I love my wife. She’s beautiful, graceful, and every smile she gives me lights up my world. But lately, something’s been gnawing at the back of my mind, something unsettling. It’s strange because I can’t quite put my finger on it… Why did I marry her?
It wasn’t a lack of love—no, that was never in question. But every time I try to recall that day, the memory slips through my fingers like smoke. My mind feels foggy, and the harder I try to remember, the blurrier it gets. I see glimpses of her in a white dress, but her face… her face is always shrouded in darkness.
One night, as I lay next to her, staring at the ceiling, I decided to search for the wedding album. I thought if I could just look at the photos, maybe they’d jog my memory. I rummaged through the attic, blowing dust off old boxes until I found it—an elegant, leather-bound book.
Opening it, I felt a chill creep up my spine. There were no pictures, only blank pages. My pulse quickened. No way—there had to be some mistake. Where were the photos of us, the happy couple? Where were the memories?
I went downstairs, clutching the album tightly. My wife was sitting on the couch, her face glowing under the soft light. “Honey?” I asked, voice trembling. “Where are our wedding photos?”
She looked up at me with a smile, her eyes gleaming in a way that sent shivers down my spine. “Oh, we didn’t take any, remember?” she said, her voice smooth as honey but dripping with something I couldn’t quite place.
I stared at her, my mouth dry. “What do you mean? Who doesn’t take photos at their own wedding?”
She stood up, slowly walking toward me, her smile never faltering. “We didn’t need any. The memory is enough.”
But that’s just it—I couldn’t remember. Panic surged through me. Something was wrong, deeply wrong. I backed away from her, my heart racing. “I don’t remember the wedding at all,” I blurted out, my voice breaking. “Why can’t I remember?”
Her smile faded, and her expression darkened. “Some things are better left forgotten,” she whispered, her voice suddenly cold. She stepped closer, and I felt my back hit the wall. I was trapped.
“I love you,” she said softly, her eyes locking onto mine, but the warmth was gone, replaced by something… sinister. “But if you keep digging, you might not like what you find.”
I blinked, and in that split second, her face changed—her features twisted into something grotesque, inhuman. I gasped, stumbling back, but when I looked again, she was normal, her sweet smile back in place.
I don’t know what she is, but I know she’s not the woman I married. And I can’t remember why I married her… because maybe I never did.
Now, every night, I lie awake, wondering if she’s watching me while I sleep, wondering what she’s hiding behind that perfect smile. And wondering… how long I have before the truth comes for me.