"She never told me that she..." In my hand, I held a photograph of my wife and her late sister, who had been dead for months. The photo looked recent, with the pair only looking maybe a couple years younger than they were, but what struck me was that they looked the same. They were identical twins, and I had never known before that moment.

"Ezekiel? Honey?" My wife stepped into the kitchen with a stretch and a yawn. "How's breakfast going? Do you need help?"

I stuffed the photo in my pocket and turned to face her. "It's going!" I blurted out. "I'm good. I've almost finished these eggs, so-"

"Honey, they're smoking," she said.

I turned to see the eggs blackening. "Crap!" I shouted.

She laughed. She laughed. My wife always showed concern before laughing. A subtle, but noticeable difference.

I rushed to turn off the stove and get the pan off of it, throwing the destroyed eggs into the trashcan and running cold water over the pan so I could wash it and try again. She moved toward me and kissed me on the cheek. "I can't believe I married such a klutz," she teased. That was in character.

"Neither can I," I responded with a nervous chuckle.

She left the room with a quick wave. "It's our day off, so don't mess up any more eggs. I'm trusting you, Ezekiel. We have lots to do today!"

I acknowledged her with a quick, "Yeah," and returned my attention to my second attempt at breakfast. I cracked eggs, placed them in the frying pan, and stirred them around to scramble them. This held the lion's share of my focus, but the picture in my pocket nagged at my mind. Why hadn't she told me her sister was an identical twin? People tend not to leave those sorts of things out of descriptions.

As the eggs were almost done, I placed a couple pieces of bread in our toaster, then slapped everything onto a pair of plates and walked out to the living room where she was waiting. "Finished."

"You didn't put anything on them, did you?" she asked. "I'm not in the mood for my usual cheese today."

I realized I had forgotten to put the cheese on them today. Under normal circumstances, I would get sent back into the kitchen with a half-joking groan and told to put some fiesta blend on them, but... not today. I shook my head. "I forgot."

"Lucky you."

My wife had been acting slightly off since the untimely passing of her estranged sister. She had rarely spoken of her sister even when prompted, but I had thought it was because the relationship was strained. But something was up, and she wasn't being forthwith about it.

"If you don't mind me asking, what kind of relationship did you and your sister have?" I asked.

She very nearly choked on her toast. "What brought that up?"

"Well, you never really talked about her, so I was just wondering. You never even said you were twins," I said. I produced the photo I had in my pocket. "You dropped this when you were coming home last night, so..."

She took it, for some reason looking annoyed. "I never talked about her, huh?" She spaced out for a moment. "Of course I didn't. Our relationship wasn't all rosepetals and bath bombs."

My wife had always had a habit of coming up with eccentric idioms, and that was definitely something she would say. Perhaps I was worrying over nothing.

"It's best if you don't worry about it, Ezekiel. She's gone now, so it's not even a consideration."

"That's cold of you," I said, concerned. "She was your sister."

She frowned. I could see frustration building on her face, but I hoped I could tread the line and prevent her from breaking entirely, like I usually did. "Estranged sister. We didn't like each other anyway."

"You seem happy enough in the photo."

"That was years ago. Things were different."

"I mean, you must miss her," I said. "What changed?"

"She changed, not me!" she snapped. Immediately, she slapped a hand over her mouth. Slowly, however, after considering her words, she pulled it away and continued. "I... mean... after we got married, she started acting differently. Just... cold to me. And after she seemed so excited about you, too."

I suddenly felt guilty about pushing it. "I'm sorry to bring it up," I said. "I didn't mean to bring up something painful, I just-"

"You were curious. It's okay."

We finished up breakfast and I placed the dishes back in the kitchen. I started to make my way back to the living room, but I stopped as I was about to round the corner. She was listening to a voicemail message on her phone.

"Parker, if you're receiving this message, I am dead, and I need you to do something for me. My husband, Ezekiel, is dangerous. Not in deed or personality, or in any way he can control; he wouldn't hurt a fly, the sweetroll he is," the voicemail said. "But there's something no one except for me knows about him, not even himself: If he experiences any loss, any trauma, he will destroy this Earth. I can't explain to you why, and I can't tell you how, but it will happen. I need you to become me. The arrangements to fake your death have already been made. Step into my place, be Ezekiel's wife. You know I would never lie to you, so I need you to do this one last thing. If you're even a fraction as lucky as I was, you will fall in love with him just like I did. And one last thing- I'm sorry, Parker, for leaving you behind. Ezekiel took my whole attention, for both his sake and the world's. After being married to him for a few weeks, you'll understand. I promise. Goodbye."

I stepped into the room. She hid away her phone. "Elizabeth?" I asked.

"Yes, honey?"

"Who are you?"

The ground started to shake.