There is a man living in my house. I do not know him.
He looks exactly like my husband. He talks just like him too. He remembers all the same things, all the little details about our wedding day, about our life together, about the birth of our children. Our children call him “Dad”.
But he is not my husband.
He seems very kind and he hasn’t tried to hurt me, but let me ask you: What kind of weirdo impersonates someone’s husband and infiltrates their life?
Nobody normal. He must have some ulterior motive.
I won’t take money from him. I don’t want to be beholden to him. And I don’t accept his help with anything. Because every day I wonder what he has done with my actual husband. And why everyone is fooled by him.
The children look sad when we are together. I won’t allow “family” outings with him, and I even tried to stop my children being alone with him, but nobody backed me up with that. Not even my parents. So even though I hate being in the same room as him, I try to be present whenever he is with the kids.
Everyone has told me I’m being silly, but I trust my instincts. That man has replaced my husband and I’m not sure I want to know why.
We sleep in separate rooms. Every night I lie in bed and cry myself to sleep, mourning the loss of my real husband. There is a wedding photo next to my bed and even I marvel at how alike this stranger is.
The man took me to a doctor. Not an ordinary doctor. A psychiatrist. The pair of them tried to explain to me something called Capgras syndrome. They told me, both of them, that I had suffered some very specific brain damage from the car accident I had last year. They ask if I remember the accident.
Of course I do. It was the last time I saw my husband. He disappeared right after that, and was replaced by this imposter. I remember waking up in my hospital bed and seeing that man next to me, crying crocodile tears, and knowing in my heart of hearts that my husband was… not there. I think he might be dead. Did he die in the accident? If so, how did this man get rid of his body? How did he manage to impersonate him so well? So well that even my kids are fooled?
The result of the visit to the psychiatrist was that I would be given some pills, antipsychotics, and have regular visits with a therapist. I agreed to both, just to placate them, but I didn’t intend to do either.
Unfortunately, the man pretending to be my husband stood over me every day and made me take the pills. I tried to palm them, to pretend to swallow, but the man proved to be as clever as my husband at figuring out my little tricks. So I started taking them, too scared to upset or anger the man. And I went to the therapist appointments, which the man drove me to.
And after a while… I began to doubt myself. Was I right? Or had I been so damaged by the accident that I had started to believe something that wasn’t true?
I had begun my treatment thinking the man was trying to poison me with the pills, but when I didn’t become ill I knew that wasn’t true. And the man was so kind, so patient, with me.
I started to let him help me with things. Started to let him sit next to me on the couch to watch TV.
One night, whilst we were sat quietly, he tried to take my hand, and whilst normally I would have withdrawn my own hand this time… I let him. His hand was warm and soft, and he was gentle with me.
I looked across at him, and his eyes were filled with tears, as if he was very happy. It made me smile a little.
He looked so much like my husband. Was it possible it was really him?
I asked him questions, at random, about things in my life. About the time before I’d been married and I’d got on the wrong train and had ended up miles and miles away from where I was meant to meet my husband for a date. The man laughed and talked about how he’d had to drive for hours to come and get me, even mentioning the deer he had nearly hit on the return journey and how I’d cried about wasting the evening.
He knew everything. How could a stranger know that?
I researched Capgras Syndrome, and everything I read said the same thing. Seeing it in print made it easier on me. I read everything I could. It made sense, and as hard as it was to overcome my gut feelings I started to realise that the notion that someone could so successfully imitate another person, so well that even their children and parents were fooled, was so unlikely as to be impossible.
It was hard to accept, but I finally managed it. And for the first time since my accident I decided to let the man - my husband - sleep in the same bed as me.
I know this is meant to be a horror story, but brain damage is a horror in itself. The human brain is a complex organ and so many things can go wrong with it. I pray nothing like this ever happens to anyone reading this, because it truly is traumatic. I’m just happy that the medical help I needed has been there for me, and I can start rebuilding my life again.
Update: I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep and I’m scared.
We went to bed as normal. As husband and wife. I didn’t want sex, it was too soon, and my husband was very understanding. He told me he didn’t want to push anything till I was ready and that my recovery was more important than anything. I felt peaceful and safe and almost happy for the first time in a long time.
I started to drift off. And that was when my husband, thinking I was asleep, at least I hope he thought I was asleep, rolled over in bed and murmured something under his breath.
I couldn’t make it out entirely, but it very much sounded like: “At fucking last. Gullible bitch…”
I lay there in the dark, frozen, until he began to snore. Then I crept out of bed and came downstairs. I want to believe I misheard him. That it was just a sigh. I want to believe he is my husband.
I have to go. I can hear him coming downstairs. If he has been acting, I must do so too now.
If I don’t update again… maybe the worst has happened.