At exactly 2:14 in the morning, my wife whispered in her sleep, saying, “No… leave him…”
And at that very moment, every light in our bedroom went out.
I pretended to be asleep, watching her quietly slip out of bed.
A few seconds later, my phone disappeared from the table.
The first time I heard her crying in her sleep, I thought I’d imagined it.
I believed I knew everything about her. We’d only been married for three weeks, but before the wedding we had talked endlessly—her favorite meals, her dreams, her habits, the tiny things that made her laugh, the routines she found comforting.
She was everything a man hopes for: gentle, brilliant, beautiful.
During the day she was full of energy. She danced in the kitchen while scrambling eggs, teasing me and calling me “My King.”
She would hold my hand and say,
“Solomon, I would choose you over and over again. In this life and any other.”
I always smiled back, replying,
“Katura, I’m yours. Today and forever.”
I meant it. I believed her.
Until the nights began revealing a different truth.
It started so quietly. I’d wake in the dark and hear soft sobs. She’d still be asleep, but tears streamed down her cheeks. Her body trembled, as if she was fighting something inside herself.
One night, I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I touched her shoulder gently. Her eyes opened slowly.
Before I could speak, she asked, “Why aren’t you sleeping?”
Her voice was calm, steady, as if nothing unusual had happened.
I was speechless. Just moments earlier her face had been wet with tears, but now she looked peaceful and glowing, like nothing was wrong.
The moment slipped away as if it had never been real.
But it was real.
Because the next night, and the one after, and the one after that…
It happened again.
Sometimes I’d hear her whisper things like:
“Give me more time…”
Or,
“I’m sorry… please wait…”
Every time I turned to look at her, she appeared fast asleep, breathing softly, as if the whispers came from somewhere else entirely.
I started doubting myself. Was stress playing tricks on me? Was I imagining her voice?
Or was something truly wrong?
One morning I finally asked her,
“Are you okay?”
She smiled, stroked my face lightly, and said,
“Of course I am.”
So I asked more directly,
“Do you know you cry in your sleep?”
Her confusion seemed genuine.
“Me? Cry? No. I don’t cry in my sleep. You must have been dreaming.”
I wanted to accept that.
But a nagging feeling wouldn’t let me rest.
So last night, I made up my mind.
I wasn’t going to sleep. I needed answers. I couldn’t keep pretending everything was normal.
I lay beside her, feigning deep sleep, eyes half-open.
She shifted toward me first… almost checking if my breathing was steady… if I was asleep.
Then, at exactly 2:14 AM, she turned away from me, adjusted her pillow, and faced the wall.
And then—
The light in the room went out.
I had purposely left it on.
But it flickered and died, like something had blown it out.
Fear tightened my chest.
“If she starts crying in her sleep again, I need answers. And if she refuses to tell the truth… I don’t know if this marriage can continue.” I whispered to myself.
The room was silent.
Dark.
Still.
I lay frozen, eyes open, waiting.
Then I heard her shift on the bed.
And then—
That sound again.
A silent, breathless sob.
She murmured, barely audible,
“I’m tired… I’m sorry… No… don’t take him…”
I leaned closer, trying to catch every word.
“Take who?”
“Leave who?”
Who was she talking to?
I reached toward her to tap her shoulder.
But my hand touched nothing.
She was gone.
Her side of the bed was completely empty.
My stomach dropped.
I reached for my phone to use as a flashlight.
It wasn’t on the table anymore.
Before I could call her name, something crawled across my leg.
I shot up with a scream and stumbled blindly toward the door, not knowing how I reached it so quickly. I burst out of the room and slammed the door behind me.
My whole body shook. Sweat dripped down my face.
Then—
A voice spoke.
Calm. Controlled.
It came from the living room.
“My King,” she said softly, “why did you run out of the bedroom? Is something wrong? You’re sweating.”
I slowly turned my head.
She was there.
Sitting on the couch.
Calm.
Drinking tea.
I wiped my forehead and stepped closer. This was no longer something I could brush off.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“We were in bed together. How did you get out? Why is the bedroom pitch dark but the living room light is on?”
She chuckled lightly.
“Oh, sweetheart… I got cold. I came out to make tea. Would you like some?”
“Katura,” I said, my voice firm.
“What is happening in this house?”
She stood, placing a hand on my arm.
“You’re stressed,” she whispered. “You’ve been overworking your mind. Maybe you need a checkup.”
“Enough,” I snapped.
“I need the truth. Who are you really?”
Then—
A sound came from the bedroom.
Soft.
Almost identical to her own voice.
Whispering my name.
I turned toward the bedroom door.
Then back to the woman standing near me.
Her smile had vanished.
I grabbed a flashlight from the shelf.
“I’m checking that room,” I said.
“Don’t,” she warned sharply.
Her voice changed.
This time it was deep.
Masculine.
An impossible voice coming from her throat.
“Stop.”
My legs buckled.
That wasn’t her voice.
As I stood trembling, my eyes fell on a wooden stick leaning against the dining table.
Should I take it? Would that make things worse?
Before I decided, the soft call from the bedroom grew louder—
My name, in her gentle tone.
But the deep voice behind me said not to go.
