My Husband Wanted Us in Separate Rooms — Then One Night, I Heard Something I Couldn’t Ignore

The bed felt cavernous without him. I could still smell the faint trace of his aftershave on his pillow, and that made it worse, like he was there and yet not at all.

Doubt clawed at me. Maybe he regretted staying with me after the accident. Maybe sleeping beside a woman who couldn’t move her legs, who sometimes needed help just turning over, had finally worn him down. I’d always feared I was a burden, and now it felt like those fears were being confirmed.

A week later, the noises began.

At first, they were soft—faint scratches, a dull thump here and there, muffled sounds coming from down the hall where David now slept. I told myself it was nothing, just him adjusting to a new space, maybe moving furniture around.

But over time, the noises grew stranger. There were metallic clanks, heavy dragging sounds, and even sharp knocks that made my stomach twist.

Every night, I lie in bed frozen, listening. My imagination painted terrible pictures: Was he secretly packing up his things? Planning to leave me? Or—an even darker thought—was someone else in that room with him?

One afternoon, while David was at work, I wheeled myself down the hall, stopping at his door. My hand hovered over the doorknob for a long moment before I finally tried it.

It didn’t budge.

Locked.

Continue reading…

Continue READING