Dear My Beloved

~Ｖｉｃｅ ＃３~

𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝟑: 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐥

(𝐎𝐜𝐭. 𝟏𝟑-𝟏𝟗)

----

𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳:

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯.

-

"𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯."

Ｍｕｓｉｃ：

"𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘉𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘛𝘰 𝘔𝘦" - 𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘍𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳

"𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘖𝘰𝘨𝘶𝘮 𝘉𝘰𝘰𝘨𝘶𝘮 𝘚𝘰𝘯𝘨" - 𝘉𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘯 𝘞𝘰𝘰𝘥

🤎staring: Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

      👗preview: But then, everything seemed to stop.

The music faded into the background as, almost in a trance, you stared at the kitchen tool in your hand, the hum slowing on your lips.

Twirling it between your fingers, your eyes traced the jagged edge. Transfixed, your hands ached with an foreign yet strangely familiar desire—one buried deep in the recesses of your mind.

The record player  suddenly grabbed your attention when the previous song's lyrics of adoration from Helen Foster shifted.

The tune slowed, the pitch of the female singer’s voice deepening to an haunting croak.

 “Nothing is what it seems…
Oh dear, nothing is what it seems...”

💄summary: It’s your husband Miguel’s birthday, a day that should be filled with love and celebration. Yet, something feels…off. 

🎂tw/cw: 1950s Era, Abuse, Angst, Blood, Body Horror, Death, Despair, Disturbing Imagery, Emotional Manipulation, Gore, Grief, Hallucinations, Mental Breakdown, Mental Illness, No Smut, Paranoia, Psychological Horror, Trauma, Violence, etc...

💙Pet names: Amor (Love), Bebé (Baby), Cariño (Darling), Esposa (Wife), Mi amor (My love), Miel (Honey)

     ♥️Rating: 18+ explicit I ANGST I

 🎵 Word Count: 14.5k words 

Art found on Pinterest, all credit go to original artists/designers/photographers 

All credit also goes to musicians as I do not own the two songs heavily used in this oneshot.  😊

Dividers and mood board was created by me.

⚠️⚠️ Trigger Warning: This section contains highly sensitive content, including blood, trauma, verbal abuse, mental health struggles, and death. If any of these topics may be triggering for you, please proceed with caution and at your own discretion. ⚠️⚠️

~ I say, Oogum, oogum, boogum, boogum ~Boogum now, baby, you're castin' your spell on me. ~

The jolly tune of Brenton Wood resonated from the record player, your hips swaying to the song while you cooked. Sunlight poured in through the drawn gingham drapes, filling your home with a warm glow that energized everyone inside.

But, in particular, you.

Your eyes occasionally glanced over at the cookbook you had "borrowed" from you and your husband's shared closet — a cookbook from his late mother.

Currently, you had tasked yourself with making a childhood Mexican-Irish breakfast for your husband to celebrate his birthday — a blend of chorizo and potatoes, black pudding, fried eggs, and homemade tortillas. However, you wanted to make it exactly how his parents made it for him all those years ago, but you were finding it difficult with how vague the measurements were.

“‘Enough oil to make things crispy, but don't be stingy, but don't swim in it either?’ Then how much oil do I use?” you whispered in slight bewilderment before continuing on, nevertheless, thankful for the English translations alongside the Spanish handwritten recipes inside the cookbook.

The smell of black coffee, just the way Miguel liked it, along with the sound of the knife slicing vegetables atop the cutting board, wafted through the air.

You hummed, singing along softly. “You got me doing funny things like a clown, just look at me~” Hips swaying, you danced over to the calendar on the kitchen wall, your heels clicking upon the checkerboard tiles in rhythm with the upbeat melody.

Your eyes ran along the autumn month, rosy red lips pulling into a grin at the sight. “October 13th, 1950. My beloved husband's birthday.” You beamed, poking the colorful orange pin into the appropriate date. Pressing a kiss to your two manicured fingers, you placed it upon the date, completely in love with your husband.

Spinning back towards the stove, the blue dress and white apron you wore flaring with your movement. Your hands moved about, dashing seasoning here, a slice of butter there, and a mix with the whisk here. The Oogum Boogum Song played steadily in the background all the while.

You heard, amidst the song and noises of the kitchen, the small pitter-pattering of feet on the mint and creamed checkered floors. It wasn't long before the owner of such adorable footsteps hugged your leg, tugging at your apron to get your attention.

“Good morning, mommy,” your daughter, Gabriella, whispered from your side.

Your daughter, Gabriella, now six, was your bundle of joy. You loved your little girl so much, willing to go through any lengths to ensure she knew how much you did.

You grinned, wiping your hands on your apron before crouching down to her level. “Good morning, my sweet girl,” you greeted, unable to help but giggle at her messy brown hair, showing she had instantly run downstairs as soon as her eyes opened from her slumber.

You ran a hand along her head, smoothing the wild strands with your palm. Adoring how your daughter beamed up at you in her pink floral nightgown that reached down to her ankles and how she tightly clutched her stuffed rabbit, Flopsy, in her arms — an old gift from Miguel and you upon learning of your pregnancy.

“You seem happy this morning. Did you sleep well?” you asked, caressing the top of her head. However, you watched her bright smile falter at your question, causing your eyebrows to furrow. 

You already knew the reason for her change in mood.

“Another bad dream, huh?” you sighed, stroking her cheek with a finger, almost as if she were fragile glass that could break any moment.

“Yes… another bad dream. It's always the same, Mommy. I just wish they would go away,” she said, her eyes starting to glisten with approaching tears.

Your heart clenched as you reached out to embrace your daughter, hugging her close to your chest. “I know, baby, I know. I'm so sorry you are going through this.” you soothed. “No one should experience this, especially not a young girl like you.” 

The first tremble and shaky sob that escaped your little girl's mouth was like a knife to the heart. “We don't have to talk about it if you do not want to.”

“B-but I want to, Mamá,” she quickly interjected, surprising you. “P-Papá told me t-talking about it could… make them go away.” Your daughter sniffled, remembering your husband’s words the last time she had a nightmare.

You gave her a squeeze, hating how such dreams were tormenting your little girl. “Okay…” you agreed, pulling away slightly to meet her eyes, bracing yourself to hear about the terrors she experienced in her sleep.

“Was it about… Mommy again?” you asked warily. The question was simple enough, but the way your heart skipped a beat made it feel much deeper.

The sad nod Gabriella gave you made you frown. “Really? Was it… bad Mommy again?”

“N-no.” She replied in a brittle voice, her tanned cheeks growing a rosy red. “Y-you weren’t scary t-this time, Mommy. You were… sleeping.”

“Sleeping?” you asked, not expecting her reply. She confirmed with a nod. “You were dressed in a… w-white dress, and you were l-laying on a white bed,” Gabriella explained, twirling the fabric of her pink gown around her finger. “There was a sound that wouldn't stop. A...b-beeping sound, I think." Your daughter said between trembling lips.

"People were t-talking, but I couldn't understand them, and...you laid in the center of them…

Sleeping.”

Your eyebrows rose, a horrid thought instantly coming to mind as you imagined what your daughter could have dreamt. You shook the thought away, unwilling to linger on it.

You smiled at Gabriella, cupping her cheeks. “I know dreams can be scary and confusing, but they’re just dreams,” you told her. “I’m okay, completely fine, my sweet. See?” You held your hands and arms out to her with a grin, showing her you were, indeed, okay.

You felt at peace when she returned a small smile of her own. “I know, Mamá…” she trailed off, taking your hands in her smaller ones. She fiddled with your fingers for a moment, lost in thought. 

“Mamá… you'd never harm me or Papá… right?” Gabi asked, her question striking your core.

“What!? No, of course not, honey,” you assured her, squeezing her hands. “I’ll never harm you or Papá.”

“I know…” Gabriella replied with a small smile.

“Good. I love you, Gabi,” you said, kissing the top of her head. She returned your affection with a peck on your cheek, making your heart soar.

You gave her head a gentle pat. “But on a happier note,” you began, springing back to your full height to tend to the sizzling beans and eggs, feeling the joy of the morning return once more. “Do you know what today is?”

“Papá’s birthday!!”

“Shhh, not so loud,” you said, hastily clasping a hand over her mouth, making you both giggle. You didn’t want your sleeping husband to know you had plans for him.

“Sorry… it’s Papá’s birthday,” she whispered this time, watching from her short height as you returned to cooking, adding the appropriate herbs and vegetables to the dishes.

“Good job, it is,” you grinned, turning to her once more. “And did you finish your present for him?”

Frantically, Gabriella nodded. “Uh-huh, I did, and it was really hard work, so I hope Papá will like it.”

“He will, I assure you,” you promised, chuckling as you took note of her disarrayed hair once more. “We’re staying home all day to celebrate Papá’s birthday, so why don’t you return upstairs to get dressed?” you told her. “I’ll call you down when breakfast is finished.”

With a nod and another quick kiss to your cheek, Gabriella skipped off, her footsteps disappearing up the stairs.

You returned to the task at hand, but Gabriella’s dream lingered in your mind.

‘Is there a reason she’s having these dreams? Is it something she’s eating? Watching?’ you pondered, your parental fears taking root. 

Setting the spatula aside, you moved toward the record player, wishing to change the song—when it hit you. 

Sharp.

Sudden. 

Like a spike driven into your skull.

