Elise woke with a gasp, disoriented in the pre-dawn darkness. For a fleeting moment, she'd forgotten everything—Lena's death, the funeral, the crushing weight of grief. Then reality rushed back, settling over her like a shroud.

  The digital clock read 4:38 a.m. Aaron's side of the bed was empty, the sheets cool to the touch. Elise sat up, listening. The house was silent except for the low hum of the refrigerator downstairs and the occasional creak of the old Victorian settling around her.

  "Aaron?" she called softly.

  No answer.

  She slipped from the bed, her bare feet cold against the hardwood floor. The bathroom was dark and empty. A faint glow from the hallway drew her forward.

  It was unusual for Aaron to be up at this hour. He typically slept soundly through the night, while Elise was the restless one, often lying awake listening to his steady breathing beside her.

  The hallway light cast long shadows as she made her way toward the stairs. The house felt different in the dark—larger, less familiar. The grief counselor had warned her that grief could alter perceptions, make the familiar seem strange. But this felt like something else.

  "Aaron?" she called again, louder this time.

  As she reached the landing, a sound from below stopped her—the soft click of the back door closing. Elise peered over the railing into the darkened foyer. A shadow moved across the floor, then Aaron appeared, still wearing yesterday's clothes, his face obscured in the darkness.

  "Where were you?" Elise asked.

  Aaron startled, looking up. "Jesus, Elise. You scared me."

  "Sorry," she said, making her way down the stairs. "I woke up and you weren't there."

  "I couldn't sleep." He ran a hand through his hair, disheveled from the night air. "Went outside for some air."

  "At four in the morning?"

  "I didn't want to wake you." Aaron moved toward the kitchen. "You need your rest."

  Elise followed him, switching on the light. Aaron blinked in the sudden brightness, turning away to fill a glass with water from the tap. There was something about his posture—a tightness, a guardedness—that felt unfamiliar.

  "You're still wearing yesterday's clothes," she observed.

  "I fell asleep on the couch after you went to bed. Paperwork for the insurance company." He drank deeply, then set the glass down with deliberate care. "The grief counselor said getting your affairs in order can be therapeutic."

  "When did he say that?" Elise couldn't recall any such conversation.

  "During our phone consultation yesterday." Aaron's smile was gentle, concerned. "Don't you remember? We talked about it at dinner."

  Had they? The days were blurring together, and her memory felt unreliable. Maybe she had forgotten. She'd been forgetting a lot lately.

  "Come back to bed," Aaron said, extending his hand. "It's still early."

  But as he guided her back upstairs, Elise couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. The way Aaron avoided her gaze, the faint smell of outside air clinging to his clothes—petrichor and something else she couldn't place. It was probably nothing. Grief playing tricks on her mind, as the counselor had warned.

  Yet as she lay beside Aaron in their bed, listening to his breathing slow into sleep, Elise remained awake, staring at the ceiling. Her thoughts drifted to Lena, to the missing ring, to her mother's cryptic warnings.

  Something was wrong. She just couldn't grasp what it was.

  ---

  The doorbell rang at precisely 10 a.m., startling Elise from a fitful doze on the couch. She'd finally fallen asleep as dawn broke, only to be awakened by Aaron gently explaining he had to go into the office for a few hours.

  "Just to tie up some loose ends," he'd said, kissing her forehead. "Claire said she might stop by. Will you be okay alone?"

  Now, rubbing sleep from her eyes, Elise made her way to the door. It wasn't Claire standing on the porch, but a courier holding a small package.

  "Elise Carter?" he asked, extending a digital pad for her signature.

  "Yes, that's me."

  The package was lightweight, wrapped in brown paper with her name and address handwritten in familiar looping script. Lena's handwriting. Elise's heart stuttered.

  She carried it to the kitchen, setting it on the island while she made coffee with trembling hands. The postmark was dated three days before Lena's death. Something she'd mailed just before...

  Elise took a steadying breath and carefully unwrapped the package. Inside was a small jewelry box and a folded note. She opened the note first, her sister's handwriting swimming before her tear-filled eyes.

  *El,*

  *I found this in that antique shop we visited last month. Reminded me of the earrings Mom used to wear to Dad's holiday parties, remember? Thought it would be perfect for your anniversary.*

  *Love you more than chocolate cake (and you know that's saying something),*

  *Lena*

  *P.S. Don't let Aaron peek! It's supposed to be a surprise.*

  Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  The note was so quintessentially Lena—light, teasing, affectionate—that a sob escaped Elise's throat. This didn't sound like someone planning to end her life. This was Lena thinking of the future, of Elise's upcoming anniversary with Aaron.

  With shaking fingers, Elise opened the jewelry box. Inside lay a delicate pair of sapphire earrings, vintage and elegant. Exactly the sort of thing Elise would love, exactly the sort of thoughtful gift Lena would choose.

  Aaron and Elise's seventh anniversary was still two weeks away. Lena had planned this gift, had taken the time to shop for it, to mail it with a personal note. How could she have done that if she'd been contemplating suicide?

