My husband and I had always talked about the day we would become parents. It was supposed to be a moment of joy, a new chapter in our lives. When our son, Artyom, was born, I thought I knew exactly what to expect. Sleepless nights, endless feedings, and the overwhelming responsibility of caring for a newborn. But nothing could have prepared me for the changes I started to notice in my husband.
In the early days, everything felt magical. Our home was filled with warmth, love, and the soft coos of our newborn. I couldn’t take my eyes off my husband as he held Artyom. He was tender, gentle, and seemed to be the perfect father. We were a team, adjusting to our new life, sharing the ups and downs of parenting. But as time went on, things began to shift.
It started with small, almost insignificant changes. He would come home later from work, a little more irritable than usual. His answers to my questions became shorter, more clipped. At night, after Artyom had fallen asleep, he would retreat to his study and ask for “an hour to himself.” Sometimes, he would leave the house altogether, saying he needed to clear his head, but he never explained where he was going.
I tried not to overthink it. Maybe he was just exhausted, adjusting to fatherhood in his own way. Perhaps he was going through something I didn’t fully understand. I even considered that he might be experiencing some sort of postpartum depression — after all, fathers go through a lot too. So, I gave him space, not wanting to push him further into his shell.
But everything changed last night.
It started like any other night. Artyom woke up crying, his tiny voice echoing through the baby monitor. I was about to get up to soothe him when I glanced at the monitor. The screen showed our son settling back into his crib, having simply dropped his pacifier. He was calming down on his own. I relaxed, ready to drift back to sleep, when something caught my eye.
A movement appeared in the corner of the screen.
I froze, my heart racing. There, standing in the dim light of the nursery, was my husband. He was motionless, staring at the crib, his face expressionless. But here’s the thing — he had just left the house. I had heard the front door close, and I had seen him leave a few minutes earlier.
I could feel my blood run cold.
For a moment, I thought it was a trick of the light, or maybe I was imagining things. But the longer I stared at the screen, the more certain I became. That was him — my husband, in the nursery, standing still and unblinking. I couldn’t breathe. My mind raced, and a wave of panic washed over me.
I didn’t think. I jumped out of bed and ran to the nursery as fast as I could.
When I reached the doorway, I stopped dead in my tracks.
My husband was still there, in the same spot, staring at Artyom’s crib. The room was bathed in the faint glow of the nightlight, casting eerie shadows across the walls. I couldn’t understand what I was seeing. I called out to him, my voice shaky with fear.
“David? What are you doing?”
His head turned slowly toward me, and I felt an icy chill run down my spine. His eyes… they weren’t the same. They were distant, unfocused, as if he wasn’t really seeing me. He blinked, and for a moment, I thought he didn’t recognize me. Then, he gave a small, unsettling smile.
“I was just… watching him sleep,” he said softly, his voice hollow, almost robotic.
I took a step closer, my mind struggling to make sense of the situation. My husband, who had been acting so distant lately, was standing in our son’s room, staring at him in a way that made my stomach churn.
“David, you were just here… You left the house. I saw you,” I said, my voice trembling. “How are you here?”
He blinked again, as if the question hadn’t registered. “I was just… checking on him. He’s fine. I’ll go back to bed.”
I stepped forward, reaching for his arm, but when I touched him, his skin felt cold. I recoiled, a surge of fear jolting through me. This wasn’t my husband. This wasn’t the man I had married. His behavior was erratic, his words disconnected from reality. I couldn’t understand what was happening, but I knew something was terribly wrong.
Without thinking, I grabbed Artyom from his crib and held him tightly against my chest. My heart raced as I backed away from David, my eyes never leaving him. He stood there, motionless, as if he were waiting for something. Waiting for me to do something. But I didn’t know what.
“David, what’s going on? Why are you acting like this?” I demanded, my voice breaking.
He stared at me for a long moment, his eyes empty, and then, almost like a switch flipping, his expression softened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just… I was thinking about everything. About us. About Artyom.”
His words didn’t make sense, but I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe that this was just some weird, inexplicable moment that would pass.
“Please, let’s go back to bed,” he said, his voice returning to its normal tone. But something in his eyes made me hesitate.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t talking to my husband anymore. I was talking to someone else — someone who had taken him, someone who had replaced him in a way that defied all logic.
With Artyom still in my arms, I backed out of the room, my gaze fixed on David. He didn’t move, didn’t say anything else. He just stood there, as if nothing had happened. I closed the door behind me, locking it, and then I stood there, frozen in place, my mind reeling.
What had I just witnessed? What was happening to David?
I didn’t know the answers, but I knew one thing for sure — this was only the beginning. Something was terribly wrong, and I had to find out what it was before it was too late.