The pain burst through your head, making you stagger. You gasped, bracing yourself against the counter. 

Your vision blurred and clouded with white spots as a low ringing filled your ears.

It felt like the room was tilting, the ground shifting beneath your feet. You whimpered in agony, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to steady yourself, but the pain lingered, pulsing relentlessly.

“G-gosh, what is happening?” you whined, gripping your temple in a futile attempt to quell the ache.

Without realizing it, the throbbing pain vanished as quickly as it had come—disappearing without a trace, leaving you shaken and breathless.

Slowly, you straightened, disoriented and confused, glancing around your kitchen.

Everything seemed normal again—the stove, the breakfast, the cheery sunlight—but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. The air felt heavier, as though an unseen force was pressing down on you.

“I-I’m just tired,” you muttered, trying to shake off the strange sensation. You continued toward the record player in the corner of the kitchen, which sat atop a circular table. “Tired, indeed,” you affirmed, convincing yourself that the odd occurrence was nothing more than exhaustion from trying to perfect your husband’s birthday.

Still, you reminded yourself that the tiredness was worth it.

It was for your husband, the man you cared so deeply about, after all…

“Nothing like music to help ease my troubles,” you whispered, running a finger along the records until you stopped at a familiar one. “Yes… this one.” You smiled fondly, the events of just moments ago fading from your mind at the sight of the worn sleeve.

You carefully pulled the vinyl from its case—one of yours and Miguel’s favorites. Slipping it free of the sleeve, you replaced the previous record, The Oogum Boogum Song, with the new selection, placing it delicately on the turntable.

The needle dropped, and the warm, familiar voice of Helen Foster filled the kitchen.

The song, You Belong to Me, always made your heart flutter. It was the soundtrack to so many of your happiest moments.

It played at your wedding as you walked down the aisle, the same song you and Miguel slow-danced to the night you discovered you were pregnant with your little girl. 

It was also the song Miguel often sang while strumming his guitar, each deep note passing his lips a promise of his undying love.

The melody had wrapped around the two of you like a promise. Every time the soft, wistful notes filled the room, it felt like your love was stitched into the very air.

It was your song, the one you always came back to, every single time.

Hearing it now made everything feel right.

Perfect.

You breathed easier, allowing the song to calm you and completely erase what had happened before.

Everything was normal once more.

Everything was fine…

Returning to the pan of food, you found everything perfectly cooked. “Wonderful,” you murmured, feeling pleased. Turning off the stove and covering the finished dishes, you moved to begin setting the table.

You placed floral plates over perfectly selected napkins, then added a glass of cold juice for Gabriella, along with two mugs of coffee—one black for Miguel, and the other with sugar and cream for yourself. Lastly, you set the utensils in their proper places.

Each pastel-colored fork, spoon, and knife was meticulously arranged beside the empty dishes, perfectly aligned. Any deviation, no matter how slight, would surely unsettle you.

While setting the table, you hummed along with Helen Foster, holding a knife poised to place it on the pale yellow Formica dining table. 

But then, everything seemed to stop.

The music faded into the background as, almost in a trance, you stared at the kitchen tool in your hand, the hum slowing on your lips.

Twirling it between your manicured fingers, your eyes traced the jagged edge. Transfixed, your hands ached with a foreign yet strangely familiar desire—one buried deep in the recesses of your mind.

The record player suddenly grabbed your attention when the previous song's lyrics of adoration from Helen Foster shifted.

The tune slowed, the pitch of the female singer’s voice deepening to an haunting croak.

 “Nothing is what it seems…

Oh dear, nothing is what it seems...”

You froze in horror, the knife slipping from your grasp and clattering onto the floor. The sound snapping you from your trance, but a foggy haze lingered.

Your heart pounded like the rapid thump of a rabbit’s foot, your wide eyes fixated on the record player. Its eerie chant looped, searing into your mind.

 “Nothing is what it seems...

Oh dear, nothing is what it seems...”

Over and over the words were repeated, searing the horrid message into your brain. 

Chest heaving, you backed away to collide into the table, causing dishes and glasses to rattle. “W-what—” you could only stammer in terror.

Before you could spiral further in your petrified state, calloused hands reached out to you, cupping your face. With gentle caution, you were guided to meet a pair of familiar amber eyes.

“Cariño?”

“Is everything okay?”

The deep, concerned voice brought you back to reality. Its steady tone grew louder, grounding you amidst the chaos of your thoughts. 

“Qué te pasa? Talk to me, miel.”

You met the gaze of your beloved husband, Miguel who stood in front of you, his features tight with worry. Slowly, the fog in your mind lifted, and the room regained focus.

“Esposa?” Miguel prompted, his voice low and steady as his thumb and forefinger tilted your chin, urging you to look at him.

“M-Miguel, I—” you faltered, your gaze darting toward the record player. Helen Foster’s soothing voice now played once more, making you question if you were going crazy. 

But the chant—its ominous message—still echoed in your mind.

Miguel frowned, his concern deepening. “Mi amor, you’re shaking.” Your husband said, grabbing your attention. “Take a seat.” His tone left no room for argument, as he was already guiding you with a hand upon your lower back to one of the dining chairs. 

You complied, feeling the soft cushion shift underneath you. Miguel’s large hand enveloped yours, his thumb brushing soothing circles across your knuckles. 

For a moment, he studied you in silence, however, you hardly noticed as you could only focus on your lap, where your hands trembled slightly.

“What happened, miel?” he asked, breaking the silence. His voice was steady but laced with unease.

You gulped, simply recollecting the moment, causing your head to ache painfully. Your mouth opened and closed, unable to find anything to explain. “I-I don’t know,” you admitted, swallowing hard. “I... thought I heard something.”

“Heard something?” Miguel inquired, straightening to his full height. He began to pace the kitchen, his black slippers shuffling across the checkered tiles. 

“It may have been Gabi,” he suggested, his attempt at humor evident despite the worry in his tone. “You know how our princesa tends to get carried away with her dolls.” He chuckled, knowing your daughter sometimes became noisy when she was excited during playtime. However, you could hear his nervousness. 

Hastily, you shook your head, dismissing his assumption. “It wasn’t Gabi!” you exclaimed, louder than intended. Looking up to meet your spouse’s gaze, certain your fear was etched into every line of your face.

For the first time, you noticed Miguel’s attire—a burgundy robe that concealed his undershirt and casual trousers underneath. His outfit did little to conceal his musculature that pressed against the soft fabric of his sleepwear. 

Miguel stopped pacing and crouched in front of you, his robe parting slightly to reveal his broad chest. “Hey, hey, hey,” he murmured, pulling you into his arms. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” He whispered soothingly, the timbre of his voice the only thing keeping you grounded. 

You buried your face into his neck, letting his comforting words and the gentle strokes of his hand on your back to calm you.

“It’s just stress, sí?” he murmured. “You just needed a moment to rest.” He pressed a kiss to your temple, his warmth grounding you.

And like always, you wanted to believe your husband with all your heart—to accept his reassurance. But the chant lingered, clawing at your thoughts like a dark shadow.

 “Nothing is as it seems...

Oh dear, nothing is as it seems...”

You managed to push through the festivities, finishing the breakfast your husband scarfed down with a grin and playing family party games that ended with your little girl winning (with some assistance). Now, it was time for your husband to blow out his candles.

“Here it is!” you shouted, bringing from the fridge the handmade cake that Gabriella and you had created the day before.

You set it on the pale yellow dining table: a vanilla cake adorned with white frosting, doused in sprinkles (Gabi's touch), and decorated with piped, wavy red and blue trimmings. A singular lit candle sat in the center of the cake, its flame flickering gently.

Gabi bounced up and down excitedly. Her orange blouse, knee-high skirt, and matching ribbon hair ties made her look even more adorable. “See, Papá?! I told you I helped!” she exclaimed, bringing a smile to Miguel's lips.

“I see, princesa,” he grinned. “No one quite has your... expertise in sprinkle quantity,” he chuckled, his chest rumbling at the sight of the overwhelming amount of colorful candies atop the white cake.

Your husband's previous sleepwear had been replaced with a simple white button-up, black slacks, and slippers. His dark brown hair was styled as usual—slicked back with precision, each strand flowing neatly to the back of his head.

When he settled his gaze on you, his eyes softened. “Esposa,” he practically whispered your name longingly, holding out an arm to wrap around your waist. Pulling you to his side, he pressed a gentle kiss to your head. “You did all of this for me?” he asked, stroking a thumb along your cheek.

You nodded, cupping his face. “Of course, baby,” you replied with a gentle smile. “You always take such good care of Gabi and me, so I wanted to do this for you—no matter how many times you tell me not to.” You giggled as your husband simply stared at you for a moment, his eyes glowing with adoration.

Leaning in close, he nuzzled your nose with his own, breathing you in. “Cómo demonios tuve tanta suerte?” he muttered, his lips seeking yours for a quick peck—only to be interrupted by none other than your daughter.

“When are we going to cut the cake!?” she cried out, her attention fixed on the sweet treat as she licked her lips eagerly.

Miguel snickered, giving your waist a squeeze. “Later. Much later,” he said, the fire in his gaze promising you a much needed night in his arms. The sight made your cheeks flush and your heart to skip a beat.

