After years of hard work, dedication, and unwavering determination, my lifelong dream had finally come true and it collapsed from one day to the other. I had the perfect family and the perfect life. As an English teacher in the quaint town of Black Rain, located in the serene landscape of British Columbia, I felt a sense of fulfillment and purpose in my daily life.
My family was the epitome of happiness and contentment. We shared a bond that was unbreakable, and every moment spent together was a cherished memory. My two teenage children, Samuel and Emma, were the joy of my life. They were both outstanding students and were thrilled about the prospect of attending university in the near future.
My wife Amelia was breathtakingly beautiful. Her long auburn hair cascaded down her back in loose waves, framing her delicate features and sparkling hazel eyes. She was a guide and lecturer at the local art museum, and her passion for the arts shone through in every aspect of her life. When she talked about a particular painting or sculpture, her eyes would light up with excitement, and her enthusiasm was infectious.
Despite her busy career, Amelia always made time for me. We were the perfect match, and our love for each other only grew stronger with each passing day. I loved watching her teach and inspire others, and it made me proud to see how respected and adored she was by her colleagues and students alike.
Together, we created a life filled with happiness and adventure. Whether it was exploring new art exhibits, hiking through the nearby mountains, or simply enjoying a cozy night in, we cherished every moment spent together. Amelia was my soulmate, my partner in every sense of the word, and I felt incredibly lucky to have her by my side.
In addition to our academic pursuits, we often embarked on exciting adventures and memorable holidays together. Whether we were exploring the natural beauty of the nearby national parks or indulging in our shared love of literature, every experience was enriched by the warmth and love that we shared as a family.
That day started as a typical morning. I woke up early and headed to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. The kitchen was filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the sound of sizzling bacon. I walked towards the counter and started making myself a sandwich. Samuel was sitting at the table, munching on his toast, while Amelia was getting her cereal ready. Suddenly, Emma walked into the kitchen with a perplexed expression on her face.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” I greeted her with a smile.
“Good morning,” she replied, still looking puzzled. “Who are you?”
I froze for a moment, not sure how to react. “What kind of joke is this?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm.
But Emma shook her head, looking more confused than ever. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember you,” she said.
Samuel and Amelia exchanged worried glances, clearly as perplexed as I was. “Emma, that’s your dad,” Samuel said firmly as if trying to convince her.
But Emma just shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are. I have never seen you!” she said softly before grabbing her backpack and heading off to school.
I was left standing there, feeling completely bewildered and hurt. How could my own daughter not recognize me? It was like a nightmare come true.
As soon as Emma walked out of the door, panic set in and I knew I had to act fast. I ran out of the house and down the driveway, chasing after her. When I finally caught up to her in the front yard, I tried to touch her gently on the shoulder, but she recoiled from my touch as if I was a complete stranger.
“Emma, it’s me, your dad,” I said, my voice trembling with fear and confusion.
But Emma only backed away from me, looking more scared than ever. “You’re not my dad! My dad doesn’t look like you,” she cried.
I was taken aback by her words. “What do you mean? Of course, I look like your dad. I am your dad,” I said, trying to remain calm.
But Emma’s eyes were wide with fear, and she continued to back away from me. “You’re lying! You’re not my dad! Leave me alone!” she screamed.
Her fear was palpable, and I felt a sense of helplessness wash over me. As our neighbors began to peer out their windows with curious looks on their faces, I realized I needed to back off before things got even more out of hand. I slowly retreated, watching Emma until she was safely out of sight. The weight of the situation bore down on me heavily as I stood alone in the yard, wondering what had caused my daughter to suddenly forget who I was.
Back inside, I looked at Amelia, who was equally shocked by what had just happened. “What’s happening to her, James?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“I don’t know, but we need to figure it out,” I replied, my mind racing with possibilities.
That day Amelia and I visited a psychologist. He had a relaxing office. He told us that teenagers sometimes go through a difficult time and she mentioned some reasons. She said it could be a way of fighting stress but it is only temporary and she told us to be patient, it would go away.
Amelia and I sat anxiously in the waiting room, both of us unsure of what to expect from our visit to the psychologist. I had to skip all my classes that day. As we were called into the office, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief from the calming atmosphere. The walls were painted in soft shades of blue and green, and a small fountain bubbled quietly in the corner.
The psychologist was a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a soothing voice. She listened patiently as we explained Emma’s sudden confusion and fear, nodding thoughtfully as we spoke.
