I go to my grandparents house, but they’re not home. I walk up the stairs and towards the room I usually sleep in when I stay there. I open the door and see a woman on the bed, screaming in pain as she gives birth. I rush over to help and a baby girl is born and the screaming stops. I pass the baby to the mother and that’s when I notice it. The mother is me. I smile and take my baby from my arms. I stagger backwards in disbelief at seeing myself holding a baby I just gave birth to. I run out of the room and straight for the other bedroom where I am frozen in place at what I see. It’s my baby, from the other room. Only she’s older now – about 2 or 3 years. Something inside me is telling me she’s mine. But it’s not me holding her. It’s a woman I don’t recognise although she has similar features as me, she isn’t me. She can’t be me. They can’t see me. It’s like there’s a double sided mirror in the doorway so I can see them but they can’t see me. My child can’t see me. I fight with all my strength to get to my daughter. She’s mine! Two men grab me by my arms and drag me downstairs and out the front door while I scream with all my might. Tears flooding my face as it all goes black.