“Okay, okay, go turn the lights out, Gabi,” you instructed with a laugh, watching her hastily race off to flick the light switch, encasing the dining room in darkness except for the warm glow of the cake.

The three of you surrounded the table—you stood behind your daughter, your hands gently stroking her shoulders, while Miguel took his place in front of his birthday dessert, his eyes fixed on the glowing candle.

“I feel like I should make a grand speech,” your husband joked, glancing up at the two of you before settling his gaze on Gabi. 

“Thank you, my sweet girl, for filling my days with your light and granting me the honor of being your father,” he said, his deep voice full of love. “There isn’t a day that you don’t amaze me with your intelligence, imagination, talent, and humor.” He expressed. “You make me proud to call you my daughter, my Gabriella.”

Gabi’s eyes sparkled with a mix of excitement and pride at her father’s words. She looked up at him, grinning widely, and then, in a small yet confident voice, she replied, “And I’m proud to call you my Papá. You’re like… the best dad ever!”

Miguel chuckled, his gaze tender as he looked at her. “Oh? The best ever, huh?” he teased gently, warmth lacing his tone.

“Sí!” she insisted, nodding eagerly. “You work so hard, but you always make time for me. And you teach me so much—like how to stand up for myself, help others, and to not let my emotions control me.”

Miguel’s expression softened as he reached out to gently ruffled her hair, his voice sweet. “You’re going to do amazing things, Gabi. I’m just lucky to be here to watch it all happen.”

Her smile widened, and she beamed up at him, her eyes filled with admiration. “I’m the lucky one, Papá. You’re my hero.”

Your husband, visibly touched by her words, shifted his gaze to you, his eyes brimming with the kind of love and gratitude that left you breathless. 

In that moment, as if he were seeing into your very soul, you felt a surge of overwhelming adoration that no words could capture.

“Y/N, my beloved,” Miguel began, his voice trembling, almost on the verge of tears. “You’ve stood by me through my worst, mi amor. You’ve endured my workaholic ways, my stubborn temper, and all my flaws… yet you stayed by my side.” He snickered softly, the sound filled with both gratitude and disbelief. “Because of you, I’ve become a better man.”

He cleared his throat, placing his palms on the wooden table as if trying to ground himself. “Thank you, mi amor, for your unwavering presence, for loving me unconditionally, and for bringing our little miracle into my life.” He glanced lovingly at Gabi, a soft smile playing on his lips. “I truly don’t think I would be here today without you.”

Your heart swelled as you listened, each word deepening the adoration you already held for him. 

He took a shaky breath, his eyes glistening in the warm candlelight, vulnerability etched across his face—a rare sight that made this moment feel even more precious.

“You’ve given me more than I ever thought I deserved,” he continued, his voice soft and sincere. “And I am endlessly grateful for every day, every laugh, every memory we’ve made together. You both are my everything.”

Gabi leaned back against you, her small hand finding yours as she whispered, “Te amo, Papá.” The simple words broke the last of his composure, and a tear slipped down his cheek. "Te amo, mi princesa." He replied wholeheartedly, giving his daughter's cheek a loving pinch that made her giggle.

Miguel reached out, taking your hand in his, and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I promise to keep working, to keep growing, so I can be the husband and father you both deserve.” He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a deep kiss to your knuckles, sealing his promise.

Your husband released you and closed his eyes, whispering his wish before blowing out the candle. Darkness momentarily engulfed the dining room before you applauded, your own emotions welling up as Gabi hurried to turn the lights back on.

The cake was forgotten as Miguel took two long strides toward you, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you into a deep embrace—one he surely needed. 

“Te amo, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice full of emotion as he gave you a tender squeeze.

You melted into the hard planes of his chest, your arms encircling his neck. “I love you too, Miguel,” you replied softly, feeling the warmth of his love radiating through the embrace. 

A small hand pressed gently against your back, making you smile. Both of you glanced down to find Gabi standing between you, her little arms wrapped around you both. “I love you too, Mamá and Papá,” Her laughter like a melody that filled the room with joy.

You welcomed her into the embrace, holding both of them tightly. 

In that moment, as you stood together, you marveled at the depth of love you felt—a love you had never believed yourself capable of, let alone for two people who meant the world to you...

The three of you were now settled in the living room. The familiar scent of the cake still lingered in the air as you and Miguel sat together on the couch, the cushions soft beneath you, the fabric slightly worn from use.

The soft glow of the lamp next to the couch highlighted the pastel green walls. Evening light from the window casted dim shadows across the vintage floral wallpaper, while the small box TV that flickered white and black images rested on a shelf in front of you. The clock on the wall ticked quietly, its hands slowly marking the time.

Gabriella sat cross-legged on the floor; her plate of cake balanced on her lap as she eagerly dug in. You rested your head on Miguel’s shoulder, letting out a small sigh as he fed you a bite of his own cake. His eyes met yours with a grin, and you returned it, savoring the sweetness.

“May I get another?” Gabriella’s voice interrupted your quiet moment, light and innocent as she looked up at the both of you, her lips already smeared with frosting. You blinked in surprise, your eyes flicking to her plate. It was already clean. Miguel nor you have even finished yours.

“Gabriella!?” you exclaimed, the shock clear in your voice.

Miguel’s laughter erupted beside you, warm and full of affection. “Sorry… it was really good,” Gabriella said with a pout, her lips dusted with frosting like a mischievous little angel.

“It’s fine, bebé,” Miguel chuckled, his finger brushing one jumbo curl behind your ear in a way that always made your heart skip. He stood, towering over both you and Gabriella in an instant.

“This will be her last slice,” he promised, amusement in his voice. “Come on, you little cake monster. Let’s get you another slice,” he teased, walking toward the kitchen, Gabriella rushing behind him, eager to get there first.

You watched them both, a smile tugging at your lips. The love between the three of you felt so natural, so full, like this moment could stretch on forever. It was simple, perfect even.

You leaned back into the couch, feeling the soft cushions beneath you, and took another bite of your cake. It was the perfect slice, just sweet enough, and the warmth from Miguel’s touch still lingered on your skin.

But then something shifted...

You couldn’t quite place it, but there was a slight prickle at the back of your neck, an unsettling feeling that crawled across your skin like a soft whisper you couldn’t hear.

You paused, feeling the hairs on your arms rise.

Something… felt off.

The strange sensation was eerily similar to what had overcome you in the kitchen.

You were certain of it.

You couldn’t put it into words. It wasn’t a sound or a sight—just a feeling. 

A quiet shift in the air...

Instinctively, your hand reached up to the back of your neck, fingertips brushing over your nape in an attempt to shake off the unease. That’s when it happened.

Your fingers grazed a lump, one you’d never noticed before. At the contact, a sharp pain exploded in your head, and your eyes rolled back into your skull.

Images, voices, and a crushing wave of dread surged through your mind all at once.

“Y/N, we have to be better for Gabi. You have to be better,” Miguel’s voice rang out, sharp and filled with disappointment.

“I am trying, Miguel! I don’t know what you want from me!” you shrieked. 

The voice—your voice—sounded deranged and very unfamiliar despite being your own. 

“Public breakdowns? Outbursts? I don’t believe that’s you trying to be better!” Miguel’s tone cut deep, piercing and accusatory.

“Just get out! Get out!” you screamed, hurling a glass vase. It struck the wall and shattered into a cascade of glittering shards.

A sharp gasp tore from your lips as you snapped back to reality. Your chest heaved, each breath shaky as your trembling body fought to regain control.

‘What was that?’ you thought, panic swirling in your mind. ‘What did I just see?’

You clutched your plate of half-eaten cake, fingers trembling as the memory replayed in your mind. 

‘Miguel and I were…arguing?’ The very thought made your chest tighten painfully. 

But the details... The setting, the clothes you and Miguel wore—it didn’t match. It wasn’t here. Not in this perfect, gleaming life you’d built together.

No, this memory felt wrong.

Your throat tightened, and you forced out a quivering breath, trying to steady your trembling hand. “I’m just... tired,” you muttered, your voice weak, as if saying it aloud would make it true.

‘Just tired. That’s all it is,’ you told yourself.

You shut your eyes, hoping the storm raging inside you would settle, that when you opened them again, everything would be normal.

When you finally opened them, your gaze fell to the plate of cake in your hands, and your heart instantly froze. 

In pure terror, you watched the once neat red and blue frosting of the cake start to become uneven—distorted, as though someone was standing beside you, dragging their finger along it to write something in the icing. 

You stared, petrified as the words formed one by one, the weight of dread building with every stroke until the final letter was etched… 

OPEN YOUR EYES.

You froze, shaking, unable to tear your eyes away. No... this couldn’t be real. It had to be some trick of the light, a cruel fabrication of your mind.

But the message didn’t vanish.

And you couldn’t ignore how it had appeared—slowly, deliberately—as though someone had been watching you while they wrote it.

“M-Miguel!” you screamed, panic rising in your throat, your voice sharp and pleading.

The room seemed to tilt. Your vision blurred, and everything shifted in an instant.

An overwhelming pressure built in your chest, as if the weight of the world had collapsed onto you. The last thing you saw before your eyes snapped shut was the half-eaten cake with the horrid message—and then, darkness.

Suddenly, the sounds of the living room sharpened, each one more vivid than the last. The soft ticking of the clock on the wall. The faint rustling of fabric. And Miguel’s warm voice, gently calling your name.