“Teenagers can often go through a period of difficulty, especially during times of stress,” she explained. “It’s possible that this is just a temporary phase for Emma.”
“But why would she forget who I am?” I asked, my voice wavering slightly.
“It could be a defense mechanism,” the psychologist suggested. “Sometimes our brains try to protect us from painful memories or experiences, and forgetting certain things can be a way of coping with those feelings.”
“Painful memories? Like a boyfriend? She had a boyfriend and they broke up a few weeks ago. She has been very depressed since then. Can it be the cause?” I asked.
“Possibly,” the psychologist said but I still felt a sense of unease. “What can we do to help her?” I asked.
“Be patient,” she replied with a small smile. “And try not to push too hard. Let Emma come to you when she’s ready.”
As we left the office, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of uncertainty. How long would this phase last? And how could we help Emma when she was pushing us away?
Later that day Emma came home from school and said she did not want to have dinner with that man. She meant me. So she ate in her own room. Samuel went to play video games and Amelia and I went to bed, we both hoped Emma would be all right soon.
Later that day, as Emma walked through the door, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease wash over me. She had been so distant lately, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong.
“Hey, Em,” I said, trying to sound casual. “How was school?”
But she just shrugged and headed straight for the stairs without a word. It was like she was a completely different person, and it was breaking my heart to see her like this.
Later on, as we sat down for dinner, Emma made her feelings clear. “I don’t want to eat with that man,” she said, looking straight at me. “Can I just have dinner in my room?”
She then walked away, leaving me feeling more lost and helpless than ever before.
After dinner, Samuel disappeared into his room to play video games, and I could hear the sounds of gunfire and explosions coming from his computer. It was a stark reminder of how different things were now, how far we had strayed from the happy, carefree family we used to be.
As Amelia and I got ready for bed, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of hopelessness wash over me.
“Do you think she’ll be okay?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Amelia sighed, her expression sad. “I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “But we have to be patient, and hope that things will get better soon.”
I nodded, knowing that she was right. But as I lay in bed that night, I couldn’t shake the feeling that things were only going to get worse before they got better.
As I woke up the next morning, my thoughts immediately went to Emma. I hoped that she was feeling better and that her fever had gone down. I quickly got dressed and made my way to the kitchen, hoping to find her there.
To my surprise, as soon as she saw me, she asked, “How come you’re still here? I thought you were leaving today.”
I was about to say something when Samuel looked at me.
“I am sorry, who are you?”
My heart sank. I looked at him with a mix of confusion and anger.
“What do you mean, who am I? I’m your father!” I said, my voice rising in frustration.
But Samuel only looked at me with a blank expression, as if he had never seen me before in his life.
“I don’t know who you are,” he said, his voice tinged with fear.
My mind raced with possibilities. Was this some kind of prank, a cruel joke being played on me by my own children? But as I looked into their eyes, I could see that this was no joke. They genuinely didn’t recognize me.
“Listen to me, both of you,” I said, my voice stern. “I am your father, and you have to respect me as such. This is not a game, and I won’t tolerate this kind of behavior from either of you.”
But as I spoke, I could feel the weight of uncertainty bearing down on me. What if they were telling the truth? What if they really didn’t recognize me?
“I don’t know what you are talking about! If this is a prank from my dad, tell him it is kinda creepy!” he said, grabbed and left for school. Emma followed her and slammed the door. I still heard the word “weirdo fuck” from Emma from the outside.
When Amelia walked into the kitchen, I shared with her the disturbing news about Samuel’s strange behavior and how he had failed to recognize me. I was so upset that I found it difficult to focus on my work, so I took a sick day and Amelia came with me to see the psychologist again, hoping to resolve the situation.
As soon as we arrived at the psychologist’s office, we were ushered into her consultation room. The psychologist greeted us with a warm smile and gestured for us to take a seat.
“So, tell me what’s been happening,” the psychologist said, looking at us expectantly.
I took a deep breath and began recounting the events of the past few days, describing how both Samuel and Amelia had failed to recognize me, their own father.
The psychologist listened attentively, nodding her head occasionally as I spoke. When I finished, she took a moment to gather her thoughts before speaking.
“It’s not uncommon for siblings to have similar symptoms,” she explained. “It’s possible that they’re experiencing some kind of dissociative disorder, which could explain why they both can’t recognize you.”
