My wife changed, there was no denying that. It’s not that she was better or worse than she used to be, it’s just that she was different, completely different. The habits she once had were gone, replaced by new ones that I was still trying to get used to.
At first, I tried to rationalize it, maybe it was just a phase, a midlife crisis or something. But as the weeks passed, her changes became more and more pronounced. She stopped doing things she used to love, like cooking elaborate dinners or going out for long walks in the park. Instead, she spent hours holed up in her study, pouring over books and documents that she kept hidden from me.
It was as if she had become a different person altogether, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she was still the woman I had married. Sometimes, when I caught her staring off into space, lost in thought, I would try to start a conversation, but she would snap out of it and give me a small, forced smile like she was trying to hide something.
Our baby daughter, on the other hand, did not seem to notice anything unusual. Could babies notice such changes anyway? She was happy and carefree besides her cries, completely unaware of the changes in her mother. It’s almost as if I was the only one who could see what was happening.
At first, I thought it was just a phase, but it’s been going on for months now, and it’s starting to worry me. Sometimes, I find myself wondering if she’s really my wife, or if someone or something has taken over her body. I know how ridiculous it sounds, but I can’t help but speculate.
As the days went on, my doubts grew stronger. I started to wonder if my wife was seeing someone else, or if she was going through some sort of mental breakdown. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, that she was keeping a secret from me.
One night, as I lay awake in bed, unable to sleep, I heard her get up and slip out of the room. I waited a few moments before following her, curious to see where she was going. I saw her tiptoe down the hallway and disappear into her study, closing the door softly behind her.
I hesitated for a moment, unsure if I should disturb her, but my curiosity got the best of me. I opened the door quietly and peered inside, expecting to see her poring over books and documents like she usually did.
I tried talking to my wife about it, but she just brushed it off and tells me not to worry. But how could I not worry? I loved her, and I didn’t want to see her like that. Sometimes I felt like I was losing her like she was slipping away from me, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
One day, as I was sorting through some old photo albums, I came across a picture of my wife from a few years ago. She was smiling brightly, her eyes sparkling with life and happiness. It was like looking at a completely different person.
I was torn between confronting her and trying to understand her, between wanting to help and fearing that I would make things worse. I just wished I knew what was going on and that we could get through this together, as a family.
I tried to be supportive and to adapt to her new habits and routines, but it was hard in the beginning. But as the weeks passed, I slowly got used to this strange and new version of my wife. Her quirks and habits became familiar to me, and I learned to accept them as part of who she was now. I tried to convince myself that this was just a phase, that she would eventually return to her old self, but deep down, I knew that something had changed permanently.
Then one night changed everything.
The night was darker than most; a thick, velvety darkness that seemed to seep into the very corners of our bedroom, where the dim glow of the alarm clock struggled to break through. A late summer storm grumbled outside, the wind moaning softly as it clawed at the house, causing the branches of the ancient oak in our yard to scrape against the window. My wife and I slept fitfully, the occasional distant roll of thunder a constant reminder of the tempest that brewed beyond the sanctuary of our home.
In the midst of this uneasy slumber, we were jolted awake by the piercing sound of our baby’s cries, crackling through the baby monitor with an urgency that set our hearts racing.
“Please don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. Just stay here,” I reassured her. Emily let out a sigh and pulled the blanket over herself as I was leaving the room.
As my bare feet connected with the cold hardwood floor, it gave me a frigid, cold. The room was a maelstrom of shadows as if the storm outside had invaded our safe haven, playing tricks on my mind as I fumbled my way toward the nursery.
The door to the nursery lay slightly ajar, the pale yellow light spilling out into the hallway and illuminating the path before me. I pushed the door open with trembling hands, anxiety knotting itself tightly in the pit of my stomach. As the nursery came into view, I saw my wife, her silhouette framed by the soft glow of the nightlight, standing over the crib.
“What the hell? How did she appear there? She was supposed to stay in bed and I didn’t see her leaving the bedroom!” I told myself.
I stood there in disbelief, trying to make sense of what had just happened. My mind raced with questions and doubts, and I couldn’t shake off the feeling of unease that had settled in the pit of my stomach.
The more I thought about it, the more certain I became that I had not seen her get up from bed. I would have noticed if she had left, I was sure of it. I had been wide awake when I heard the baby crying, and I would have noticed if she had gotten out of bed, even if it was just to use the bathroom. No, she must have been there all along, hidden by the darkness of the room. But how could that be possible?
Her long, auburn hair tumbled over her shoulders, the ends caressing her silk nightgown as she bent over our baby girl. Her delicate hands gently cradled our daughter, whose sobs began to subside as she sensed the comforting presence of her mother. There was something warm, something welcoming about her which made me very feel very comfortable and I wanted to hug you right there.
The storm continued to rage outside, but within the confines of our nursery, it felt as though time had slowed, the world outside momentarily forgotten.
My wife’s emerald green eyes, shimmering with concern and love, met mine as I approached the crib. Her lips curved into a soft, reassuring smile, an unspoken message that everything was going to be alright. As I drew closer, the warm, familiar scent of lavender and vanilla, my wife’s signature fragrance, enveloped me, further soothing my frayed nerves.
“Don’t worry, I heard it too,” she whispered to our child, her voice barely audible over the distant rumble of thunder.
“Emily? How the hell did you come here? I didn’t see you get up from bed!”
“What are you talking about, John? I have been here all night I never left the nursery!” she said and her voice and tone immediately became familiar to me, she was like a different person: she was the person, who I first met, she was the person who I knew, she was my wife, the one who I had lived for years.
I was stunned. I hurried back to our bedroom, only to find that the bed was empty.
It has been 10 years since that night and everything has returned to its usual routine. Emily is the same but I can’t shake off the feeling that something was off during those weeks back then. Emily doesn’t believe me when I bring up the topic and actually we just laugh it off. But still, the question of who my other wife was sends shivers down my spine, like haunting echoes.
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