“Mi amor? Is something wrong?"

You blinked, disoriented, struggling to find your bearings. The living room was just as it had been—the soft, plush couch beneath you, the warm glow of the lamp, chatter from the television, familiar scent of cake lingering in the air and your family close by.

You blinked again, and realization struck.

Your breath hitched.

Miguel and Gabriella were still in their same positions. They hadn’t gone anywhere. You hadn’t seen them leave to get more cake. 

Glancing over at your daughter, still seated on the floor cross-legged as before, you saw her happily eating her first slice of cake—not her second.

Your gaze darted to your own plate, the one you distinctly remembered nibbling on, the one that had held that ominous message. But instead of the eerie writing, the cake sat uneaten, perfectly pristine.

A cold chill ran down your spine, your breathing beginning to quicken.

Things weren’t making sense. And it was starting to scare you.

Miguel’s hand cupped your face, warm and grounding, his concerned eyes searching yours. “Mi amor?” His voice was softer now, tinged with tenderness. “You dozed off. Are you okay?”

You stared up at him, wide-eyed and breathless, your mind racing to make sense of what had just happened.

What had just happened?

To you, it felt like you've done more then simply 'dozed off.' You recalled your love ones going to the kitchen, the shift in the air, heated occurrence between Miguel and you and then the...horrid message upon the cake.

You could speak the memory out loud, explain each detail like it was happening once more. So, why did it seem like it didn't happened - that it couldn't have happened.

Gabriella’s innocent gaze rested on you, her brows furrowed in worry. “Are you okay, mamá?” she asked, her small voice full of concern. The frosting smeared on her cheeks from her first slice of cake made her look even more endearing.

Her question snapped you out of your troubled thoughts, however, you couldn’t answer right away. Your throat felt dry, and your thoughts were swirling in a chaotic storm. The distorted memory that had overtaken you only moments ago lingered like a shadow, unshakable.

“I... I thought Gabriella asked for more cake,” you stammered, your voice unsteady. It made no sense. You could’ve sworn you’d seen them leave, yet part of you was convinced they hadn’t.

Miguel raised an eyebrow, a mix of concern and confusion crossing his face. “Are you okay, bebè?” he asked, chuckling nervously, as though trying to lighten the mood. “You told Gabi she can only have one slice, and was quite adamant before you went to sleep." Your husband explained. "So no, neither Gabriella and I have gone anywhere. We’ve been right here with you the whole time.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you more closely. "You were mumbling a lot as you slept, it made me worried. Did you have a bad dream?”

You blinked again, willing yourself to calm down. The confusion still clung to you like a heavy fog, but Miguel’s steady voice and familiar presence helped ease the edges of your panic.

The room felt normal again.

Everything looked... normal.

But you weren’t so sure.

Forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, you murmured, “Perhaps...”

Your gaze dropped to the plate of cake in your hands. It was untouched, as if you’d never taken a bite.

Out of fear and a sudden loss of appetite, you hastily set the plate on the nearby pastel-green end table, wanting it out of your sight.

Like before, everything went back into motion. Your daughter seeking to savor every crumb and frosting of cake on her plate as Miguel returned to watching television, the words from the box of wires falling deaf to you.

Wrapping your arms around your husband’s burly one, you rested your chin on his shoulder. Nuzzling his sleeve, you clung to him like a lifeline. Your heart was still hammering against your ribcage from the previous occurrence, still unable to decipher if what happened was true or not. 

‘What is happening? Am I going insane?’ You found yourself wondering, squeezing Miguel’s bicep tighter. Your perfectly sprayed jumbo curls brushed against your cheeks but you could hardly feel it, still completely rattled. The only solution that came to calming you was to confide in your husband, like you always did. 

Glancing up at your spouse from where you rested on his arm, he gazed ahead of him at the black and white images that were flashing across the miniature television. You hesitated before leaning in, your rosy lips brushing his ear. “I—I have to talk to you,” you whispered, your eyes silently begging for his undivided attention.

You needed to tell him what was happening—how you felt like you were losing your mind.

But then it hit you…

It was your sweet husband’s birthday.

You didn’t want to alarm him with this—not today, the only day he was able to get a break from his demanding job and be free of the workload.

You can wait…

An worried expression appeared upon his face as he sipped from his glass of water. “What’s wrong, esposa?” he asked, his smiling features shifting into intense concern. The sight pierced your heart.

Laughing nervously, you shook your head and pulled away, hiding the trembling of your manicured hands in your lap. You tried to ignore how desperately you wanted him to comfort you. “Actually…i-it’s not that important,” you said, though the quiver in your voice betrayed you. The more you tried to dismiss his worry, the more troubled he seemed.

Luckily, Gabriella came to your rescue.

Having finished her slice of cake (and every crumb) she jumped up, her mouth still smeared with frosting. “Can I show Papá my gift now?!” she exclaimed, the sugar clearly taking effect. Her orange ribbons bounced in her hair with her excitement.

Miguel glanced briefly at Gabriella but remained unsettled by your earlier unease. You leaned into him, masking your distress with a playful smile. "How about it, my love? Ready to see our gifts to you?" you asked, your heart clenching at the way his eyes softened, adoring your words yet oblivious to the truth they were meant to conceal.

“Sí, princesa. I’d be delighted to see your present,” Miguel replied with a grin, flicking off the television with the remote. The two of you watched Gabriella race upstairs, her footsteps echoing and fading, leaving you alone with your husband in the living room.

A moment of silence passed, the air thick with the lingering excitement of your daughter’s energy, before Miguel smirked at you. “Now, what was it you wanted to tell me alone, hmm?” he teased, giving your cheek an affectionate pinch. “I know you only ask for me like that when you want something…” His eyes glinted with desire, unaware to the turmoil swirling within you.

You forced a soft laugh, schooling your features. “And… w-what if I did?” you replied, your voice faltering just slightly, your breath hitching when he leaned in closer.

Without warning, he pulled you into a kiss. The world around you seemed to melt away as his arms wrapped around you, his lips warm and urgent. Each kiss chipped away at your worries, his touch both soothing and electric. You pressed into him, feeling his heartbeat sync with yours.

He chuckled against your lips, each kiss leaving you hungrier for more. “So that was your plan? Hmm… Mi chica traviesa, traviesa.”

You gasped as his fingers brushed the nape of your neck, holding you steady. His touch was both tender and possessive, and the taste of him—sweeter than the cake you’d abandoned—flooded your senses, leaving your body humming with need.

Before you could process it, he gently pushed you back onto the couch, his lips never straying far from yours. A breathless laugh escaped you. “Miguel—”

Your halfhearted scolding was silenced by another kiss, and then another, each one more urgent than the last, until your bodies seemed to fit together seamlessly.

Your fingers combed through his dark curls, undoing the careful styling he’d done that morning. You tugged him impossibly closer, each kiss a promise—a vow that felt as eternal as the one he’d made to you on your wedding day.

And then, the spell shattered.

The sound of Gabriella’s blood-curdling scream pierced the air, cutting through the tranquility of the room like a knife.

Your heart dropped in an instant.

“MAMA!!”

You froze, eyes wide, breath catching in your throat. Hastily, you pushed Miguel away, panic rising in your chest. “Did you hear that?!” you asked, your voice tight with alarm.

For once, Miguel’s expression mirrored the terror that gripped you. Rising from the couch, he reached out to steady you as both of you looked toward the stairs, your pulse pounding in your ears.

The air between you was heavy now—this wasn’t just the innocent sound of a child’s call.

Something was wrong...

Your husband moved first, his long legs quickly striding to the stairway. He climbed them in an instant, with you close behind.

“ Princesa !? Gabriella!?” Miguel’s thunderous voice echoed down the hall of your family home.

“Gabi?!” you called out, your heart hammering, never feeling this level of panic before.

Miguel walked briskly down the narrow upstairs hallway, flanked by four doors—two leading to bathrooms, one to your shared bedroom, and the last to Gabriella’s room.

Frantically, you tore through each room, throwing open doors, your eyes scanning for any trace of your daughter. With each second that passed, the dread in your chest grew heavier. “Gabi?!” your voice cracked as it echoed off the walls. But the silence that followed was unbearable.

She wasn’t there.

Meeting in the hallway, your teary eyes locked with Miguel’s. His stern gaze didn’t falter, but the tension in his clenched jaw betrayed his growing desperation.

“One last door, cariño . She’s here,” he said, his voice resolute as his knuckle brushed your cheek in a soothing gesture. But the flicker of anger in his eyes spoke volumes—anger at the unknown, at his own helplessness.

Swallowing hard, your throat dry, you both turned toward Gabriella’s bathroom.

Miguel let out a frustrated grunt, and with the force of a charging bull, he bursted the door open. You pushed past him, your feet hitting the cold tiles when you entered the room.

The bathroom hit you like a slap. The air was heavy, unnaturally still, and it clung to your skin in a way that made every nerve scream with unease. The cold tiles beneath your feet were a stark contrast to the warmth of the hallway carpet, a biting reminder of how wrong everything felt.

⚠️⚠️(Trigger Warning Approaching!!)) ⚠️⚠️

Skip to this if you wish to avoid it >> 🤎💙

Your hand scrambled along the wall, fumbling for the light switch. When the harsh fluorescent bulbs buzzed to life with a sickly hum, the scene before you came into focus.

And you froze.