I was skeptical of her explanation, but the psychologist seemed confident in her diagnosis.
“I would like to see your children for a few sessions to assess their condition and provide appropriate treatment,” she said.
My wife and I exchanged a glance, unsure of how to proceed. We were both feeling angry and frustrated with the psychologist’s diagnosis.
“You’re saying that my children, who were perfectly normal just a few days ago, are suddenly suffering from some kind of disorder?” I said, my voice rising with indignation.
The psychologist remained calm and professional, trying to reassure us.
“It’s not uncommon for teenagers to experience these kinds of issues,” she said. “With the right treatment, they can make a full recovery.”
But my wife and I were not convinced. We stood up and left the room, feeling like the psychologist was incompetent and unable to help us.
That evening, dinner was the last thing on our minds. My wife and I retreated to our bedroom, where I collapsed onto the bed, tears streaming down my face. My wife held me tightly, whispering words of comfort and reassurance. “We’ll get through this together,” she said softly.
I hugged her tightly, not wanting to let go. “I don’t want to lose you,” I said, my voice choked with emotion.
“You won’t,” she replied, her voice soft and gentle. “Everything will be alright, I promise.”
Despite her words, I couldn’t shake the feeling of fear and sadness that had settled over me like a heavy blanket. My mind was consumed with thoughts of what might happen if I couldn’t help my children.
Unable to sleep, I left the bedroom and wandered into the living room. I turned on the TV, but my mind was too distracted to focus on anything. Instead, I found myself lost in a sea of worries and doubts. How could I help my children if even the experts seemed unsure of what was happening to them? How could I keep my family together when everything felt like it was falling apart?
The night stretched on, each passing moment filled with a sense of desperation and despair. All I could do was wait and hope that somehow, someway, things would get better. As my mind raced with worries and fears, exhaustion eventually overtook me and I drifted off to sleep.
I woke up in the middle of the night. I had a strange feeling but I did not know what it was. The couch was uncomfortable now and I wanted to go back to Amelia to the bedroom. I walked up the stairs. It was dark. I opened the bedroom door and approached our bed but I got extremely shocked when I saw another man sleeping in our own bed, next to my wife!
I jolted awake in the middle of the night, a sense of unease creeping up my spine. Something didn’t feel right. The couch beneath me had become too uncomfortable, so I decided to make my way upstairs to our bedroom. It was dark, the only sound was the creaking of the wooden stairs beneath my feet.
I slowly pushed open the bedroom door, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. My heart dropped into my stomach as I saw another man sleeping in our bed, his arm draped possessively over my wife’s waist. I froze, my mind struggling to comprehend what I was seeing.
“Who are you? What the hell are you doing in my bed?” I demanded, my voice shaking with anger and disbelief.
The man turned on the lamp on the bedside table and picked up a vase gripping it as a weapon. He told Amelia to call the police and she did so. The man was threatening me to leave their house because he will beat me up. I asked Amelia how come she did not recognize me but she did not speak to me. I was backing off and left the house before the police arrived.
As the man turned on the lamp, its dim light illuminated his face, revealing his angry expression. He clenched a vase in his hand, ready to use it as a weapon.
“Who the hell are you? What are you doing in my house?” the man asked in a harsh tone.
I was taken aback by his hostility and confused as to what was happening. “I-I live here. This is my house,” I stuttered, trying to comprehend the situation.
The man didn’t believe me and continued to threaten me. “Get out of here before I beat you to a pulp!” he yelled, raising the vase threateningly.
Amelia, still in shock, reached for the phone and dialed the police. I tried to reason with her. “Amelia, it’s me, your husband. Don’t you recognize me?”
But she remained silent, her eyes filled with fear and confusion.
I slowly backed away, trying not to provoke the man any further. As soon as I was out of the room, I ran down the stairs and out of the house, still in disbelief and shock.
As I waited outside for the police to arrive, I couldn’t help but wonder what was going on. Why didn’t Amelia recognize me? Who was that man in our bed? The whole situation seemed surreal and terrifying.
I had spent a sleepless night, sitting behind the bushes and watching our house like a fucking stalker, trying to make sense of what had happened. As the sun started to rise, I saw movement at the front door. My heart racing, I watched as my children, looking disheveled and tired, stumbled out of the house.
I was relieved to see them, but my mind was still reeling from the events of the previous night. I watched as they walked down the street, probably heading to school.
