BOUND TO MY FATHERS ENEMY: Hating Him Was Easy…Until I Started Wanting Him

THE REFLECTION THAT BETRAYED ME

The glass did not just reflect. It pulled.

I felt it the moment my eyes locked onto the shard in his hand, a quiet force tightening behind my ribs, drawing my attention deeper than it should go, deeper than sight alone could reach.

“Kessler,” I said. But my voice sounded distant. Like it no longer fully belonged to me. “Do not look at it.”

His warning came shortly this time, but I did not stop. Because I had already seen him.

My father stood inside the reflection, not blurred, not distorted, but clear in a way that made everything else feel less real, his posture familiar, his presence steady, like he had simply been waiting for me to finally look in the right direction.

“Dad.” The word slipped out before I could stop it. The figure moved. His gaze lifted, and then he looked straight at me. Recognition hit instantly. My breath broke. “That is not him,” Kessler said.

His voice cut through, but it did not reach me the way it should. Because the man in the glass lifted his hand and pressed it against the surface.

The shard trembled. Not in the copy’s hand, but from within. “You see it now,” the copy said softly.

I did not answer. I could not, because everything inside me had shifted towards that moment, towards the impossible truth standing just beyond something as fragile as glass.

He is calling you, the copy continued. “No,” Kessler snapped. The sharpness in his voice finally broke through enough to make me flinch.

“That is not your father.” Then why does he look at me like that? I asked. Neither of them answered immediately. That silence felt heavier than anything else. Because it meant they did not have a simple answer.

The figure in the glass moved closer. My pulse pounded harder. “You left me,” I said. The words came out raw, because grief did not disappear. It waited. And this… This brought it back all at once.

His hand pressed harder against the surface. And the glass gave. Not shattered. Not broke. Like it was never meant to hold him back.

Kessler moved instantly. His hand closed around my arm, pulling me back with force that tore my focus away from the shard. “Do not touch it,” he said. But the moment was already slipping. Because I had felt it.

That pull. That connection. “That is him,” I said, my voice unsteady now. “I know it is.”

“No,” Kessler replied. This time, there was no hesitation. Only certainty. “That is what is wearing him.”

The copy stepped closer. “You feel that, don’t you?” he said. “That is not fear.” My breath came shallow. He was right. It was not fear. It was recognition.

“You built your life around his absence,” the copy continued. “Now imagine what happens when that absence is no longer empty.”

The thought hit deep. Because it made sense in a way I did not want it to. Kessler’s grip tightened. “You are not going anywhere near that,” he said. “You cannot decide that,” I replied.

My voice steadied again. Because this was mine.

My father.

My past.

My answer.

You do not understand what you are stepping into, Kessler said. Then stop keeping me out of it, I shot back. Because that was the truth he kept avoiding.

The figure in the glass pushed harder. And this time, something broke through. My breath caught sharply. The room shifted. Like the air itself reacted to that breach, tightening, pulling, warping around the space where reality had just given way.

“He is coming through,” the copy said quietly. Kessler moved in front of me instantly. “Stay back.” But I stepped to the side. Just enough to see. Because I could not see.

The hand pushed further through. Then the wrist. And the movement is slow. Like something that did not need to rush.

“Dad,” I whispered again. The figure paused, just for a second. Then it smiled. My heart stopped. Because that was wrong.

My father did not smile like that. Kessler reacted instantly. He pulled me back hard, putting distance between me and the glass as his voice dropped lower, sharper than I had ever heard it.

“Now you see it.” My pulse slammed. Because I did. The thing in the glass did not stop. It pushed further. Forcing its way into the room inch by inch, reality was bending around it like it had no choice but to let it pass.

The copy watched. “This is what he died holding back,” he said. Because that meant this was not new. This was unfinished. Kessler’s hand tightened around mine again.

“Listen to me,” he said. I forced my gaze onto his. “You do not run,” he continued. “You do not reach for it. You do not answer it.” The thing in the glass pulled itself further through.

A shoulder now. A shape forming. My breath shook. Because it still looked like him. Still felt like him. Even with that smile.

What happens if I don’t? I asked. Kessler did not hesitate. “It comes to you anyway.” The words settled hard. And in the next second, the thing stepped out fully into the room.

Wearing my father’s face. Standing on its own. And it spoke. Not to Kessler. Not to the copy. But to me. “Mabel,” it said gently.

My heart broke. Because the voice… The voice was perfect. “I need you to come with me.” My fingers trembled. Because every part of me wanted to move.

And then it took a step closer. And the floor beneath it… Did not exist.