admin
The room felt smaller than usual, the walls seeming to lean inward, pressing down on me. Every breath grew heavier, each beat of my heart echoing like a warning of something about to go wrong.
The officer stepped cautiously toward the bed, raising his hand to keep me back. My legs faltered, and I leaned against the wall, desperate for something solid. “It’s not who you think,” he said—his voice sharp yet oddly gentle. I looked at the figure lying under the covers. The outline was familiar—same hair, same robe, same position—but the stillness was unnerving.
Outside, rain pounded the windows, and mist curled around the glass, amplifying the strangeness of the moment. I had been told my wife had suffered an accident, but if that wasn’t her in the bed, then who was it?
Moments later, the officers confirmed it: a tragic mistake. Relief and confusion collided as I realized how quickly certainty can crumble, leaving questions behind.
