The first few weeks after discovering the pregnancy were a silent hell.

My wife seemed calm.

Too calm.

She walked around the house as if nothing had changed, making coffee, reading on the sofa, talking on the phone with friends.

But I could no longer see her in the same way.

Every time I looked at her, I remembered three things:

The moans in the bathroom.

The door was closed on the wedding night.

And those marks on her body.

One night I decided to ask him directly.

—I need you to explain something to me.

She looked up from the book she was reading.

-What thing?

I took a deep breath.

—Pregnancy.

For a second I saw something cross her eyes.

Something that disappeared too quickly.

Then he smiled.

—I knew you were going to ask.

—How did it happen?

She closed the book slowly.

And he said something that made the air in the room feel heavy.

—My husband came back.

I felt my blood run cold.

—Your… what?

“My husband,” she repeated calmly. “The one who has always been with me.”

I thought he was joking.

Or that he was having some kind of mental breakdown.

“We’re married,” I said with difficulty.

She shook her head.

—No. You are just the man who was supposed to help me live in this world.

Those words made no sense.

—What are you talking about?

Her voice dropped to almost a whisper.

—He doesn’t belong here.

I felt a chill run down my spine.

—Then explain to me who he is.

She looked at me for several seconds.

Then he said something I’ll never forget.

—I met him when I was twelve years old.

Silence filled the room.

—She appeared in my room one night. I thought it was a dream.

My throat closed up.

—But he came back.

And he returned.

And he returned.

Nightly.

I wanted to interrupt her.

Tell him that all of that was impossible.

But something in her gaze prevented me from doing so.

“At first I was afraid,” she continued. “But then I understood that he had chosen me.”

—Chosen for what?

—To be his wife.

I felt nauseous.

—That’s impossible.

She smiled with an unsettling tranquility.

—I thought the same thing… until he started touching me.

My heart began to beat strongly.

—Since then he has always been with me.

I got up from the chair.

—That’s crazy.

“No,” she replied. “It’s the truth.”

He approached slowly.

—And now our son is on the way.

“That can’t be mine,” I said.

She shook her head.

—I never said it was.

That night I slept with the light on.

He was trying to convince me that my wife needed psychological help.

That everything had an explanation.

But three nights later…

I heard something.

Wailing.

Again.

They came from his room.

This time I didn’t hesitate.

I ran down the hallway.

I opened the door.

And what I saw made fear pierce my chest.

She was in bed.

Moving.

Her hands were holding the sheets.

His breathing was rapid.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

Worst…

They were the brands.

On the mattress.

As if someone invisible were pressing on the opposite side of the bed.

I felt like my heart was going to jump out of my chest.

-What the devil…?

At that moment something pushed me.

An invisible blow.

I fell against the wall with such force that I lost my breath.

She shouted:

—GET OUT OF HERE!

The door slammed shut in front of me.

Alone.

Without anyone touching her.

I spent the night in the hospital with two broken ribs.

Doctors said he had suffered a domestic accident.

But I knew the truth.

Something was living in my house.

Something my wife called “husband”.

Two weeks later I left.

Without looking back.

I never saw her again.

But six months later I received news that still haunts me.

My ex-wife gave birth.

The baby was born completely healthy.

Except for one thing.

The doctors said they had never seen anything like it.

Her eyes…

They were completely black.