I fell asleep in my office chair, waiting for that stupid sound. My back is in agony and there’s a wonderful spot of drool on my shirt. The beeping is coming from the living room. It’s the alarm on my phone.

Please, don’t tell me I’ve overslept! Not on Caitlyn’s first day of school. I’m going to have to drive her in, which will look great after meeting her teacher and her principal, yesterday.

I drag myself out of the chair and into the living room. I snatch my phone off the end table.

Thank God. I’ve only overslept by twenty minutes. It’s not the end of the world, but I need to wake up Caitlyn and get her ready.

I climb the stairs, trying to rub out the drool stain on my shirt.

As I stand outside her door, instead of her customary snoring, I hear her quietly talking.

“… Okay, now it’s my turn … What’s it like in there …? How cold …? Okay, your turn … No … No, I told you. I don’t know Rebecca …”

I’m tempted to sit here and listen because I want to know what she’s up to, but we need to get moving. I knock on the door and push it open.

“Caitlyn?”

She’s sitting at the vanity, in front of the mirror. She turns to me with startled eyes, like I’ve caught her red-handed, but I have no idea what she’s guilty of.

“Hey.” I look around the room. “Who you talking to?”

She continues to stare.

“You okay?” I ask through a stifled yawn.

“Yes.”

“Great. Let’s go. First day of school. I’m making pancakes.”

She shoots up, and runs past me into the hall. Her footsteps make a rapid-fire drumroll down the stairs.

There are dirty clothes hanging off the back of the chair of the vanity she just vacated.

“Caitlyn?” I call in exasperation, but she’s gone.

I walk over and collect the clothes from the chair. In the mirror, I can see the slightly open closet door on the other side of the room, directly behind me.

“Come on, Caitlyn,” I groan. “The basket is right in there.”

I carry the clothes halfway across the room and stop.

Hold on.

I turn, walk back to the vanity, and stand in front of the mirror.

I can still see the open closet door. I shouldn’t be able to, because I’m standing right in front of the mirror. There’s no reflection of me. It’s like I’m not here.

A ringing begins to build in my ears. My head starts to hurt and my eyes strain. The ringing grows deafening. Every other sound fades until all I hear is the high-pitched tone. I’m not there. In the mirror, the door to the closet begins to slowly swing open—

“Dad?”