  It made no sense.

  Elise was still staring at the earrings when she heard a sound from upstairs—a soft thud, like a door closing. She froze, listening. The house was supposed to be empty.

  "Hello?" she called, setting down the box.

  Silence answered her.

  It was probably nothing—the house settling, a tree branch against a window. But the hair on the back of her neck stood up. She grabbed a knife from the block on the counter and moved cautiously toward the stairs.

  "Hello? Is someone there?"

  The staircase creaked under her weight as she climbed slowly, the knife clutched tightly in her right hand. At the top of the landing, she hesitated, listening again. All the bedroom doors were closed, including the guest room they never used.

  Had that door been closed earlier? Elise couldn't remember.

  Swallowing hard, she approached it, reaching for the handle with her left hand. The door swung open to reveal an empty room, untouched and dust-free—Aaron was meticulous about cleaning, even spaces they rarely entered. Nothing seemed disturbed.

  Elise checked the other rooms—master bedroom, bathroom, home office—finding nothing out of place. She was being paranoid. The counselor—Dr. Bennett, Aaron had called him—would probably say this was normal, grief manifesting as anxiety.

  Returning to the kitchen, Elise put the knife back in the block, embarrassed by her reaction. That's when she noticed the jewelry box was no longer on the counter where she'd left it.

  Her heart rate accelerated. She looked around frantically, checking the floor, the nearby surfaces. It was gone.

  Or had she moved it herself? Put it away somewhere and forgotten? Lately, she'd been doing things without remembering—at least according to Aaron. But this felt different. She was certain she'd left it right there.

  The front door opened, and Elise jumped.

  "Just me," Aaron called, his footsteps approaching the kitchen. "Got done earlier than expected."

  He appeared in the doorway, briefcase in hand, smiling easily. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

  "I..." Elise hesitated. How could she explain the missing box without sounding unhinged? "Did you come home while I was upstairs?"

  Aaron's brow furrowed. "No, I just got here. Why?"

  "Nothing, I just... thought I heard something."

  "The old pipes," Aaron said dismissively, setting his briefcase on the counter. "This place is full of strange noises."

  Elise nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Had she imagined the package? The note? The earrings? But it had felt so real, Lena's handwriting so distinctive.

  "I brought lunch," Aaron continued, pulling containers from a paper bag. "That Thai place you like."

  "I'm not very hungry."

  "You need to eat, love." His voice was gentle but firm. "Dr. Bennett said maintaining routine is important. Food, sleep, self-care."

  The mention of the counselor reminded Elise. "When is my appointment with Dr. Bennett? I should prepare..."

  Aaron paused, a flicker of something crossing his face before it smoothed into concern. "You saw him this morning, Elise. Don't you remember? I dropped you off at his office on my way to work."

  Elise stared at him, a cold dread seeping through her veins. She had no memory of any appointment, of leaving the house at all.

  "That's... that's not possible," she whispered. "I've been home all morning."

  Aaron put down the food containers and approached her slowly, as if she were a frightened animal. "Sweetheart, we left here at 8:30. Your appointment was at 9. I picked you up at 10:30 and brought you home."

  "No," Elise insisted, panic rising in her throat. "No, I was here. A package came. From Lena."

  "A package?" Aaron's expression shifted to alarm. "What kind of package?"

  "Earrings. For our anniversary. With a note."

  Aaron took her hands in his, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles on her palms. "Elise, there was no package. Lena is gone, remember?"

  "I know she's gone!" Elise pulled away. "I'm not hallucinating. The package came this morning. A courier delivered it."

  "Okay, okay," Aaron soothed, raising his hands placatingly. "Where is it now?"

  "It was here," Elise gestured to the counter. "But when I came back downstairs, it was gone. I thought... I thought someone was in the house."

  Aaron's face softened with sympathy. "Dr. Bennett warned us about this. These kinds of... episodes. He said grief can sometimes manifest as vivid hallucinations, especially when the loss is sudden and traumatic."

  "It wasn't a hallucination," Elise insisted, but doubt had begun to creep in. If she'd truly had an appointment that morning, if hours of her day were simply missing from her memory, then perhaps she wasn't reliable. Perhaps she couldn't trust her own perceptions.

  "Let me get you some water," Aaron said, moving to the cabinet. "And your medication."

  "Medication?" Elise echoed. "What medication?"

  Aaron turned, a prescription bottle in his hand. "The anti-anxiety pills Dr. Bennett prescribed this morning. For moments exactly like this."

  Elise stared at the bottle. Her name was printed on the label, along with a drug name she didn't recognize and instructions to take one as needed for acute anxiety episodes.

  "I don't remember..." she began, then trailed off. What was happening to her?

  "It's okay," Aaron assured her, filling a glass with water. "Memory gaps are common with severe grief. That's why I'm here—to help you through this."

  He placed a small white pill in her palm. It looked innocuous enough, but Elise hesitated. Something deep inside her was screaming a warning she couldn't articulate.