As they disappeared from sight, I saw the stranger again, leaving the house. This time, however, he was alone. My heart sank as I realized that he must have left with Amelia.
I continued to watch from my hiding spot as they said goodbye to each other, kissing passionately. I could feel my anger and sadness rising again, but I didn’t know what to do.
Finally, the man left and Amelia stood alone at the door, then she went inside. I knew I had to confront her, but I didn’t know how to start. I approached the door and knocked.
She opened the door and seeing my face, she wanted to shut it but I stopped it with my foot.
“Amelia, what is going on? Who was that man?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm.
I tried to reason with her, but she just kept screaming at me to leave her alone.
“Amelia, please, I just want to talk to you. We need to figure out what’s going on,” I pleaded, but she wouldn’t listen.
As we stood there arguing, a woman walking her dog stopped not far from us. She was one of our neighbors.
I could feel her eyes on me, judging me, and it made me feel even more helpless.
Amelia turned to the group of strangers and yelled, “Mrs. Parker, this man is harassing me! Call the police!”
I looked at the woman and asked if she recognize me. She told me she had never seen me. I tried to convince her that I was James, her neighbor but she did not believe me and she was despising me.
I approached the woman standing on the sidewalk, hoping to start a friendly conversation.
Although she was a cold woman, we knew each other. As I got closer, her dog started barking at me wildly and I noticed a strange look in her eyes.
“Hey Mrs. Parker, you know me, don’t you? I’m James, your neighbor,” I asked, a friendly smile on my face.
The woman looked me up and down, sizing me up. “I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are,” she said coldly, with a hint of suspicion in her voice.
I was taken aback. “What do you mean? We live on the same street. I see you all the time,” I replied, my smile fading.
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember you,” she said again, this time more dismissively.
I felt frustrated and a little hurt. I didn’t understand why she was being so unfriendly.
“Are you sure? Maybe we’ve met before at a community event or something,” I said, trying to jog her memory.
But the woman just shook her head. “No, I’m sure I’ve never seen you before,” she said firmly.
“Is everything all right?”
I turned to face him and was relieved to see a familiar face. “No, everything is not all right,” I said, my voice filled with anger.
“Do you want me to handle this ladies?” he asked, his muscles bulging as he prepared to confront me.
“It’s all right, I’m leaving!” I said and walked away.
“Never dare to come back!” Amelia shouted after me.
The next place where I was going was my school. I hoped my colleagues would help me out of this nightmare. I approached a group of teachers who were chatting in the hallway. They looked at me strangely, like I was an intruder.
“Hey guys, you won’t believe me what’s happening to me!”
One of them, Ms. Johnson, spoke up. “I’m sorry, your name is?”
“No, no no. Please no. You really don’t know who I am?”
“Are you sure you’re at the right school?”
I was getting frustrated. “Yes, I’m sure. I’ve been teaching here for five years. How could you not know me? I am James Hall, for fuck’s sake!”
Another teacher, Mr. Chen, spoke up. “Look, buddy, I don’t know what your game is, but you need to leave before we call security.”
I was shocked. “My game? What are you talking about? I’m not playing any games, I’m James! Can’t you see that?”
Ms. Johnson approached me and spoke softly. “Listen, maybe you should take a break and see a doctor. This doesn’t seem normal. James is teaching in room 101!”
I burst into the classroom, the door slamming against the wall as I kicked it open. My eyes were locked on the man explaining something to the students. He looked up at me and recognized me instantly, I could sense his fear. I ran towards him, pushing him onto the table and grabbing him by the neck.
“Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?” I shouted, my voice trembling with rage. “Tell me the truth, or I swear to God I’ll kill you!”
The man gasped for air, struggling to speak. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammered.
“Don’t lie to me!” I growled, tightening my grip on his neck. “I woke up this morning and my life was gone. My wife, my kids, my job, everything. And now you’re standing here in my place, pretending to be me!”
As the fight broke out in the classroom, the students were taken aback and quickly stood up from their seats, some of them even backing away towards the walls. Some students were shouting and screaming, their voices echoing in the classroom, while others were gasping in shock. A few brave students tried to intervene and break up the fight, but they changed their minds for some reason.
Others were frantically pulling out their phones to record the incident, capturing the chaos unfolding before them. A sense of fear and confusion hung in the air as we continued to grapple with each other. It was clear that they did nobody recognize me either and they had never witnessed anything like this before. The sight of our violent altercation left them feeling vulnerable and scared.
