My fiancé went missing 7 months ago. Everyone thinks I’m crazy for thinking that he’s still out there, that there is a chance despite all evidence that he’s okay. We live in a small town on the outskirts of a bigger city, you know the kind where everyone knows each others business and everyone around you feels like they’re entitled to every tiny detail of your life. His family blames me, they think I had something to do with it and because of that so do the authorities. Despite no evidence pointing to me, actually no tangible evidence being found, people still give me weird looks, move away in queues and just generally give me the sense that I’m guilty and I have something to be ashamed of. I know what I did was right.
Our wedding day is coming up in a couple days. I haven’t cancelled it yet because I still hold out hope that he’ll come back. Maybe he isn’t dead or lost, maybe he got scared and left. Maybe what happened 7 months ago wasn’t the reason, maybe this really isn’t my fault. I hate the stares, the whispers, the way I’m treated when I leave our home and it’s gotten to the point where I don’t really leave. I imagine I don’t look the same anymore, I don’t look like the woman you proposed to, the woman you love, but I wouldn’t know. I got rid of all the mirrors a while ago, I couldn’t look at myself after what happened. One morning I woke up in our bed, I made sure everything in our bedroom looks same as it did the day you left, as always I got up and checked my phone. As I was doing that, something felt off, something was different. Maybe it was the air, maybe it was the quiet that felt a little louder today, but something was off.
I couldn’t breathe, the bedroom was getting smaller and smaller, the weight in my chest was heavier than it usually was every morning. Slowly, I walked to the door. My entire body was shaking with… fear? Excitement? Anxiety? Stress? What are you like now? Have you changed after all this time? As I was making my way down the stairs the smell hit me, it was a mix of must, mildew and food. Were you making breakfast? Were you back home? Distracted by my racing thoughts and the sound of my heart pounding in my chest I didn’t notice the water, all the water on the landing. What woke me up from the river of thoughts was my foot stepping into a puddle. I shook myself alert and my eyes darted to the kitchen from which the smell was coming from. The scent of food floating through the house from the open fridge. I ran to the fridge and frantically grabbed the only ray of hope I had these past 7 months. Panicked, my eyes darted to the basement door. It was open. Not wide open, not slightly ajar, it seemed like a cat pushed its way through a door and into the house. Cautiously I edged towards the basement door, gripping the very thing that promised to bring you back, praying it worked, praying you were okay. As I crept down the stairs, I heard you. I heard you breathing, panting more like, but still breathing. As soon as I heard that I ran down, I needed to see you and hear your voice again, know that you’re still by my side. Still, something felt off, the same way something felt different when I woke up. You look different. Tired and older, something is different in your eyes. Something is wrong, dark, stormy in your eyes, almost like it’s not even you.
As I’m writing this I’m sitting on the stairs staring at the basement door. I don’t think the door will hold for much longer. I’m so so sorry, I just wanted you to be better, I wanted us to be healthier. How could I have known that they were lying, that you wouldn’t come back the same after that, that you wouldn’t be you anymore. How could I have known the new heart wouldn’t be human?