The color drained from your face, your breath caught in your chest, and your knees felt as if they might give way beneath you. The bathtub, the room, the sight—it all sucked the life out of you in one brutal instant.

‘This has to be a dream. Let this be a fucking dream.’

But it wasn’t.

Gabriella was there, hunched over the edge of the bathtub.

Your sweet little girl—the same one who had just been beaming with joy as she dashed upstairs to fetch her gift—now laid lifelessly. Her small body was draped over the edge, twisted in a way that made her look like a discarded, broken doll. The innocence of her form had been stolen, transformed into something grotesque.

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. The world had stopped spinning, leaving you trapped in this moment of unimaginable horror.

🤎💙Safe to continue reading (for now)💙🤎

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head frantically. “No, no, no. This isn’t happening. This can’t be real.”

Your voice broke, a sob ripping through your chest while stepping back on trembling legs. “My daughter. My sweet little girl.” Tears blurred your vision, cascading down your cheeks as you sank to your knees.

“Oh, gosh, w-what happened to you? This can’t be real. No, no, no.” The words spilled from your lips in a torrent of grief and denial.

A guttural cry tore from your chest, raw and unrelenting, shaking your entire body. Your hands gripped the fabric of your blue dress so tightly that your knuckles turned white, the tears soaking the material until it clung to your trembling form.

Your heart raced, your breathing uneven, and your head throbbed with disbelief and terror. The questions, the pleas, the desperate prayers poured out of you in a relentless stream, each one more frantic than the last.

But the pain was too much.

Your vision blurred further, darkening at the edges as the world around you began to fade. Overwhelmed by the sheer weight of grief, your body gave out, collapsing into unconsciousness.

As darkness enveloped you, fragments of thoughts slipped through the cracks of your mind.

‘Please don’t be real.’

‘My sweet girl, Gabriella.’

‘I can’t lose you.’

‘I can’t lose you.’

And then, like a flickering light extinguished, your final thoughts faded into the void.

“Mi amor…”

“Shh, it’s okay. Everything will be okay.”

“ You are okay.”

Your eyes slowly fluttered open, your body weak and trembling. A pounding headache reverberated through your skull—a pain so excruciating that even thinking was a grueling task.

“W-where am I?” you whispered, struggling to sit up from your crumpled position on the ground. Surrounded you a cold, dark hallway—one that sent a chill down your spine. The memories came rushing back, sharp and unbearable, as a strangled sob escaped your throat.

“G-Gabi. Oh gosh.” You wept into your hands, the ache in your chest only intensifying when the horrific moment played out in your mind once more.

Above, the lights flickered on, one by one, casting an eerie glow over the hallway. The endless stretch of white doors along the walls appeared stark and unnervingly perfect. Each was identical—smooth, sleek, and disturbingly pristine. No wood grain or signs of age, no layers of paint chipped over time. Just a clinical, sterile design that felt foreign. These weren’t the familiar, warm doors of your home.

Your gaze stretched down the corridor. The symmetry of the doors and the sterile glow of the flickering lights heightened the unsettling atmosphere. Your stomach churned, a sense of dread sinking deep into your bones.

Shakily, you rose to your feet, your legs trembling beneath you. You were still barefoot, dressed in the pastel blue dress you had worn earlier, although your jumbo curls were now a mess and in need of another douse in hairspray. 

Everything about you was the same, yet you felt completely different—wrecked by despair that gripped you tighter with every thought of your little girl and…

Miguel. 

Your eyes darted around frantically, trying to seek him to find no other being in sight. 

Where was he? He had been with you when…

“Y/N!?”

His voice boomed through the hallway, shattering the silence.

Your head whipped toward the sound—a desperate yell followed by loud bangs against one of the white doors.

“ Amor ! Esposa !” Miguel’s frantic voice echoed as he jiggled the doorknob. “Fuck, it’s locked! I’m in here, baby! Open the door!”

“Miguel!?” you cried out, rushing toward the source of his voice.

“Y/N! Oh, bebé , I’m so happy to hear you are okay,” he said, relief breaking through his panicked tone.

“M-me too. But Miguel, Gabi—”

“I know, amor ,” he interrupted, his voice cracking slightly. “First, I need you to open the door. There’s… something in here with me.”

His words sent a chill through your entire body.

“It’s chasing me through these halls. I can’t see it, and— shit —it stabbed me.”

“It stabbed you!?” you exclaimed, horrified, pressing yourself against the door wishing to be there next to him more than anything.

“Yes,” he groaned. “Nothing fatal, though.” But his weakening tone betrayed his words.

“It’ll be okay, Miguel. I-I’ll open the door. I’ll get you out.”

Your hands shook as you gripped the doorknob, turning it desperately. However, It didn’t budge.

It was locked…

Your heart sank. “M-Miguel, it’s locked!” you whimpered, twisting and pulling at the knob repeatedly in a frenzy.

“Try again. Stay calm for me, baby. Just try again.”

“I am!” you shouted, tears streaming down your face, completely helpless as fear tightened its grip on you. “Try it from your side!” you begged.

You stepped back, letting him attempt the lock from his side. The sounds of his struggle filled the hallway, but the door refused to open.

“ Mierda !” He cursed in frustration, hands slamming against the door with a loud bang, making you jump. 

“M-Miguel, what are we going to do? I-I can’t leave you, I can’t…” You sobbed, not wanting to be alone and leaving your husband to die at the hands of that thing.

Instead of an answer, your stomach turned into knots at his response. “It’s here! Fuck !” Miguel stated, harsh bangs and kicks to the door filling the quiet hallway at your husband’s futile attempts to escape. “Get out of here, esposa !” 

A new wave of terror crashed over you. “N-no! I’m not leaving you!” you cried, not wishing to leave and lose him too. You tugged at the door in desperation alongside his assaults upon the relentless door, crying all the while. 

“Y/N!” Miguel’s stern voice cut through your panic, startling youfor a fleeting moment. “I love you, but you have to leave. Understand me!?”

You choked on your sobs, every fiber of your being screaming to stay, but his command left no room for argument.

“Y-yes. I understand,” you whimpered in a trembling voice. “I love you too.”

However, silence fell on the other side of the door.

Your eyes widened  when a loud, sickening thud from behind the door filled your ears. In that moment, your heart shattered into a million pieces.

“Miguel!” you screamed, banging your fists against the wooden surface. Your cries were frantic, pleading for any response, begging for his death not to be real.

A harsh, coppery scent filled your nose, like a punch in the face. Sharp and metallic, it clawed at your every sense as a wet, sticky sensation spreading under your foot made your breath hitch.

Your eyes darted down in alarm. 

Blood.

It pooled from beneath the door, crimson rivulets spreading across the pristine floor, soaking into the soles of your bare feet.

You staggered back, trembling, disbelief gripping your entire being.

“N-no, not you too. Not you too.”

The words spilled from your lips in broken, anguished sobs, a mantra of denial as tears blurred your vision. The reality was too much to bear, too cruel to endure.

You turned and sprinted down the hallway, no longer caring where it led, no longer caring if you’d be lost. 

The sterile glow of the flickering lights stretched endlessly ahead of you, the hem of your blue dress billowing behind you as you ran. Your breath hitched, your sobs growing louder, hair whipping wildly around your tear-streaked face.

And then, your legs gave out.

You collapsed to your knees, chest heaving, despair consuming you.

You sobbed uncontrollably, your trembling hands clutching at the cold floor. The weight of the loss crushed you, leaving nothing but a hollow ache in its wake.

‘First Gabi, my little angel…and now Miguel.’

The thought shattered you. It was too much. Too much pain. Too much emptiness.

Your tears fell harder, your cries echoing down the lifeless corridor.

And then—

A sound.

The soft creak of a door swinging open.

Your head snapped up, your breath hitching and your heart plummeted into your stomach. One of the white doors stood ajar, its perfect surface now marred by a sinister shadow. 

A cold, unnatural wind blew from the pitch-black doorway, tousling your hair and sending a shiver down your spine.

You froze, your body rigid with fear and grief, staring into the darkness.

For a fleeting moment, you found yourself yearning, besseching for whatever had taken Miguel to take you too. To end this nightmare. To reunite you with your family.

But instead of a monster emerging from the void, you saw something else.

You and Miguel…

But not really…

You were sitting in a fancy restaurant with your husband, Miguel, donned in a glamorous dress and him, a pristine tux. This world was nothing you were familiar with, nothing like your checkerboard floors, poodle skirts, and pin-up curls. It was more futuristic to what you were used to, yet familiar all the same. 

The waitress completed taking your order and collected your menus. Innocently, your husband exchanged a glance with her, his eyes lingering a little too long for your liking, his smile too warm and it all riled you up. 

As soon as the waitress left, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. 

“I saw you.” You spat, glaring at him, the tension between the two of you growing thick. “I saw you look at her. You think I didn’t notice?” You asked with a scoff. "Anyone could see how your eyes nearly bulged out of your skull."

Miguel’s charming features shifted to a mix of confusion and frustration. He leaned in close, trying to keep your conversation down. “What are you talking about? I just glanced at her, it was nothing.” 

“No, no, don’t lie to me! You think I’m stupid? T-That I cannot see what is evidently in front of me!?” Your voice rose, attracting the attention of nearby diners. “Well, I assure you, husband , I’m not fucking blind.” You said harshly, spitting his title that was meant for endearment like it was venom in your mouth. 

