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

THE STEP THAT SHOULD NOT EXIST

The floor did not hold him. And yet he stood.

Not balancing. Not struggling. But standing, as if the absence beneath his feet meant nothing, as if the world itself had adjusted to make space for him.

My breath slowed without permission. Because everything else in the room felt unstable. But he felt certain.

“Mabel.” The voice reached me softly. Kessler’s hand tightened around mine. “Do not move.” His voice cut through. But I was already leaning forward.

He is not standing on anything, Kessler continued. “He is standing through something.” The words did not make sense. But I felt them. Like something beneath everything had shifted and I was the only one who could feel it.

What are you? I asked. The thing wearing my father’s face smiled faintly. “I am what you have been waiting for,” it said.

My chest tightened. Because that was true in a way I hated. Kessler stepped forward abruptly, forcing himself into my line of sight, cutting off the connection before it could deepen.

“That is not him.” No hesitation. No doubt. “Then why does it feel like him?” I asked. Because it learned from you, Kessler replied. The answer landed harder than anything else.

Behind him, the copy moved slightly, unbothered, as if this were unfolding exactly as expected. It does not just learn, he said. “It adapts.”

To what? I demanded. “To what you cannot let go of.”

The thing stepped closer.

Still not touching the ground.

“You don’t have to fight this,” it said. “I’m not fighting,” I replied. “Then stop resisting,” it said.

The words slipped past logic. Straight into instinct. Because resisting meant losing him again. And I had already lost too much.

Kessler’s grip tightened sharply. “You take one step toward that,” he said, and you won’t come back. My chest tightened. “You don’t know that.”

“I do.” The certainty in his voice cut deeper than fear. Because he did not say it to scare me. He said it because he had seen it.

Before I could respond, the thing reached out. Kessler reacted instantly, pulling me back hard enough to break the motion.

“No.” The word snapped between us. He is calling me, I said. “It is testing you,” he replied. The distinction should have mattered. But the voice… the voice did not stop.

“Mabel,” it said again, softer now. “You don’t have to listen to him.” The familiarity cut deep. Because it sounded like comfort. Like home. Like everything I had lost.

Do you remember what I told you? It asked. My breath caught. Because I did. But I did not know if it was memory or manipulation.

Kessler’s voice dropped lower. “Do not answer it.” The thing stepped closer again. And this time, the space between us disappeared.

No movement. No distance. It was just there. Close enough that I could see the details. The lines. The expression. The exact way my father used to look at me when he wanted me to trust him.

You don’t have to be afraid, it said. “I’m not afraid,” I replied. And that was the problem. Because fear would have stopped me.

This pulled me forward. “You’re not him,” I said. The words came out steady. But they did not stop it. “Does that matter?” it asked.

My chest tightened. Because it did. But not enough. Not in the way it should. Kessler stepped forward again, placing himself directly between us.

“Enough.” The command carried force now. Not just authority. The thing did not move back. Did not react. It only looked at me.

“You cannot close it,” it said softly. Kessler’s jaw tightened. “She can.” “No,” it replied. “She won’t.”

The certainty in its voice landed deeper than anything else. Because it was not guessing. It was waiting. Waiting for me to prove it right.

“Close it,” Kessler said. The words came lower now. How? I asked. He did not hesitate. “Let him go.” The answer hit harder than anything else in the room.

Because that was not an action. That was a loss. The thing smiled faintly. “You see?” it said. “He is asking you to forget me.” “I’m asking you to survive,” Kessler replied.

The tension snapped. Because those were not the same thing. My chest rose and fell unevenly.

Because this time, there was no middle.

No delay.

No distraction.

Just a choice.

I closed my eyes. Just for a second. And I remembered… not his face. Not his voice. But the last moment.

The truth.

The blood.

The silence after.

And I let that stay.

Not the version in front of me. The real one. The one that ended. When I opened my eyes, I looked at the thing fully.

“You’re not him,” I said. This time, It meant something. The space around it distorted, the shape flickering for a split second as something underneath it struggled to hold form.

The smile faltered. “You’re making a mistake,” it said. “Maybe,” I replied. But it’s mine.

The connection snapped hard. The thing jerked slightly, its form breaking for a fraction of a second, something darker pushing through the surface before it forced itself back into shape.

Kessler moved immediately, pulling me back, putting distance between us. “Now,” he said. I did not hesitate. I let go of the pull.

Of the voice.

Of the part of me that wanted it to be real.

The air cracked. The sound tore through the room as the figure twisted, collapsing inward and outward at the same time before It vanished.

“It’s over,” I said. Kessler did not answer. That was the first warning. The second was the hand that slid into mine from behind me. And the voice that followed, right against my ear.

“You let the wrong one go.”