  "Trust me," Aaron urged gently. "Have I ever given you reason not to?"

  Elise thought of their six years of marriage, of Aaron's unwavering support, his patience, his love. He'd never been anything but devoted.

  She swallowed the pill.

  ---

  That night, Elise dreamed of Lena.

  They were in Lena's apartment, sunlight streaming through the windows. Lena was pacing, agitated, her usual vibrancy channeled into nervous energy.

  "You have to listen to me," she was saying, her voice distorted as if underwater. "He's not who you think."

  "Who?" Elise asked, but Lena continued as if she hadn't spoken.

  "The earrings were a test. If you got them, it means he's intercepting everything else."

  "Lena, you're not making sense."

  Her sister stopped pacing, turning to face her directly. "The ring, Elise. He took my ring. Why would he do that?"

  Elise woke with a gasp, heart pounding. The bedroom was dark, Aaron's steady breathing beside her unchanged. The digital clock read 3:17 a.m.—the exact time the police had called with news of Lena's death.

  A coincidence, surely.

  She slipped out of bed without waking Aaron and padded to the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face. The dream had felt so real, so urgent. Lena trying to tell her something important.

  On her way back to bed, a floorboard creaked in the hallway—not under her feet, but further down, near the stairs. Elise froze, listening intently. Another creak, then another.

  Someone was in the house.

  She reached for her phone on the nightstand, intending to wake Aaron, to call 911. But the phone wasn't there. She was certain she'd left it charging beside the bed.

  "Aaron," she whispered urgently, shaking his shoulder. "Aaron, wake up."

  He didn't stir. His breathing remained deep and regular, unnaturally so.

  The footsteps were coming closer now. Elise looked around frantically for something to use as a weapon, settling on a heavy crystal paperweight Aaron kept on his dresser.

  The bedroom door was already partially open. As she watched, it swung wider, revealing a silhouette in the darkness.

  A woman, slight of build, with flowing hair.

  "Lena?" Elise breathed, disbelieving.

  The figure didn't respond, didn't move, just stood there watching. A chill swept over Elise. This wasn't real. It couldn't be.

  "You're not real," she said aloud, gripping the paperweight tighter.

  The figure took a step forward, into a shaft of moonlight streaming through the window. It wasn't Lena. The face was obscured by shadows, but the build was similar, the stance familiar.

  "Who are you?" Elise demanded, her voice stronger now.

  The figure raised a hand, pointing not at Elise but at Aaron's sleeping form. Then, with deliberate slowness, it drew a finger across its throat in a universal gesture.

  Elise hurled the paperweight with all her strength. It passed through the figure and crashed into the hallway wall with a resounding thud.

  The figure vanished.

  Aaron bolted upright. "What the hell?"

  "There was someone here," Elise gasped, backing toward the bed. "In the doorway."

  Aaron was instantly alert, reaching for the baseball bat he kept under the bed. "Stay here," he ordered, moving toward the door.

  Elise watched as he checked the hallway, the other rooms, eventually the entire house, turning on lights as he went. When he returned, his expression was a mixture of concern and resignation.

  "There's no one here, Elise. All the doors and windows are locked from the inside."

  "I saw someone," she insisted. "Standing right there."

  Aaron sat beside her on the bed, taking her hands in his. "I believe that you think you saw someone. But sweetheart, the house is secure. No one could have gotten in."

  "Then how do you explain this?" Elise pointed to the paperweight, now lying in the hallway where it had fallen after hitting the wall.

  "You must have thrown it in your sleep. You were probably having a nightmare about Lena."

  Elise shook her head vehemently. "I was awake. I got up, went to the bathroom. I heard footsteps on the stairs."

  "The old pipes," Aaron suggested again. "Or the house settling."

  "It wasn't the house. It was a person." Her voice broke. "I'm not crazy, Aaron."

  "No one said you were crazy," he soothed, pulling her into his arms. "But Dr. Bennett did warn us about hallucinations, remember? Particularly at night."

  Had he? Elise couldn't remember any such warning, but then again, she apparently couldn't remember an entire doctor's appointment.

  "Come back to bed," Aaron urged, guiding her gently. "I'll stay awake until you fall asleep."

  Reluctantly, Elise allowed herself to be tucked back under the covers. Aaron stroked her hair, humming softly, a technique that had always soothed her anxiety in the past.

  "I love you," he murmured. "You're safe, I promise."

  Despite her lingering unease, Elise felt her eyelids growing heavy. The medication from earlier must still be in her system, pulling her toward sleep.

  Just before consciousness slipped away, she caught a glimpse of something on Aaron's wrist as he stroked her hair—a thin red scratch, fresh and angry against his skin. A scratch that hadn't been there earlier in the day.

  But before she could process what that might mean, darkness claimed her.

  Outside their bedroom window, a branch scraped against the glass, driven by the rising wind. It sounded almost like fingernails, like someone trying to get in—or warning her to get out.