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Speaker 1: My wife, Laura has always been my rock. She's the

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grounded one, the person who keeps me sane when life

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gets messy. We've been married for six years, and our

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life together has been, for the most part normal, maybe

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even boring in the best way. Steady jobs, a little

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house in the suburbs, and the kind of routine you

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don't even think about because it just works. That's why

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all of this is so hard to wrap my head around.

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It's like I'm losing her, or maybe I'm losing something

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about her, if that makes any sense. It started small,

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little things I barely noticed at first, like a couple

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of weeks ago, we were sitting on the couch watching

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TV and I realized she wasn't laughing at a joke

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I knew she'd normally find funny. When I looked over,

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she was staring at the screen, but her eyes weren't focused.

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She was somewhere else. I nudged her and she blinked

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like I snapped her out of a trance. She laughed

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it off, said she was just tired. Another time, she

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forgot where she put her keys. Now I know that

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sounds like nothing. Who doesn't lose their keys, But Laura

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never does. She's meticulous, the kind of person who has

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a place for everything, and everything in its place. She

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even joked about how out of character it was. Yes,

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I'm getting old, she said, with this weird little laugh

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that didn't feel like her. There have been other moments, too,

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like how she zones out during conversations, or how she

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started hesitating when she speaks, like she's trying to figure

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out what to say for her I thought she might

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just be stressed. Work's been rough on both of us lately,

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and everyone has off days. But it's happening more and more,

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and I can't shake the feeling that something's off. I

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keep telling myself it's probably nothing. Couples go through phases, right,

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people change a little over time. But the thing is,

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this doesn't feel like a little change. It feels like

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she's slipping away, like she's here but not here. And

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I don't know what to do with that. At first,

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I thought I was just being paranoid. Now I'm not

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so sure. And the worst part, it's not just the

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little things anymore. It's bigger, now, weirder, and it's starting

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to scare me. It happened a few nights ago, and

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I can't stop thinking about it. I haven't been able

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to sleep properly since I woke up around two am.

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I think you know that half awake state? Were you

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not totally sure what's real yet? At first I couldn't

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figure out why I woke up. There wasn't any noise

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or anything. But then I saw her, Laura. She was

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sitting on the edge of the bed, completely still facing me.

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It took a second for my brain to catch up,

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but when it did, I realized something was wrong. Her

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face was blank, totally expressionless. Her eyes were wide open,

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and she wasn't blinking, just staring at me like she

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was waiting for something. Laura, I mumbled, still half asleep,

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what are you doing? She didn't answer right away. Then,

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in this flat, monotone voice, one I've never heard from

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her before, she said, I'm waiting for the real you.

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I honestly didn't know how to respond. My first thought

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was that she was sleep walking. She's never done it before,

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but hey, is the first time for everything, right? So

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I tried to play it off. I even laughed a little, like, okay, creepy,

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what does that mean? She didn't laugh, She didn't even move,

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She just kept staring at me for a few seconds,

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like she was deciding something. Then she stood up, turned round,

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and walked out of the room without saying another word.

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I sat there for a minute, trying to process what

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just happened. I wanted to follow her, but something in

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the way she looked at me, so cold, so unfamiliar,

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made my skin crawl. Eventually I convinced myself it was

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just a weird dream or some kind of sleepwalking thing.

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In the morning, I brought it up over breakfast. I

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tried to keep it casual, like, hey, do you remember

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getting up last night? She just stared at me for

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a second like she was trying to figure out what

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I was talking about. Then she smiled this small, tight

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smile and said, nope, must have been dreaming. That was it.

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No follow up, no questions. She just went back to

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eating like nothing happened. I don't know, maybe she really

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doesn't remember, But something about the way she brushed off

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felt off forced, maybe like she was trying too hard

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to act normal. I've been trying to convince myself it

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wasn't a big deal, that it was just a one

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time weird thing. But the way she looked at me

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that night the way she said. That keeps replaying in

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my head. I'm waiting for the real you. What the

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hell is that supposed to mean? A couple of nights

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before everything really fell apart, I caught Laura doing something strange.

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I woke up around midnight to use the bathroom and

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noticed her side of the bed was empty. I didn't

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think much of it at first, maybe she couldn't sleep

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and went downstairs, But as I passed the guest room,

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I saw the door was cracked open and the light

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was on. I peeked inside, and there she was. She

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was sitting cross legged on the floor, her back to me.

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Her phone flashlight pointed to a small notebook in her lap.

