I found myself standing at the threshold of disbelief as the police officer’s words echoed in my mind. “That’s not who you think it is.” The room seemed to close in around me, the walls pressing with an invisible weight. I swallowed hard, my pulse quickening, trying to process what he was implying.
Confusion swirled with the rising tide of dread. How could the woman in our bed not be my wife? I stepped forward, my mind racing to find some rational explanation. The shadowy figure was shrouded in the familiar warmth of our bedroom, blonde hair fanned out against the white of the pillow. It had to be her. But the officer’s demeanor suggested otherwise, and fear gnawed at the edges of my mind.
“Sir,” the officer urged again, his tone firm but gentle, as though coaxing a wild animal to retreat. “Please, step back. Let us handle this.”
