# **THE OTHER CHILD**
**(The Other Child)**
That Thanksgiving afternoon, a cold wind swept through the suburbs of Ridgewood, New Jersey. In the kitchen, the scent of butter, rosemary, and roast turkey filled the Miller family’s two-story house. I – Lucas Miller – held a carving knife, preparing to cut the first slice. The rest of the family was waiting: my wife – Rachel, my mother – Donna, and our eight-year-old son – Ben.
I remember clearly the moment everything began to fall apart.
“Lucas… stop cutting.”
Rachel’s voice trembled.
I looked up. Her face was so pale I thought she was going to faint. She pointed to the window behind the dining table.
“That baby out there… isn’t ours.”
Ben – who was sitting next to me – turned to look at his mother, frowning:
“What are you talking about? I’m here.”
Rachel didn’t answer. I turned, squinting through the steamed-up glass. At first, all I saw was darkness and tiny snowflakes. But then…
I saw it.
**A child** stood in the backyard—the same height, face, build, even the same navy hoodie Ben was wearing.
He stood motionless, arms hanging down, facing us. No blinking. No expression.
A chill ran down my spine.
“Oh my God…” my mother muttered.
Ben—who was inside—suddenly tugged at my sleeve.
“Dad? What’s going on? Who is that?”
My heart was pounding so hard it hurt my chest. Rachel put her hand to her mouth, starting to back away.
“Lucas… it’s Ben. The **real Ben**.”
—
## **Three Months Ago – The Nightmare Begins**
Ben went missing on a Thursday afternoon in August. I went to pick him up after school and found his backpack right next to the fence. The school camera had malfunctioned that day – the file had been overwritten.
The police opened an investigation, the FBI got involved. No leads.
Until three days later, we got an email.
**A video call.**
Ben appeared on screen, crying, his face dirty, the background looked like a bleach room.
“Mom and Dad… please… pay them…”
Voice shaking, eyes panicked, words broken. The kidnapper never showed his face, only sent instructions on how to transfer the money.
I used to work in tech security, I knew the possibilities of deepfakes – but at that moment I couldn’t think of anything else but saving my son.
After receiving the money, they sent another video: Ben nodded, saying he would be released.
A week later, Ben “returned”.
The police checked his health – normal. There was no sign of beatings or abuse. He didn’t remember the first three days because he was “drugged.” Psychologists even said his reaction was “possibly traumatized.”
We believed. We wanted to believe.
We were stupid.
—
## **Back to the present – Dinner Chaos**
I stood frozen in front of the window, looking at the child outside. He didn’t move even as the cold wind blew his hair.
“Lucas… do something!” Rachel screamed.
I grabbed the phone, about to call 911 when Ben—who was sitting inside—suddenly stood up.
“Don’t call!”
He screamed, his voice cracking like never before.
Rachel grabbed my hand, backing away.
“Lucas… he’s nothing like Ben!”
I looked into the eyes of the “Ben” inside.
And for the first time since he’d been back… I felt **empty**. A cold, deadpan expression, as if it were trying to imitate emotion that wasn’t there.
“B… Ben?” I called out, trembling.
It didn’t answer.
It looked at us—each of us—as if analyzing.
“You don’t understand,” it whispered. “I have to do well. Otherwise… the other one will be punished.”
I froze.
Who? Who will punish?
No one had time to react. It ran toward the back of the house like a frightened animal.
And out there—the real baby—disappeared into the darkness.
I ran after it.
—
## **In the Woods Behind the House—The Hidden Truth**
My backyard led straight into a small patch of woods. The snow was falling heavily, but I kept following the small footprints.
Rachel and my mother called after me, but I focused only on the shadowy figure in front of me.
“Ben! Ben, my son! Stop!”
No response.
I ran for a few minutes and then heard a soft gasp from the bushes. I slowly bent down.
“Ben?”
“Dad…”
The child outside the window was trembling, his lips were purple. But the eyes… the eyes were mine. Full of fear, but still bright.
I held him in my arms. He burst into tears after three months of living in hell.
“Dad, they kept me… They brought another child… made him learn to act like me… if he did something wrong… they beat him…”
I heard footsteps behind me.
The fake Ben.
He stood there, trembling slightly, truly panicked.
“I don’t want to do it anymore… I just did what they said… I don’t remember anything… they said I had to become Ben… I had to live for him…”
Two children – as alike as two peas in a pod – but one was lost and looking for his way home, the other was just a victim turned into a tool.
Rachel touched her chest and collapsed. My mother covered her mouth and sobbed.
I stood between the two children. My heart felt like it was being torn in two.
—
## **The Storm Reveals – Crime Network**
The next morning, the FBI, the police
t state and cybercrime squads cordoned off my house.
They took statements from the real Ben—and the fake Ben.
And the story unfolded:
An international gang used AI and high-resolution deepfakes to create fake videos of victims, making the blackmail “clean,” unnoticeable.
They kidnapped real children to collect samples: movements, sounds, expressions.
Then they found street kids, undocumented kids, abandoned kids, or kids smuggled into the US—easy “trainers.”
The fake kid was forced to learn everything about Ben from videos, pictures, habits. If he misbehaved—punishment. If he cried—locked up.
It was a perfect plan… until that night.
The real Ben escaped when they slipped up. He ran through the woods for hours until he found the right block—right outside our kitchen window.
And stood there. Waiting to see us again.
—
## **Climax – The Confrontation**
At 3 p.m., as the FBI was about to take the two children to the medical center, sirens suddenly sounded from the road leading into the woods.
A black SUV drove up, its windows dark.
A hooded figure held a gun and fired into the air.
“Give the baby back!”
He yelled in a distorted voice, possibly altered by software.
All was chaos.
The FBI pulled out their guns.
My mother screamed.
The real Ben hugged Rachel tightly.
The fake Ben stood still, his face pale.
The man with the gun pointed the muzzle at the fake Ben.
“Twenty thousand dollars! You still owe me! Give him here!”
I suddenly realized—he wasn’t here to kill us.
He was here to **recall the product**.
I rushed forward and hugged both children.
“None of you are going anywhere!”
He shot.
The FBI responded.
Gunfire echoed through the woods.
The SUV sped back down the road.
An RPG agent smashed the windshield.
The car spun out of control, crashed into a tree, and burst into flames.
I held the two children in my arms, the smell of smoke and cold snow mixed together.
The end. Finally.
—
## **Final Twist – The Nameless Child**
Two weeks later, when things had calmed down, I got a call from the FBI.
“Mr. Miller… we ran a DNA test. The fake child did not match any of the national records, nor did it match the international missing children database.”
I fell silent.
“You mean…”
“I mean: He has no identity. No one is looking for him. No one knows who he is.”
That night, when I opened the living room door, the real Ben was asleep on the couch. And the fake Ben—the poor kid who had been transformed into someone else’s shadow—sat with his legs curled up by the window, watching the snow fall.
He turned to me.
“Who am I… now?”
His voice was as small as a breath.
I sat down next to him, draping my coat over him.
“I’m a kid who just escaped hell,” I said. “And from now on… I don’t have to live anyone else’s life.”
He looked at me for a long time, his eyes warming for the first time.
“So… can I stay here?”
I swallowed. Rachel stood on the steps, looking at me and nodding slightly.
“As long as you want.”
Outside, the snow was falling heavily. Inside, for the first time in three months, I felt real warmth.
My family was returned.
And a nameless child… finally found a home.