Miguel steadily placed his glass down, his large hand reaching across the table to hold yours in hopes of quelling the raging storm. “Calm down, please, amor . Let’s not ruin our date.” He whispered hopefully, stroking your knuckles with his thumb. “You’re not seeing things clearly. Nothing happened.” 

The look on your face was of pure rage from something so harmless as a glance. You were lost in your own chaotic thoughts—a belief that he would leave you for someone younger, someone more beautiful. The waiter, the clerk, the neighbor down the street—anyone could take him from you. 

Anyone .

You yanked your hand from his, standing up with a loud squeak of your chair on the floor, gaining the attention of the entire restaurant. “Since you wish to ogle at waitresses, you can eat dinner by yourself. I'll be in the car.” You said, storming out and leaving an embarrassed and pitiful Miguel in your wake…

The door slammed shut with a loud bang, snapping you out of the long-lost memory. “W-who was that? What was that?” you stammered in utter confusion and horror at the person who looked like you but was anything but.

“That… could not have been me,” you thought, but you couldn’t shake the familiarity of the situation.

You could practically feel the red dress you wore upon your body, remember the paranoia and anger, smell the spices wafting through the restaurant, and see the look of pity your husband gave you amidst the storm of your deranged thoughts.

You rose on your shaky legs, the tears you shed now dried upon your cheeks. Your bare feet wandered down the flickering hallway and found yourself wanting answers to the many questions that plagued your mind. 

Suddenly, you heard another door to your left fly open, forcing you into that terrible world once more—one that was far from the perfect world you remembered. 

Or thought you remembered…

You were in the hallway, walking into the kitchen when you heard Miguel on the phone. His voice was lower than usual, speaking to someone in hushed tones. You couldn’t make out the words, but you could hear the familiarity in his voice. His voice was warmer. Softer. He didn’t speak to you like that. 

Not anymore. 

You stormed into the room, catching the last part of the conversation. “Yeah, I’ll pick you up later. Miss you too, sweetheart. Bye.” 

Your mind instantly spiraled: Who was he talking to? Who is “she”? 

Miguel looked back startled at your sudden appearance. “Hey, cariño , you scared me-” 

“Who is she?” Your voice shaking in desperation and anger. “Who the hell were you talking to?” 

He looked at you in perplexion, a flicker of hurt in his eyes at being accused of such a thing. “I was talking to Gabi. She’s at my mother’s for the weekend, remember?” He stated in betrayal. “Why are you constantly accusing me of cheating. I love you , amor . Only you.” 

Miguel tried to convince you, but you didn’t believe him. You couldn’t. 

You never could anymore. 

“No, no, you’re lying to me. You’re having an affair. I know it. You don’t care about me anymore.” You wholeheartedly believed, could even see the loving looks he'd give her—hear the dirty things he would say to her. 

“You are just using our daughter as a coverup!” You shouted at him, stepping up to jab a finger to his chest. “And I would not let you make me look like a fool, Miguel!” 

The memory faded away, throwing you back into the endless hallway, the door swinging closed. 

Your eyes watered up, tears beginning to fill your cheeks. “No, this can’t be true. What is this?” You whimpered, shaking your head. “This is a lie. Miguel and I were happy. He would dance with me, hold me, sing to me with his guitar. No, this isn’t real!” You shouted aloud, more to yourself in hopes of dismissing such riveting tales this nightmare was trying to plague you with. 

“I won’t believe these false tales! I won’t let you lie to me!” You cried out, walking, or more like, stumbling down the hallway. Your body felt weaker, unable to hold yourself up as you walked to the next door that would surely bring you back to that hellish world. 

Like you predicted, dread engulfed you when another white door flung open, pulling your consciousness into the world of false once more. 

You sat on the sofa in the living room, sipping at a mug of coffee. Watching your daughter, Gabriella drew at her mini table, her small hands carefully drawing stick figures with bright red crayons.  “What are you drawing, sweetie?” You asked, noticing her become tensed at your question. 

“I’m…I’m drawing us, Mamá.” You hummed, peering over her shoulder with a smile until you noticed one of the three stick figures with their head tilted, a red line crossed through their face. 

“What is this?” You demanded, pointing a finger at the crossed out figure. “I-Its-” Gabi’s eyes widened as you snatched the paper out of her hands before she could explain. “I-It’s just a…picture, Mamá.”

“A picture? And what is Mama doing here, huh? Being crossed out of your life?” 

“N-No, Mamá…” She began to weep. “You are just sad.” Gabi cried, trying to point out that the red streaks were instead tears, but to you, they were anything but. 

You turned to Miguel, who was watching from the kitchen. “This is what she learns from you, huh!?” You shouted in a voice full of accusation. “Filling her head with ideas of hating her mother?!” 

Miguel hastily raced into the living room, hiis burly arms reaching out to place Gabi behind him, shielding her crying form from you.  “It’s just a child’s drawing. She’s drawing what she is seeing.” Your husband stated. “Please, stop being like this. Please, amor .” 

But you can’t let it go. The image haunts you, filling your mind with fears of what Gabi might be learning from her father, and what she could be thinking of you. 

You storm out of the room, the paper crumpling in your hand, heart pounding with a sense of betrayal.

“No more.” Was the first thing that escaped your cracked lips and scratchy throat. You shook your head from your crumbled position on the floor, hair and blue dress a mess. “Please, don’t show me anymore.” You begged, knowing if you moved, you’d be brought to that horrid place again—feel the overwhelming anger, fear, delusion that raked your body, practically eating you alive —and your family too. 

A faint, yet familiar noise began to echo down the hall. It was quiet and undiscernable, but you were sure it sought to drive you insane. 

You didn’t want to make sense of what you were seeing, because if you made sense of it, it'd only mean they were true. “This isn’t real. I loved my Gabriella and she loved me.” You affirmed, remembering the memories you deemed true. “S-She’d draw me pictures all the time, work with me in the kitchen, a-and we'll play with her dolls together.” You cried, tears breaking free. “This isn’t real. I won’t believe it. I-I won’t.” 

If to prove you wrong, another door bursted open further down the aisle. You instantly felt the pull, but this time, you wouldn’t let it easily take you. 

You clawed at the floor, trying to fight against the force that was tugging you into the dark abyss. However, it only strengthened, seeking to haul you back to that horrid nightmare. The noise only grew louder, yet distant as if becoming angrier at your resistance. “No…please.” You begged, pleading for it not to take you as your fingers soon gave out, drawing you back again… 

One afternoon, the thoughts have become too overbearing. ‘Miguel wants to leave, so I’ll help him. ’ Your deranged mind thinks, believing you to be in the right as you heaved another load of his clothes, books, and personal items out onto the porch. 

Only moments after Miguel comes back from work, Gabriella, at his side from school. He races inside in panic and sorrow. “ B-Bebè, what is this?” he asks, his deep voice wavering for the first time. 

You glared at him, breathing hard. “If you’re planning on leaving, then go. I already set your things outside, so get out!”

Miguel stares at you, heartbroken, whilst the sobs of Gabi behind his leg fills the hallway of your bedroom. “I-I never planned to leave, mi amor -” 

“Then what is this!?” You exclaimed, throwing his personal journal at his chest, hearing it clatter to the floor. He didn’t even flinch. “You wrote in there that I was deranged, crazy, and needed help—help you cannot provide me. Isn't that right?” You asked with a wicked laugh, head falling back against your shoulders. 

“I don’t think a handsome man like you would want a deranged wife, now do you?” The taunting words being spat at Miguel as he just stood there with Gabriella behind him, taking the full force of the lashes. 

“I tried to stay strong for us—for Gabi—for you, mi amor .” He said once your verbal assault and endless pacing ceased. “But I can’t…not anymore. Not if you don’t seek help yourself, nor face the fact that you need it.” Miguel stated, his voice full of sorrow, but he should have been talking to the wall as nothing he said was reaching you. “If you want me gone so bad, I will-.” 

“Are you still here?” You asked, looking over your shoulder at him, the wildness of your hair in crazed disarray. Your husband met your gaze of pure rage with pity. “Not anymore.” He muttered sadly. “Come on, Gabriella.” Miguel said, ushering your daughter along who weeped all the way out the front door. 

But you knew deep in your core that they would be back. That your sweet husband and daughter would never truly leave you. They would never leave you, no matter how much Miguel said it. 

Like a punch to the gut, you sunk to the floor, sobbing. You didn’t want to believe it, but the more you saw, the more you remembered, and the weaker your body became, like the energy was being drained from your being. 

The familiar tune of the hall was loud, practically driving you mad. “Stop this. Please.” You begged anyone who would listen. Your hands gripped the wall, dragging yourself up onto your feet, your frail legs trembling under your weight. 

A gasp escaped you when suddenly, the lights shut off for a moment, leaving you in blackness before one flickered back on. Your heart skipped a beat at the table that the light shone down upon. “W-What is that?” You whispered so quietly you weren’t sure you said it.

Staggering slowly over, your feet dragging along the floor in an effort to walk on your weakened limbs. You leaned your weight on the table to find only a black, unnamed folder that sat atop it. 

You gulped, not wishing to see what was inside, but was drawn to it, despite yourself. 

Your fingers reached out for it, instantly feeling like you were holding a sack of bricks although the folder seemed almost empty. 

