Speaker 1: My wife, Laura has always been my rock. She's the
grounded one, the person who keeps me sane when life
gets messy. We've been married for six years, and our
life together has been, for the most part normal, maybe
even boring in the best way. Steady jobs, a little
house in the suburbs, and the kind of routine you
don't even think about because it just works. That's why
all of this is so hard to wrap my head around.
It's like I'm losing her, or maybe I'm losing something
about her, if that makes any sense. It started small,
little things I barely noticed at first, like a couple
of weeks ago, we were sitting on the couch watching
TV and I realized she wasn't laughing at a joke
I knew she'd normally find funny. When I looked over,
she was staring at the screen, but her eyes weren't focused.
She was somewhere else. I nudged her and she blinked
like I snapped her out of a trance. She laughed
it off, said she was just tired. Another time, she
forgot where she put her keys. Now I know that
sounds like nothing. Who doesn't lose their keys, But Laura
never does. She's meticulous, the kind of person who has
a place for everything, and everything in its place. She
even joked about how out of character it was. Yes,
I'm getting old, she said, with this weird little laugh
that didn't feel like her. There have been other moments, too,
like how she zones out during conversations, or how she
started hesitating when she speaks, like she's trying to figure
out what to say for her I thought she might
just be stressed. Work's been rough on both of us lately,
and everyone has off days. But it's happening more and more,
and I can't shake the feeling that something's off. I
keep telling myself it's probably nothing. Couples go through phases, right,
people change a little over time. But the thing is,
this doesn't feel like a little change. It feels like
she's slipping away, like she's here but not here. And
I don't know what to do with that. At first,
I thought I was just being paranoid. Now I'm not
so sure. And the worst part, it's not just the
little things anymore. It's bigger, now, weirder, and it's starting
to scare me. It happened a few nights ago, and
I can't stop thinking about it. I haven't been able
to sleep properly since I woke up around two am.
I think you know that half awake state? Were you
not totally sure what's real yet? At first I couldn't
figure out why I woke up. There wasn't any noise
or anything. But then I saw her, Laura. She was
sitting on the edge of the bed, completely still facing me.
It took a second for my brain to catch up,
but when it did, I realized something was wrong. Her
face was blank, totally expressionless. Her eyes were wide open,
and she wasn't blinking, just staring at me like she
was waiting for something. Laura, I mumbled, still half asleep,
what are you doing? She didn't answer right away. Then,
in this flat, monotone voice, one I've never heard from
her before, she said, I'm waiting for the real you.
I honestly didn't know how to respond. My first thought
was that she was sleep walking. She's never done it before,
but hey, is the first time for everything, right? So
I tried to play it off. I even laughed a little, like, okay, creepy,
what does that mean? She didn't laugh, She didn't even move,
She just kept staring at me for a few seconds,
like she was deciding something. Then she stood up, turned round,
and walked out of the room without saying another word.
I sat there for a minute, trying to process what
just happened. I wanted to follow her, but something in
the way she looked at me, so cold, so unfamiliar,
made my skin crawl. Eventually I convinced myself it was
just a weird dream or some kind of sleepwalking thing.
In the morning, I brought it up over breakfast. I
tried to keep it casual, like, hey, do you remember
getting up last night? She just stared at me for
a second like she was trying to figure out what
I was talking about. Then she smiled this small, tight
smile and said, nope, must have been dreaming. That was it.
No follow up, no questions. She just went back to
eating like nothing happened. I don't know, maybe she really
doesn't remember, But something about the way she brushed off
felt off forced, maybe like she was trying too hard
to act normal. I've been trying to convince myself it
wasn't a big deal, that it was just a one
time weird thing. But the way she looked at me
that night the way she said. That keeps replaying in
my head. I'm waiting for the real you. What the
hell is that supposed to mean? A couple of nights
before everything really fell apart, I caught Laura doing something strange.
I woke up around midnight to use the bathroom and
noticed her side of the bed was empty. I didn't
think much of it at first, maybe she couldn't sleep
and went downstairs, But as I passed the guest room,
I saw the door was cracked open and the light
was on. I peeked inside, and there she was. She
was sitting cross legged on the floor, her back to me.
Her phone flashlight pointed to a small notebook in her lap.
