It’s been three months since Not-Cameron arrived, and it has become clear that I may never know what happened to the real Cameron. All lines of investigation have gone cold, and I can't prod more for fear Not-Cameron will suddenly turn violent if they are exposed.

Sometimes I feel myself slipping into the dream, believing that maybe all my quiet prayers were answered, and Cameron has returned to the fun and loving man I first fell for. He’s caring and funny. He listens. But then the sight of those cold silvery eyes bring me back to reality. This is not Cameron, this is something else.

So far, my only place of complete privacy is in the bathroom. Occurrences don't occur when I’m in there with the door shut, and Not-Cameron always asks permission to enter.

It seems Not-Cameron respects my boundaries; something the real Cameron sometimes struggled with.

Not-Cameron is both predictable and completely unconventional.

They follow the work routine to the letter. Leaving at 8 am and returning home at 5:45 pm on the dot. Followed by a shared dinner and evening activity.

In the same way, their mysterious outings start at sundown and end at dawn, like clockwork.

But just as Not-Cameron has become more predictable. Some of the things they do are still surprising.

They actively encourage me to go out. With friends. With work colleagues. To go back to the gym. Go on walks. In every horror movie I’ve seen, the evil double isolates their victim. So why do they keep encouraging me to live more independently compared to the past year?

They also never complain about the cost of bills. Always jumping at the chance to pay for groceries. Even pouting when I offer to pay for takeaway. It’s like they have something to prove.

Not only that, but the strange occurrences have also gotten bolder.

The voices are sometimes clearer and louder than whispers. Almost sounding like whoever is speaking is in the room with me.

I keep seeing faces or hands out of the corner of my eye.

Things move when I’m not looking. The TV remote. My phone. Pencils. Any cup of tea I make seems to follow me from room to room.

But even with all the strangeness and anxiety, I don’t feel unsafe. I feel cared for.

A small quiet thought echoes, so loud, in my mind. A thought so sweet and hopeful, that it burns from the inside and yet makes me feel light and giddy.

I hope the real Cameron never comes home.

My stomach jolts. Bile rises in my throat and I immediately turn and drop to my knees by the toilet.