A Wilderness of Mirrors

I wake up in a room full of mirrors, a funhouse of distortion where reality is blurred. I gasp, for in one of the mirrors, I see a young version of me— rocking and singing a lullaby to my newborn baby girl, with a full head of dark hair. By my side, a little boy with blue eyes and blond hair— a million-dollar family. Sighing contently, I hold them close to me. A muffled sound—sobbing—is heard in the distance, the sound alarmingly familiar. The mother sobs uncontrollably, her graying hair and lines on her face reveal a much older version of myself, clutching to her heart a picture of a beautiful, brown-eyed girl with dimples. In the mirror, she reads: RIP. The mirror doesn’t lie.