Her hair was messy, like she'd been tugging at it,
and she was whispering to herself. Laura, I said softly,
trying not to startle her. She froze for a second,
then turned to look at me. Her face was completely blank,
like she wasn't even surprised to see me. What are
you doing? I asked. She didn't answer. She just snapped
the notebook shut and got up, walking past me without
saying a word. She didn't even bother turning off the light.
I stood there for a while, trying to figure out
what I'd just seen. Eventually I picked up the notebook
she'd left on the floor. It was old, one of
those cheap spiral bound ones you pick up for a
few books. Most of the pages were blank, but the
ones she'd written on were covered in what looked like instructions,
not coherent ones, though, things like ask questions, wait until
he slips, check the reflection again. It didn't make sense.
I put the notebook back where I'd found it and
went back to bed, but I didn't sleep. I couldn't
shake the feeling that whatever she was writing about it
wasn't meant for me to see. Trying to let things
pass didn't work. Things didn't stop. If anything, it was
getting worse. A few days after she sat on the
bed and said that creepy stuff about waiting for the
real me, Laura started acting different. Not in huge obvious ways,
but enough that I couldn't stop noticing it. She's been
asking these weird questions, stuff like do you ever feel
like you're not yourself? Or what if this isn't the
life you're supposed to have. She doesn't say it in
a joking way, either her tone is serious, like she's
actually expecting me to give her some deep answer, and
every time I just stammer something like I don't know,
I guess, because what else am I supposed to say.
She's been staring at me too a lot. It's not
like she's zoning out anymore. It's deliberate. I'll catch her
watching me while I'm eating dinner, scrawling through my phone,
or even brushing my teeth. I asked her about it once,
tried to make a joke, like, what do I have
something on my face? She just shrugged and said, I'm
just trying to see something, see what. The worst was
a couple of nights ago. I woke up again in
the middle of the night and Laura wasn't in bed.
My first thought was the bathroom, but when I rolled
over I saw her. She was standing in the corner
of the room, facing the wall. I'm not proud of this,
but I froze like every hare and my body stood
up at once and my mouth went dry. It was
the way she was standing completely still, her shoulders just
sl slightly hunched, like she was listening for something. Laura
I managed to finally croak out. She didn't move for
a few seconds, but then she whispered, not yet, You're
not ready. I can't even explain how that felt. My
stomach dropped and my heart started pounding so hard I
thought it was going to burst. I didn't know what
to say. I just stared at her, trying to make
sense of what was happening. Eventually, she turned around, walked
back to bed, and climbed in like nothing happened. She
didn't even look at me. I didn't sleep for the
rest of the night. The next day, I tried to
bring it up casually at first, just testing the waters,
but the moment I mentioned her getting up at night,
she snapped. She told me I was the one acting strange,
always questioning her, always looking at her like she's the problem.
That's when I started wondering if maybe it is me,
AM I making this up? Am I just stressed out
and reading too much into everything. But then I checked
her phone. I know, I know that was scummy of me,
but I couldn't stop myself, and what I found I
can't unsee it. Her history was filled with things like
how to identify a doppleganger, signs of possession, and when
someone isn't who they say they are. I don't even
know how to process that. She's clearly convinced something's wrong
with me, But now I'm wondering if it's actually the
other way around. What if something's wrong with her? Oh God,
I hate that I'm even thinking this. What if something's
wrong with the both of us? I don't know. I
just don't know anymore, and it's starting to feel like
I'm not going to figure it out until it's too late.
I thought it couldn't get any worse. I thought maybe
it would blow over, that Laura just needed time, or
maybe I needed to stop overthinking everything. I was wrong,
so so wrong. A few nights ago, I woke up again.
This time, Laura wasn't sitting at the edge of the
bed or standing in the corner. She was right beside me,
holding a small mirror up to my face. At first,
I didn't even understand what I was looking at. The
moonlight was catching the mirror at an angle, and it
took my harvestly brain a few seconds to realize what
was happening. She was whispering something over and over, Why
won't you show yourself, Why won't you show yourself? My froze.
I don't know if you've ever felt true fear before,
but it's not like in the movies. It's cold and paralyzing,
and it makes you feel like you're outside your own body. Laura,
I said, my voice cracking. What are you doing? She
didn't look at me. She just kept holding the mirror,
her eyes locked on my reflection. Her whisper turned into
a low mutter, then into something more desperate. I reached
out and grabbed the mirror, yanking it away. What the
hell is going on? I demanded, and that's when she snapped.
You're not him, she screamed, her voice raw and trembling.
