this project…?” I prompted, looking between them, my gaze lingering on my husband, who was now visibly sweating.

“Well,” Sarah began, her voice regaining its falsely cheerful tone, “it’s… a photoshoot.” She gestured vaguely towards herself. “For a new line of…” she paused, her eyes flickering, “identical clothing!”

My jaw dropped.

“Identical clothing?” I repeated, incredulous. “So, you’re… a model?”

“You could say that!” she exclaimed. “And your husband here is the photographer! He specializes in… er, couples!”

The lies were cascading out of them. The whole thing reeked of desperation. My husband, unable to bear it any longer, caved.

“It’s… it’s a test run,” he stammered, running a hand through his hair. “For a new… AI.”

“AI?” I repeated, my eyebrows shooting up.

He took a deep breath. “It’s for a deepfake program. We wanted to test if the AI could replicate a close person with enough accuracy. She’s the model, I’m the photographer.”

He looked down, his face ashamed. “I know I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

I stared, momentarily speechless. My husband, the guy who thought technology was a printer, involved in a deepfake project? The woman in front of me was a model, paid to look identical to me so that an AI could use her image to manipulate me.

I looked at Sarah, and then at my husband. My sister stepped up to stand next to me.

“So,” I said, drawing a long, shaky breath, “He was testing a deepfake to see if he could replace me, not because he was unfaithful, but because he was testing the new software.”

My husband nodded, the color now completely drained from his face.

“You are both fired from the project. Now.”

With that, I turned and walked away. My sister followed.

I didn’t know what was coming next. But I did know one thing: I was going to get a divorce. And then, I was going to find a good therapist.