In the wardrobe, Henry finds a peephole facing Mia's dressing room. His wife, twenty years younger, moves suspiciously; he hears his son Joe's voice and suspects an affair. Mia calls the white fluid at her lips milk; Joe's lipstick mark on his crotch matches her shade. Yet the milk never dwindles, Joe never leaves, and the room stays locked. At midnight, Henry peers again—an eye stares back. Then Mia appears behind him, scissors bloodied. The forbidden truth is darker and more terrifying than he imagined.