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Her hair was messy, like she'd been tugging at it,

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and she was whispering to herself. Laura, I said softly,

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trying not to startle her. She froze for a second,

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then turned to look at me. Her face was completely blank,

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like she wasn't even surprised to see me. What are

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you doing? I asked. She didn't answer. She just snapped

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the notebook shut and got up, walking past me without

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saying a word. She didn't even bother turning off the light.

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I stood there for a while, trying to figure out

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what I'd just seen. Eventually I picked up the notebook

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she'd left on the floor. It was old, one of

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those cheap spiral bound ones you pick up for a

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few books. Most of the pages were blank, but the

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ones she'd written on were covered in what looked like instructions,

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not coherent ones, though, things like ask questions, wait until

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he slips, check the reflection again. It didn't make sense.

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I put the notebook back where I'd found it and

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went back to bed, but I didn't sleep. I couldn't

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shake the feeling that whatever she was writing about it

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wasn't meant for me to see. Trying to let things

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pass didn't work. Things didn't stop. If anything, it was

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getting worse. A few days after she sat on the

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bed and said that creepy stuff about waiting for the

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real me, Laura started acting different. Not in huge obvious ways,

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but enough that I couldn't stop noticing it. She's been

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asking these weird questions, stuff like do you ever feel

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like you're not yourself? Or what if this isn't the

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life you're supposed to have. She doesn't say it in

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a joking way, either her tone is serious, like she's

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actually expecting me to give her some deep answer, and

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every time I just stammer something like I don't know,

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I guess, because what else am I supposed to say.

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She's been staring at me too a lot. It's not

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like she's zoning out anymore. It's deliberate. I'll catch her

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watching me while I'm eating dinner, scrawling through my phone,

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or even brushing my teeth. I asked her about it once,

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tried to make a joke, like, what do I have

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something on my face? She just shrugged and said, I'm

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just trying to see something, see what. The worst was

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a couple of nights ago. I woke up again in

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the middle of the night and Laura wasn't in bed.

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My first thought was the bathroom, but when I rolled

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over I saw her. She was standing in the corner

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of the room, facing the wall. I'm not proud of this,

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but I froze like every hare and my body stood

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up at once and my mouth went dry. It was

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the way she was standing completely still, her shoulders just

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sl slightly hunched, like she was listening for something. Laura

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I managed to finally croak out. She didn't move for

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a few seconds, but then she whispered, not yet, You're

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not ready. I can't even explain how that felt. My

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stomach dropped and my heart started pounding so hard I

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thought it was going to burst. I didn't know what

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to say. I just stared at her, trying to make

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sense of what was happening. Eventually, she turned around, walked

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back to bed, and climbed in like nothing happened. She

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didn't even look at me. I didn't sleep for the

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rest of the night. The next day, I tried to

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bring it up casually at first, just testing the waters,

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but the moment I mentioned her getting up at night,

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she snapped. She told me I was the one acting strange,

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always questioning her, always looking at her like she's the problem.

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That's when I started wondering if maybe it is me,

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AM I making this up? Am I just stressed out

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and reading too much into everything. But then I checked

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her phone. I know, I know that was scummy of me,

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but I couldn't stop myself, and what I found I

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can't unsee it. Her history was filled with things like

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how to identify a doppleganger, signs of possession, and when

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someone isn't who they say they are. I don't even

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know how to process that. She's clearly convinced something's wrong

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with me, But now I'm wondering if it's actually the

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other way around. What if something's wrong with her? Oh God,

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I hate that I'm even thinking this. What if something's

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wrong with the both of us? I don't know. I

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just don't know anymore, and it's starting to feel like

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I'm not going to figure it out until it's too late.

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I thought it couldn't get any worse. I thought maybe

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it would blow over, that Laura just needed time, or

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maybe I needed to stop overthinking everything. I was wrong,

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so so wrong. A few nights ago, I woke up again.

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This time, Laura wasn't sitting at the edge of the

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bed or standing in the corner. She was right beside me,

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holding a small mirror up to my face. At first,

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I didn't even understand what I was looking at. The

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moonlight was catching the mirror at an angle, and it

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took my harvestly brain a few seconds to realize what

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was happening. She was whispering something over and over, Why

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won't you show yourself, Why won't you show yourself? My froze.

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I don't know if you've ever felt true fear before,

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but it's not like in the movies. It's cold and paralyzing,

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and it makes you feel like you're outside your own body. Laura,

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I said, my voice cracking. What are you doing? She

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didn't look at me. She just kept holding the mirror,

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her eyes locked on my reflection. Her whisper turned into

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a low mutter, then into something more desperate. I reached

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out and grabbed the mirror, yanking it away. What the

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hell is going on? I demanded, and that's when she snapped.

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You're not him, she screamed, her voice raw and trembling.