The man’s eyes widened in shock, and he tried to speak again. “I swear, I don’t know anything about that. I’m James Hall as I told you!”
“Prove it,” I demanded, releasing my grip on his neck. “Show me some ID or something.”
The man fumbled in his pockets and pulled out his wallet. He handed me his ID card, and I studied it closely. It looked genuine. It was his face and the name James Hall.
I sighed and stepped back, still trying to process everything that had happened. “I’m sorry,” I said, feeling a twinge of guilt for attacking him. “I guess I just lost it for a minute there. I am not sure who I am anymore.”
I sat in the interview room, my heart pounding in my chest. The walls were a drab gray and the only sound was the humming of the fluorescent lights overhead. I could still hear the echoes of the fake James Hall in my head shouting at me “I will fuckin’ kill you!” at the arrival of the police. Finally, the door creaked open and the officer walked in. He had a stern look on his face, and I braced myself for the worst.
“I know what you’ve been doing,” he said his voice firm. “You’ve been stalking that family. We could charge you with stalking and physical assault, but Mr. Hall has decided not to press charges. This is your last chance. If we catch you again, you’ll go straight to jail.”
I felt a wave of relief wash over me, but it was quickly replaced by a sense of unease. How had I ended up in this situation? The detective’s words echoed in my mind, and I knew I had to tell him the truth.
“I understand,” I said, my voice shaky. “But there’s something you need to know. I didn’t mean to stalk that family. It’s all a mistake.”
The detective’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
I took a deep breath and began to explain my story. I told him about the fake Mr. James Hall, who had taken my identity and left me with nothing. I told him about my desperate search for answers and how it had led me to confront that man. But as I spoke, I could tell that the detective didn’t believe me.
“That’s quite a story,” he said, his tone skeptical. “But it doesn’t change the fact that we can’t identify you. You’re not in the system. So why don’t you tell me the truth?”
I felt a cold sweat break out on my forehead. I knew that if I stuck to the same story, I would end up in jail. So I made a split-second decision.
“I’m homeless,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t have any ID or anything like that.”
The detective looked at me for a long moment, then nodded. “All right. But I’m warning you, if we catch you stalking that family again, you’ll be sorry.”
With that, he opened the door and motioned for me to leave. I stumbled out of the interview room, my head spinning. I had narrowly avoided jail, but at what cost?
I spent most of my days wandering the streets, feeling like a complete outcast. The homeless shelters I stayed at provided only temporary relief from my misery.
While staying at the shelter, I was grateful to have access to the Internet. I eagerly logged onto websites such as Facebook, Reddit, and online banking, only to find that all of my accounts no longer existed. As I perused my wife’s Facebook profile, I was taken aback by the appearance of a new husband in her photos. It seemed as though they had always been together, and the images portrayed a convincing picture of happiness between them. Super weird and creepy. My accounts on the other hand had been wiped out of existence, and I was forced to register new accounts from scratch. Even my government-related accounts were invalid, leaving me feeling as though I had been completely erased from this world.
Since I was nonexistent, I occasionally took up odd jobs like washing cars or doing dishes in kitchens.
But most of my time was spent watching my own house from a distance in disguise, trying to get a glimpse of my family. A few times, I was tempted to break in and try to find something like my old belongings if they existed but they installed an expensive security system.
I remember watching my children as they were walking to school with their backpacks on. I couldn’t resist the urge to approach them, to see if they would recognize me. I felt like a monster, a complete stranger in my own family’s life. I knew I had to keep my distance, to avoid causing any more trouble. I could also see that man as he gave me a kiss to my wife and went to my workplace by my car to my classroom to be with my students. I couldn’t help but feel a surge of anger and jealousy.
Then one day, after a week of staying away, I paid another visit to the house. As I was standing at a distance from my house, something strange caught my attention. The husband was outside, standing awkwardly and appearing to be in a state of confusion. He was hiding behind a tree, peering out from time to time at the house, and wearing only a robe. I wasn’t sure if he had spotted me, but I felt a knot form in my stomach. What was going on?
As I tried to make sense of the situation, the front door of the house suddenly opened, and a man I had never seen before stepped out. He gave a quick goodbye kiss to Amelia, the wife, before rushing off to work.
The husband lingered outside for a few moments longer, and that was when he finally seemed to notice me.
Our eyes met, and we were just standing there, speechless.
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