You took a deep breath, trying to bring yourself to open it and when you did, inside, you found two items: 

A singular letter and…

Divorce papers. 

A tear ran down your cheek at the papers. 

Never in your life did you ever believe you’d see them, but here they were, practically burning the skin in your palm just by reading the fine print. 

The first thing you saw are names: Miguel O'Hara and Y/N printed side by side in formal, sterile black text. Beneath them, the words "In the Matter of the Dissolution of Marriage of" are bold, undeniable. It feels distant, like this couldn’t possibly be real—but the sensation in your chest makes it all too clear. 

This is real.

Petition for Dissolution of Marriage. You swallow, and your eyes drift down, taking in the official stamp, the cold lettering, the case number marked by a court you don’t recognize. Every word is unmistakable, every letter sharp, a document that seems foreign yet irrevocably final.

You placed the papers onto the table, unable to look at them any longer. 

The neatly folded piece of letter draws your attention. You opened it slowly, heart sputtering and stomach churning at the pristine ink of your lover’s perfect lettering — a handwriting he swore was chicken scratch, but one you always adored. Your breath catches in your throat as you read the first words. 

"Dear my beloved,"

You hear his voice in your head as you read, soft yet unwavering, as if he’s right beside you, saying every word with sorrow but certainty.

“I hope that by the time you read this, you are in a better place. I wanted to say this face to face, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to. I would be brought to stay, and I know I can’t. Not anymore. 

I am leaving. For Gabriella’s sake. You know as well as I do that things have been falling apart for a long time. And I can’t—we can’t—keep pretending we’re fine.

I’ve tried, Y/N. Goodness, I’ve tried so hard. But the constant fighting, the tension… it’s not good for Gabi. She’s been through too much. It hurts me to hear her cry, hear her fears about you, our marriage. I need to give her the stability she deserves, and right now, I’m not sure I can provide that in this environment. And neither can you. 

I’m taking Gabi with me. I know this will hurt you, and I know you’ll never understand why; I only wish that one day you will. But please, for her, for both of us… get the help you need. You need it more than I can give you.

I will always love you, Y/N. You will always be a part of me. I want you to know that. But I can’t keep watching our family fall apart. Please forgive me.

With all my love,
Miguel O’Hara” 

Your chest constricts as you finish reading, the words sinking in like a weight you can’t lift. The paper crinkles in your shaking hands while you stare at the letter, a deep ache in your body that won’t go away. 

The tears come, but they’re different this time. They’re quiet. They don’t scream for help or comfort. They just fall, knowing no one would come to wipe them. 

Beside the letter, divorce papers rest, untouched, cold. 

And for the first time, you are alone. 

You sobbed silently, no sound passing your parted lips as you fell to your knees. Your body shook, feeling cold and empty, the sensation more real than the happy life you believed was true — more real than the blue pastel dress you wore from an era you never lived — and more real than the belief that this was all a dream. 

You were so wrapped up in your grief and sorrow that you didn’t notice the lights shut off, the music now clear enough to identify that filled the hall again and the presence that now accompanied you. 

The bulbs turned back on again, flickering eerily, the air thicker than before. Your gaze was blurry with tears, head pounding like a drum and you found yourself incapable of moving. You remained kneeled, slumped on your heels to look down at the end of the hallway, the table, folder, and note that was in your hand now gone. 

You could feel that you weren’t alone, the familiar prickling on your neck beginning again. You weeped in fear, finally hearing the song that played on repeat, slower and slower, louder and louder. 

It was your song, ‘You Belong To Me.’ 

The same song that you believed to have been the happiness of your relationship was also the catalyst of eternal ruin. 

“See the pyramids along the Nile…

Watch the sun rise on a tropic isle…

Just remember, darling, all the while…

You belong to me…” 

A loud thud to one of the doors made you yelp and break down into more tears. The song continued slowly, the female voice of Helen becoming horrendously eerie and croaky, almost inhumane. “P-Please stop! I-I understand now! Stop!” 

“See the marketplace in old Algiers…”

“Send me photographs and souvenirs…”

“Just remember, when a dream appears…”

“You belong to me…”

Another bang that sent you cowering, shielding your eyes at the figure you knew was steadily approaching. The music continued to play, burning every lyric into your head and making sure you remembered that night. 

“I’ll be so alone without you…”

“Maybe you’ll be lonesome, too

And blue…

Another voice — a deep, familiar voice sung along, causing the ache in your chest to intensify — the tears to run. “M-Miguel…” You whimpered his name, knowing the song well on his tongue. 

“Fly the ocean in a silver plane…”

“See the jungle when it’s wet with rain…”

“Oh, mi querida, till you’re home again…” 

“You…

Belong…

To…

Me…” 

Your husband’s deep voice vanished along with the song, leaving you wishing to hear it again upon his lips — to hear his words of adoration — to see him again. 

And for once, this nightmare granted your wish…

But with a price…

“Mi amor…” 

“Shh, it's okay. Everything will be okay.” 

“ You are okay.” 

Your heart leapt at the whispers of comfort that your husband always gave you. Frantically, your eyes searched the desolate hallway, only finding the doors before finally settling in front of you in the dark end of the hall. 

His words were clear, coming from the blackness and calling out to you. “Mi amor, everything will be okay.” He consoled, footsteps slowly echoing closer. 

Your chest heaved, rising and falling rapidly at being able to see him again. “M-Miguel!” You cried out for him, wanting to feel his touch, be in his arms again and found yourself craving that more than life itself. 

However, your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach at the sight of him. 

All you saw was…

Blood. 

Shrieking, your hand clasped over your mouth, weeping. The white button-up and black slacks, the outfit he wore the last time you saw him still adorned his being, but it was completely ruined. 

His once white shirt was now red, his dark brown slicked hair wet with blood and even worse was the wounds along his body. They were large and horribly fatal, littering his chest. 

You sobbed into your palm, crying as he stepped towards your trembling form, unable to move due to being physically stuck in your spot. He shushed you in that soft tone he always used despite walking towards you like the undead. 

“Shush, Cariño ,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper as he advanced, his movements slow and deliberate. “It’s okay; you’ll be okay.” His words, tender but hollow, slipped into your ears but it sounded so wrong, so unlike him in a way. 

“No, no, no!” you wailed, voice cracking under the weight of terror and despair. “What is happening!? W-Who did this to you!?” Each cry came out strangled, desperate, as if voicing your confusion might somehow make sense of this nightmare.

Miguel’s body grew unnaturally still, his gaze sharpening, a twisted smirk spreading across his lips as he tilted his head to one side. “Oh, bebè , isn’t it obvious?” His bloody eyebrow rising in a mock question, daring you to confront the truth he already knew.

And then, before you could respond, his face seemed to explode with anger.

“ISN’T IT!?” 

With a sudden roar, he lunged at you, your scream cut short as his hands found your throat, slamming you onto the cold floor. Your breath vanished instantly under his crushing grip. The impact jarred you, leaving your lungs heaving, begging for air.

You gasped, fingers clawing at his forearm, frantically trying to pry him off but his grip was unyielding, his hands like steel. The veins in his arms bulged underneath his button-up, his fingers digging into the skin of your throat and bruising the sensitive flesh. His face loomed over you, eyes blazing, dark and empty all at once.

“Look at me, Cariño . Look at what you’ve tried so hard to ignore!” He bellowed, each word cutting through you, sinking into your bones. “See it. Feel it, damnitt !” Your husband shouted, slamming you against the floor, feeling the air be knocked from you once more. 

“You couldn’t hold on, could you? Couldn’t keep us together, not for me, not even for Gabi.” His grip tightened, further choking you. Your vision started to blur, spots of darkness creeping in. Tears began to prickle at the edges of your eyes at the thought of death by the hands of no one other than your beloved husband. 

The blood dripping from his hair traced cold lines across your cheek that you could hardly feel against your numb skin. You could only stare up into the shell of your husband and see the inhumane rage, anger and spite that bled off him so tangibly you could practically taste it. 

Your spouse’s amber orbs were devoid of warmth or light, his glowing skin now a lifeless gray, cold to the touch. “This is what you brought into our lives. This is what your love has done.” His tone, grueling and heartless, seeking to twist the already burrowed knife deeper into your gut until you were gone. Miguel leaned down, his face inches from yours, his breath a harsh reminder of everything slipping away.

“Accept it, mi amor. Embrace it, because this is all that’s left.”

Your sight blurred, eyes fluttering closed as those final, chilling words rung through your mind like chiming bells. Fingers loosened from his forearm, dropping to your side, body stilling to leave you encased in a world of blackness. 

‘Accept? How can I accept this?’ 

A thought was breathed like the fluttering of faint fireflies in the darkness. Your consciousness slipping away.

‘Who could possibly accept consequences such as this…?’ 

The inquiry repeated alongside your husband’s words until the abyss consumed you, dragging you under and into the oblivion you could no longer escape.

“Serum R9 has left Patient 1105. Patient 1105 is now conscious.”

An electronic voice announced as your eyes fluttered open. Instantly, the blaring lights from the ceiling seared your vision, forcing you to cower away. 'Where am I?' you wondered, unable to survey your surrounding with the glaring bulbs overhead. 

The hum of machines engulfed your ears, seeming to be everywhere at once. Each beep and whir further disoriented you. Everything felt distant and detached, like something had chewed at your memories, leaving you clueless.

