The Stranger Who Wore My Husband’s Face
When Marissa opened the door, she expected to see her husband—same hoodie, same face—but something felt off.
He didn’t greet her with a kiss. Didn’t use her nickname. Even the cat hissed.
When Marissa opened the door, she expected to see her husband—same hoodie, same face—but something felt off.
He didn’t greet her with a kiss. Didn’t use her nickname. Even the cat hissed.
Then he began wandering through the house, asking odd questions about money that didn’t exist.
Keeping her composure, Marissa lured him into the basement and locked him in.
She called the real Hayden, who rushed home, stunned.
The man who emerged when police arrived looked exactly like Hayden—but something was missing.
He was a stranger in her husband’s skin, but without his spirit.
His name was Grant—Hayden’s long-lost twin, separated at birth and raised in foster care.
A chance meeting in a bar had uncovered the connection, but Hayden hadn’t taken it seriously—until Grant forced his way into their lives.
He wasn’t violent, just lost, and Hayden couldn’t bring himself to press charges.
Weeks later, Hayden found Grant a job, and eventually, they invited him to dinner.
It was awkward, but polite.
Marissa wasn’t ready to forgive—but she made an effort.
Now, every night, she watches their cat curl up at Hayden’s feet. She knows the real one stayed.
And so does Waffles.
To celebrate my birthday, I invited all my closest friends, but no one showed up: And when I found out why, I was horrified
I invited all my closest friends to my birthday… but no one came. And when I found out the reason, I was devastated. 😢
I never imagined that my 35th birthday would turn into the most heartbreaking day of my life. I usually didn’t make much of a fuss about birthdays, but this year, I craved something different — warmth, closeness, real connection.
I chose to host the celebration at home. I planned everything myself: set a cozy table, prepared my favorite homemade dishes, and invited the friends who had stood by me through everything — late nights, hard times, and unforgettable moments.
We had agreed to meet at six. I spent the entire day preparing — bought the freshest ingredients, marinated the meat, made soup from scratch, and even baked a pie. I arranged the table just right: soft candlelight, gentle music in the background, polished glasses, folded napkins — every detail was perfect.
As six o’clock neared, I felt that flutter of excitement — like waiting for something beautiful to begin.
But then… no one came.
At exactly six o’clock, I stood by the window, eyes scanning the quiet street below.
Nothing. No voices. No cars pulling up. Just silence.
“They’re just running late,” I reassured myself, pouring a glass of wine to ease the nerves. Some of them were known for being late — it was typical. So I waited.
Thirty minutes passed. Still no one.
The uneasiness began to creep in, slowly tightening in my chest. I checked my phone — no missed calls, no new messages. I sent a quick note in the group chat:
“Where are you guys?” But the only response was silence.
My thoughts started spiraling.
“Did they forget?”
“Maybe I got the date wrong?”
“Was it something I said… or didn’t say?”
Each sip of wine brought a growing ache to my throat. I couldn’t swallow the lump that had formed.
I tried calling — one friend at a time.
No one picked up. Not one.
An hour passed. Then another.
I sat at the beautifully arranged table, surrounded by untouched food and flickering candles, staring at the empty plates like they might explain why I was alone. The music still played softly, but now it felt cruel — like I’d been cast as the joke in a play I didn’t know I was in.
By ten, I stood up quietly and began clearing the dishes, still holding onto a sliver of hope that the door would burst open, and someone would shout, “Surprise! We were just joking!”
But no one came.
Then, everything changed.
Just as I was getting ready for bed, my phone buzzed — a message from my sister:
“Did you see the news? I’m so sorry, I didn’t know how to tell you… There was an accident. Their car… they were on their way to you.”
I froze. My hands went numb. I opened the news.
The first headline I saw:
“C.rash on the highway… three d-ead…”
The screen blurred as my heart sank.
It was them. My friends. All three. In the same car.
They really were coming. They hadn’t forgotten.
That night, I couldn’t cry.
I just sat there in the dark, listening to the steady drip of the kitchen tap. The wine glass sat untouched. The plates remained on the table — as if waiting for guests who’d never arrive.
And I… so caught up in my own pain… never once considered something tragic could have happened.
I thought I’d been abandoned.
But the truth was far, far worse. 😢