I felt something behind me.
Close enough to touch.
But I couldn’t turn around.
Fear pinned me in place.
Then something inside me roared:
Run.
Run now.
“Run?” I whispered to myself.
Before I could think twice, the living room light snapped off.
I bolted.
I yanked the front door open and sprinted barefoot into the street.
I didn’t stop.
I didn’t look back.
I ran like my life depended on it.
I kept running until my legs nearly collapsed.
I found a tree and sank beneath it, gasping for air, mind spinning.
“What is happening to my life?”
She always denied crying at midnight.
But the moment I tried to uncover the truth, everything spiraled into something I couldn’t explain.
And we were only three weeks into our marriage.
I stayed there until exhaustion dragged me into sleep. When I woke up, it was after 9 AM. I brushed off dirt, stood, and slowly made my way home.
I had decided:
We would talk.
I needed the truth, no matter how painful.
But when I reached the house, the front door was wide open.
Inside, her mother stood there packing Katura’s clothes and a flask of food.
“Good morning, Ma,” I said carefully.
She didn’t respond.
She just stared at me with an expression I couldn’t read.
“What’s going on? Why are you taking my wife’s things? Where is she?”
She suddenly raised her voice.
“I thought you were a responsible man. You came to our family acting humble and gentle. Now look at you.”
“Ma, please calm down. What happened?”
“What happened?” she repeated bitterly.
“Where were you when she needed you? You ran. Now she is in the hospital. I hope you’re satisfied.”
Hospital?
I was stunned.
She brushed past me, then turned.
“She’s at Montena Hospital. I expect you there.”
Then she left.
My mind spun.
My wife had never mentioned any illness.
So what had happened last night?
And how did her mother know?
I walked to the bedroom. The bedsheet looked rough, slightly stained. I ignored it and rushed out.
At the hospital, I asked the nurse at the desk,
“Please, my wife was admitted here. Her name is Katura. Where is she?”
The nurse looked at me, shook her head, and murmured,
“Men… always running after anything in a skirt.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
She waved a hand.
“You’ll hear it yourself. Her room is 102. Down the hall.”
As I turned, I noticed what I thought was my mother-in-law, standing further down the hallway making a phone call.
“Oh, that’s her,” I said. “Thank you.”
The nurse muttered something that froze me.
“Her? Mother-in-law? Who told you that? Mother of who?”
I stared at her.
“What do you mean? You know that woman?”
The nurse refused to explain.
But then she sighed and leaned closer.
“Be careful. That woman you saw? She’s not her mother. And your wife… I doubt she’s even human.”
My stomach tightened.
“What? What are you saying?”
“I can’t explain,” she whispered. “Just protect yourself.”
I asked again, “Medically, what’s wrong with her?”
“We ran every test,” the nurse said.
“Nothing is physically wrong.”
I sighed heavily and walked toward room 102.
By the time I reached the door, my chest felt like it held a stone. I pushed the door open.
The woman I had believed to be her mother immediately started shouting at me.
But Katura lifted her weak hand and said,
“Mama, please. It’s not his fault. He didn’t do anything wrong. I took his place.”
The woman froze, not understanding.
I did not understand either.
“You took my place? What does that mean?”
She motioned for the woman to leave.
“Let me talk to him alone.”
After the woman stepped out, the room felt heavier.
Different.
“Come closer,” she said quietly.
“I need to tell you why I cry every midnight… and what I truly am.”
I moved slowly toward her, my heart pounding.
She said,
“I know you’re confused. I didn’t come into your life by accident. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love, but I did. Before you, there were others who asked for something from me. Something painful. I carried that burden for years.”
She paused, her hands trembling.
“The reason I cry is because my time is almost gone. If I had let you get too close… you would have paid a price that others paid without meaning to.”
My body went cold.
I whispered,
“Where are you from?”
She inhaled slowly.
“There is a place… a place desperate women go when they have nowhere else to turn. They make requests. And everything given comes with a cost.”
I listened without breathing.
“The woman you call my mother had four sons. She begged for a daughter. She went there. And I came into her life. But every few years, someone paid the price. She didn’t know until it was too late.”
She asked me to bring the woman back inside.
When she returned, Katura looked at her gently and said,
“Mama, my time is finished.”
“Stop saying that!” the woman cried.
“I wasn’t meant to stay forever,” Katura whispered.
“And now… I must leave. I’ve already brought enough harm, even to those who loved me.”
The woman collapsed into a chair, sobbing uncontrollably.
Katura looked at us both and said,
“Desperation is dangerous. When people want something too badly, they stop seeing right from wrong. They convince themselves that anything that brings them what they want must be good.”
Her words cut through me.
Then she said,
“You escaped what others didn’t. Not every blessing is truly a blessing. Some gifts shine on the outside but hide something dark within. In this world, be careful. Be patient. Ask questions. Don’t be deceived by appearances. Remember, not everything that glitters leads to gold.”
She turned her head slightly and whispered,
“Goodnight.”
A loud thud shook the room.
A shadow moved across the window.
And she was gone.
I left the hospital, packed my bags, and walked away from that town forever.
I never looked back.
Some doors are better left closed.