IMPOSTER

Lucia Roosevelt had always gotten what she wanted. As the cherished daughter of an Italian mafia family, she was accustomed to power, wealth, and luxury. When she fell in love with Thomas Roosevelt, an ambitious American businessman, she fought for their impossible love, enduring family betrayals, threats, and even bloodshed. And when she finally won, when they escaped to America to start their perfect family, she was convinced that destiny owed her a son. The pregnancy was difficult, but Lucia bore it with pride. She refused to know the baby’s gender, convinced in her heart that it was a boy. She envisioned a strong heir, the future leader of the Roosevelt empire. But destiny was cruel. The delivery room was filled with silence when the first cry echoed. A girl. The doctor hesitated before delivering the second piece of devastating news. “Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Roosevelt. You have twin daughters.” Thomas stepped back, his face paling as if he had been slapped. Lucia didn’t move, her breath caught in her throat. The nurses exchanged awkward glances, unsure how to handle the eerie stillness of two parents who should have been overjoyed but instead stood frozen in horror. Lucia finally exhaled, shaking her head in disbelief. “No,” she whispered. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.” Thomas ran a hand through his hair and exhaled heavily. “Find someone who wants them,” he told the doctor coldly. “We’ll try again for a son.” The nurses gawked at him, appalled. Even the doctor shifted awkwardly, thinking surely they weren’t serious. Then came the second blow. “One of the babies is weak,” the doctor explained. “She’s showing early signs of leukemia. A bone marrow transplant is needed immediately.” Lucia, lying weak in her hospital bed, stared blankly at the doctor. “Then take what she needs from the other one.” The doctor hesitated. “There are risks. The donor baby might not survive—” “I don’t care.” Thomas barely spared the babies a glance before nodding in agreement. “Do whatever you have to.” The surgery was scheduled without delay. The weaker twin clung to life while the other, unknowingly, was carved open to save her. The doctors marveled at how fragile the sick twin was, as if she had only entered the world to suffer. They were even more shocked that the parents didn’t seem to care if one child died to preserve the other. But both survived. Two days after the procedure, Lucia finally went to see the babies. It was only curiosity at first,she wanted to look at the child they had gone through so much trouble to save. She expected to feel nothing. Instead, she felt an unfamiliar ache in her chest when she saw the tiny, frail baby wrapped in white. She was so small, so delicate, her fingers curling and uncurling in the air. Lucia’s breath caught as she reached out and touched her cheek. The baby turned toward the warmth, nuzzling her mother’s fingers. Lucia returned the next day. And the next. Soon, she ordered the nurses to bring the baby to her room. She started nursing her. Holding her. By the second week, she was utterly captivated. When it came time to take her home, the doctor hesitated. “And the other baby?” Lucia frowned, as if she had genuinely forgotten there were two. Thomas scoffed. “Do whatever you want with it.” Lucia hesitated for a moment, then recalled something—the baby had saved her chosen daughter’s life. What if she got sick again? What if she needed another transplant in the future? “Bring her,” she told their bodyguard dismissively. “She can be useful.” The two babies arrived at Roosevelt Manor, but only one was welcomed. Lucia cradled her golden child, Valeria, in her arms, ensuring her nursery was set up in the master bedroom. Meanwhile, the other girl was given to a nanny and sent to the servant’s quarters. “What’s her name?” the nanny asked hesitantly. Lucia barely looked up. “Valentina,” she said, recalling the name of a childhood doll. And so, the princess and the shadow were born. ************ Valentina learned quickly that she was different. She wasn’t allowed into the main house. She wasn’t allowed to speak to the Roosevelts. She wasn’t allowed to want or need or dream. She lived in the quiet corners of the estate, fed, clothed, and educated just enough to be useful. But she was not family. At seven, she had only seen Valeria from afar glimpses of chocolate curls, designer dresses, and a bright, dazzling smile that seemed to make everyone adore her. She wanted to meet her. One evening, while the house was bustling with preparations for a party, Valentina sneaked inside. She followed the sound of voices and laughter, creeping through the halls until she reached the dining area. There, she saw her sister. Valeria stood at the center of the room, furious. “I said red velvet cake, not strawberry!” she shrieked, throwing a handful of cake at a maid’s face. The maid flinched, looking down, humiliated. “I’m sorry, Miss Valeria. I’ll bake another—” “I don’t want another! You’re stupid and useless!” Something inside Valentina snapped. Before she could think, she ran forward and shoved Valeria hard. The brunette girl tumbled to the ground, gasping in shock. “You’re an ugly, mean princess!” Valentina spat. The room fell into stunned silence. Valeria’s lips trembled, her eyes widening with disbelief. Then, she started screaming. Lucia stormed in, her expression murderous. Valentina barely had time to react before Lucia’s hand struck her face, the force sending her crashing onto the floor. Pain exploded in her cheek, but the worst part was the cold, cutting look in her mother’s eyes. Lucia didn’t see her. She saw nothing. “Take her to the basement,” Lucia ordered icily. “No food or water for two days.” Claire, the nanny, tried to protest. “Mrs. Roosevelt, she’s just a child—” Lucia turned on her with a glare so sharp it silenced her instantly. “That thing is not my child.” Valentina was dragged away, her cries echoing through the grand halls of the house she would never be welcome in. And so, she learned. She was not allowed to have emotions. She was not allowed to fight back. She was not allowed to exist. She was a shadow, a mere clone of the princess.