You're not the man I married. He wasn't just anger,
who was something deeper, pure terror, Like she was cornered
by something she couldn't understand. I tried to calm her down,
but she kept shaking her head, backing away from me.
He talks to me, she said, her voice breaking. Every
night in my dreams. He looks like you, but he's
not you. He's trapped and he's begging me to help him.
He says you're the one keeping him there. AND just
stared at her, trying to process what she was saying
none of it made sense. Laura, I said, trying to
keep my voice steady. You're just having nightmares, that's all.
This is stress, lack of sleep, It's messing with your head.
But she wouldn't listen. She pointed at me, her hands shaking,
and said, I can feel it. You're not him, You're
not right. I didn't know what to do. I didn't
know how to make her believe me. She left the
room that night, slamming the door behind her. I just
sat there, staring at the mirror in my hands, trying
to convince myself that this was all in her head,
that there was nothing wrong with me. But then doubt
started creeping in. What if she was right? What if
something really was wrong with me? I spent the rest
of the night searching for answers. I tore through the house,
looking for anything that might explain why she was acting
this way. Finally, in the attic, I found an old
box of the things. Inside was a journal she kept
from the early years of our relationship. I know I
shouldn't have read it, but I was desperate. The first
few entries were normal, sweet, even little notes about our dates,
funny moments we shared, but As I kept reading, things
started to get strange. There were detailed descriptions of events.
I had no memory of a trip to the beach
where I apparently got sunburned so badly Laura had to
cover me in aloe. A dinner party with friends where
I supposedly made everyone laugh so hard they cried. I
don't remember any of it. And then there was one
entry that stopped me cold. Last night, I woke up
and saw him standing at the foot of the bed.
He looked like my husband, but something about him was wrong.
When he realized I was awake, he smiled at me,
but it wasn't his smile. It felt hollow, like he
was pretending to be human. I don't know what's happening.
I don't know what to believe anymore. But the worst
part when I read that entry, it felt familiar, like
I'd lived it before. But how could I How could
I forget something like that. I couldn't keep it to
myself anymore. I had to confront her. I thought, if
I just showed Laura the cho we'd finally talk this out,
get everything out in the open, and figure out what
the hell was happening to us. It didn't go the
way I hoped. I found her in the kitchen the
next morning, just sitting at the table, staring at her coffee,
like she didn't even see it. I put the journal
down in front of her and said, you need to
explain this. She looked up at me, then down at
the journal, her face pale. For a second, I thought
she might deny everything, but then she flipped through the
pages like she knew exactly what she was looking for.
She stopped at one specific entry and slid it toward
me without saying a word. I picked it up and
started reading. Last night, I woke up and saw him
standing at the foot of the bed. He looked like
my husband, but something about him was wrong. When he
realized I was awake, he smiled at me, but it
wasn't his smile. It felt hollow, like he was pretending
to be human. I don't understand, I said, my voice
barely above a whisper. That's when I knew, Laura said,
her voice trembling. That's the night I realized you weren't you.
I tried to argue, to tell her this was crazy,
but she cut me off. You don't remember, do you,
she said, tears streaming down her face. Or maybe you
do and you just won't admit it. But I know
what I saw that wasn't you. I reached out to her,
desperate to calm her down, to make her believe me,
but she recoiled so fast she knocked over a chair.
Don't touch me, she screamed, backing into the corner of
the room. I can't do this anymore. I don't know
what you are, but you're not him. Her words hit
me like a punch to the gut. I just stood there, frozen,
watching as she broke down in front of me. I
wanted to yell, to shake her, to make her understand
that I'm still me, but am I. After a few minutes,
she ran upstairs and slammed the door. I didn't follow her.
I couldn't. Instead, I sat at the table, staring at
the journal. The entry kept looping in my mind. He
looked like my husband, but something about him was wrong.
I don't know how long I sat there before I
I got up and went to the bathroom. I don't
even know why I did it. Maybe I just needed
to see myself to prove to myself that I hadn't changed.
I stood in front of the mirror, looking at my
reflection at first, and everything seemed normal, same face, same
tired eyes, same messy hair. But then I noticed it.
It was small, almost imperceptible, but there it was my smile.
It didn't look right, it felt too wide, like it
didn't quite belong to me. I'm still standing here, staring
at it, trying to convince myself it's just in my
head that it's just stress or exhaustion or something not normal.
But the longer I look, the more certain I am.
She's right. It's not my smile.