You toss and turn in the night, trying to run from the shadows in your mind, but they keep coming. They are everywhere, have been everywhere, will always be everywhere. You know this because he told you. The man with your face.

A fortnight later, and you are strapped to a bed, being suffocated under blankets soaked in ice water. The orderly piles another across your mouth and you cannot scream, because screaming requires oxygen. The man with your face looks at you and smiles, tells you this is necessary, to save you. You believe him because his face looks honest.

Nine months later, and you're trying to breathe through the pain. Your side has not hurt so much since they inseminated you with the baby, bulging and moving, trying to get free. The skin finally bursts, and you feel warmth slide down your side. The man with your face brings the little one to you and tells you you did well. You smile weakly and wriggle your bloated arms against the mound of your body, wishing to hold your baby. But it is alright. The man with your face has saved you, and will keep the child safe.

You are grateful.