I woke up in a hospital with no memory. A doctor told me I’d had an accident and might regain my memories. Then a man named Derek came in and said he was my husband — but I didn’t recognize him at all. He told stories about our life together, yet none felt familiar.
I was sent home with Derek, but the house didn’t feel like mine. Our dog Otis acted terrified of him. Derek harshly shoved the dog outside, even though I knew Otis was usually treated with love.
That night, I tried calling a contact labeled “Best Friend” for help. Derek flew out of the shower, snatched my phone, and angrily stopped the call. He accused me of being secretive.
The next morning, after Derek left, I peeked through the peephole and overheard him telling someone that I was starting to suspect something — and that they needed to deal with me “permanently.” Then I understood: this man wasn’t my husband, and I was in danger.