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You're not the man I married. He wasn't just anger,

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who was something deeper, pure terror, Like she was cornered

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by something she couldn't understand. I tried to calm her down,

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but she kept shaking her head, backing away from me.

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He talks to me, she said, her voice breaking. Every

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night in my dreams. He looks like you, but he's

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not you. He's trapped and he's begging me to help him.

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He says you're the one keeping him there. AND just

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stared at her, trying to process what she was saying

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none of it made sense. Laura, I said, trying to

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keep my voice steady. You're just having nightmares, that's all.

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This is stress, lack of sleep, It's messing with your head.

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But she wouldn't listen. She pointed at me, her hands shaking,

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and said, I can feel it. You're not him, You're

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not right. I didn't know what to do. I didn't

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know how to make her believe me. She left the

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room that night, slamming the door behind her. I just

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sat there, staring at the mirror in my hands, trying

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to convince myself that this was all in her head,

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that there was nothing wrong with me. But then doubt

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started creeping in. What if she was right? What if

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something really was wrong with me? I spent the rest

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of the night searching for answers. I tore through the house,

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looking for anything that might explain why she was acting

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this way. Finally, in the attic, I found an old

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box of the things. Inside was a journal she kept

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from the early years of our relationship. I know I

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shouldn't have read it, but I was desperate. The first

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few entries were normal, sweet, even little notes about our dates,

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funny moments we shared, but As I kept reading, things

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started to get strange. There were detailed descriptions of events.

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I had no memory of a trip to the beach

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where I apparently got sunburned so badly Laura had to

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cover me in aloe. A dinner party with friends where

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I supposedly made everyone laugh so hard they cried. I

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don't remember any of it. And then there was one

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entry that stopped me cold. Last night, I woke up

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and saw him standing at the foot of the bed.

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He looked like my husband, but something about him was wrong.

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When he realized I was awake, he smiled at me,

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but it wasn't his smile. It felt hollow, like he

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was pretending to be human. I don't know what's happening.

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I don't know what to believe anymore. But the worst

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part when I read that entry, it felt familiar, like

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I'd lived it before. But how could I How could

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I forget something like that. I couldn't keep it to

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myself anymore. I had to confront her. I thought, if

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I just showed Laura the cho we'd finally talk this out,

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get everything out in the open, and figure out what

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the hell was happening to us. It didn't go the

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way I hoped. I found her in the kitchen the

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next morning, just sitting at the table, staring at her coffee,

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like she didn't even see it. I put the journal

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down in front of her and said, you need to

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explain this. She looked up at me, then down at

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the journal, her face pale. For a second, I thought

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she might deny everything, but then she flipped through the

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pages like she knew exactly what she was looking for.

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She stopped at one specific entry and slid it toward

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me without saying a word. I picked it up and

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started reading. Last night, I woke up and saw him

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standing at the foot of the bed. He looked like

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my husband, but something about him was wrong. When he

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realized I was awake, he smiled at me, but it

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wasn't his smile. It felt hollow, like he was pretending

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to be human. I don't understand, I said, my voice

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barely above a whisper. That's when I knew, Laura said,

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her voice trembling. That's the night I realized you weren't you.

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I tried to argue, to tell her this was crazy,

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but she cut me off. You don't remember, do you,

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she said, tears streaming down her face. Or maybe you

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do and you just won't admit it. But I know

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what I saw that wasn't you. I reached out to her,

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desperate to calm her down, to make her believe me,

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but she recoiled so fast she knocked over a chair.

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Don't touch me, she screamed, backing into the corner of

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the room. I can't do this anymore. I don't know

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what you are, but you're not him. Her words hit

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me like a punch to the gut. I just stood there, frozen,

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watching as she broke down in front of me. I

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wanted to yell, to shake her, to make her understand

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that I'm still me, but am I. After a few minutes,

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she ran upstairs and slammed the door. I didn't follow her.

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I couldn't. Instead, I sat at the table, staring at

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the journal. The entry kept looping in my mind. He

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looked like my husband, but something about him was wrong.

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I don't know how long I sat there before I

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I got up and went to the bathroom. I don't

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even know why I did it. Maybe I just needed

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to see myself to prove to myself that I hadn't changed.

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I stood in front of the mirror, looking at my

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reflection at first, and everything seemed normal, same face, same

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tired eyes, same messy hair. But then I noticed it.

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It was small, almost imperceptible, but there it was my smile.

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It didn't look right, it felt too wide, like it

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didn't quite belong to me. I'm still standing here, staring

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at it, trying to convince myself it's just in my

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head that it's just stress or exhaustion or something not normal.

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But the longer I look, the more certain I am.

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She's right. It's not my smile.