Then, through the haze, you heard the familiar sound of a record scratching, stuttering through a line from You Belong To Me , a song you knew all too well—“See the… see the… see the…”

Weakly, you glanced down, noticing a white gown adorning your figure, but not remembering how you obtained it nor how you ended up in this bed. Your head ached the more you tried to fill the gaping holes in your memory, but one thing rang true.

“Gabi? M-Miguel?” you called out in a scratchy, hoarse voice that you almost didn’t recognize as your own. Your lips felt horribly cracked, and your legs were stiff from inactivity. ‘ I have to get out of here. S-Someone has taken me somehow, ’ you assumed, fear rising in your chest.

You tried to sit up, but found yourself physically incapable. ‘ What the hell? ’ Panic bubbled up inside as you tried again and again, but when your arm started to flail, you felt a tug at your wrist. The metal cuffs cut deep into your skin and clanged against the bed rail.

In horror, your eyes snapped down to see your hands were cuffed to the cold metal of your bed. “What is going on?” you hardly whispered, your dull eyes finding other things attached to your body that you hadn’t noticed before.

An IV drip pricked into your inner elbow with withered tape, wires coming from electrode pads under your gown to attach to your chest whilst an oxygen tube was held up to your nostrils, filling your body with more air than you needed at the moment. 

An ache in your neck made you reach up to touch your nape. There, you felt a lump and upon touching it, a sharp pain shot through your skull that made you further disoriented and terrified.

Your chest began to heave, hyperventilating. ‘ What is going on? I-I need to get out of here. I don’t understand what is happening.’ You could only think, weakly tugging at your cuffs, becoming a sobbing mess.

“Patient 1105’s heart rate elevated to 145 beats per minute. Respiration rate above normal limits. Increased agitation detected. Subject is vocalizing distress; emotional levels are unstable.”

Your body jumped at the inhuman form’s sudden voice, coming from somewhere in the room. Instantly, you became rigid with fear.

“Sending for Dr. Owens. Sending for Dr. Owens.”

“What’s happening? Why am I here? What happened to my family?” you could only ask the electronic voice in a strained whimper, seeking answers amidst your confusion and cluelessness. Your vision was shielded by globs of salty tears running down your cold cheeks as you wept.

Almost instantaneously, a door burst open somewhere in your room, startling you. You whimpered in fear, eyes squinting to see the newcomer.

In a white coat, a woman entered. Her dark brown curly hair was tied up in a professional ponytail with a stern look on her ebony face that made you tremble. “W-Who are you?” you tried to ask between crackles in your voice.

The woman barely acknowledged your words. Her attention, behind her glasses, was focused on a screen beside you, fingers flying over the keys as though your questions were mere background noise. Ignoring your weak, desperate gaze, she muttered something under her breath and continued to work.

“Please…” you croaked, throat tightening with desperation. “Where’s Miguel, m-my husband? Where’s my daughter, Gabi? H-How did I get here?”

You couldn’t explain it, but a sudden rage exploded from your being at her indifference. “Give me back my daughter and husband, dammit!” you shouted, your tight voice strained. Thrashing in your bed, you screamed and yelled, the cuffs crashing against the metal bed railing.

“I know you took them! You took them away from me, you bitch! Give them back to me! Give them back!” you bellowed before breaking down into tears, feeling your cheekbones press against the taut skin of your face. Your emotions felt all over the place.

Without looking up, the woman clicked a final command, heaving a sigh. “Patient 1105, I’m Dr. Jessica Owens, and as stated many times before, you agreed to this.”

Your eyebrows quivered, believing you’d heard her wrong. “W-What?” you rasped, your ghostly features scrunching up in confusion.

“Indeed. It was either receiving your normal sentence here or assisting us in a few tests,” the ebony doctor explained. You could only look at her in bewilderment. “And… w-where am I?”

“Obscura Psychiatric Facility,” she replied, her voice emotionless and straightforward. Your dull eyes studied her for a moment, trying to recall your past memories, but it felt impossible. “Why am I here? Why can’t I remember anything? What… tests did I agree to? And where is my family?” you asked, desperate for answers, or else you feared you would lose it.

Dr. Owens stepped up to your bedside, and your body instinctively recoiled from her. “You’ll be surprised how many times I’ve answered these exact questions from you before, Patient 1105,” she muttered, running a calculating eye over you from behind her frames. “But I’ll bite.” The doctor cleared her throat, clasping her hands behind her back.

“Patient 1105, or Y/N, you’ve been in our care for seven years. Upon arrival, you were miserable and depressed, seeking an end to your troubles that the judge took away from you.”

“T-The judge?!” you exclaimed in confusion, needing her to backtrack and explain. However, it seemed Dr. Owens only wished to tell you what she wanted, questions be damned.

“We presented you with the decision to continue your usual routine here at Obscura or to partake in testing of a new drug being administered. You chose the latter.” Dr. Owens said, walking over to a cabinet in the room and retrieving a pair of latex gloves to snap onto her hands. 

“You were cautioned about the addictive effects, memory loss, and life-long dependency on this drug, but there was one thing about this medicine that fascinated you more than anything, causing you to choose it regardless of the consequences.”

“W-What was that?” you asked, watching her return to you and ignore your question like before. The doctor began checking your facial features, under your throat, along your arms, legs, and back, feeling for any abnormalities. “Serum R9 is the drug that is being tested on you, Patient 1105. It is still being researched, but from your results, it’s a paradise, putting you in a dreamscape that you’ve always wanted.”

You listened to Dr. Owens, allowing her to finish her checkup and scribble on a notepad she pulled out from the breast pocket of her lab coat. It felt odd being told about your actions and words despite not remembering them.

Glancing up at her as she wrote, anger bubbled inside of you. “If I’m here, where is my family?” you asked. “Is there a reason I don’t remember agreeing to this? Did you force me to do this?! A-And what is this thing in my neck?! ” You demanded, the lump in your neck tingling once more.

“My husband, Miguel, would never have let me agree to such a thing. He knows I have a daughter—a family to get back to, for fuck’s sake!” you angrily shouted. “And you— lying assholes have made me sell my life to a fucking drug, and now I can’t get back to my family because of you—”

“Patient 1105, your family is dead.”

Your words halted, and you felt like your world had ended. Swallowing thickly, you wetted your cracked lips. Your eyes narrowed, hands curling into fists. “W-What the hell are you talking about?” you bit out, glaring daggers at her. “If you’re lying to me, I promise you when I get out, I-I’ll…” 

Dr. Owens chuckled at your stammered threat, utterly unamused. She shook her head, her curly ponytail moving with the motion. “I'll expect that from a killer like you.” 

Before you could think, you could yourself leaping up, reaching for the collar of Dr. Owens’ coat, and due to her closeness, you grabbed hold. A sudden burst of energy coursed through your being. Pulling her toward you, the chains of your cuffs jiggled with your movements. “Say that again,” you growled, staring directly into her cold eyes that gazed back at you.

“You killed them,” the doctor spat back with indifference. “You stabbed your husband to death and drowned your daughter when he decided to divorce you because of your insanity. I take it you didn’t like the fact they were leaving you.”

“S-stop lying to me!” you shouted, shaking her, not wanting it to be true. “I tell you nothing but the truth, Patient 1105. You’re here because of your actions, and you begged for Serum R9 to escape the despair you’ve brought into your life,” Dr. Owens stated with a glare, pulling away from your tight hold.

Delusions and unchecked rage were what you were known for, and even now, you sought to silence Dr. Owens’ words. You weren’t ready for the truth, despite having already lived it.

Acceptance was a lesson one could never learn without getting hurt in the process. Although you couldn’t remember it, you didn’t want to feel that pain, hurt, or loss ever again, so you ran from acceptance like hell.

You chuckled manically, your laughter growing louder and more deranged. “You lie. You lie! YOU LIE!” you shouted over and over again, pure rage bellowing from your voice. 

In your mind, you saw your husband and daughter at home, calling the police in search of their missing wife and mother. Dr. Owens and the people at this facility were keeping you from your family. It was the only reason—the only truth you saw and was willing to accept.

Suddenly, you snapped, shouting threats at Dr. Owens, trying to break free from your handcuffs, and thrashing about in your bed. Security and more nurses entered the room as Dr. Owens typed away on the screen by your bedside. “You lie, you bitch! You can’t keep me here! I’ll kill you, I promise you, you piece of shit!” you screamed at the top of your lungs. The electronic voice from before filled the room.

“Serum R9 is being administered once more. Sweet dreams, Patient 1105.”

The staff released you as the IV tube was filled with a blue liquid, flowing from a nearby machine into your arm and soon bloodstream. The lump in your neck buzzed to life upon activation and instantly, you became weak and drowsy. 

“W-What are you doing to me? I-I have to get out of here. M-My family is…w-waiting for me,” you said once more, trying to fight the drug.

“You are right,” Through your hazy vision, you could see Dr. Owens resetting the needle on the record player as the song You Belong To Me began to play. Your body became rigid, unable to help but focus on the tune.

“Your family is waiting for you,” the ebony woman added, her voice growing fainter as the music grew louder, until it was the only thing you could hear.

“So don’t keep them waiting any longer,” were the last words you heard before the song drowned out everything, and your eyes closed.

Your world of darkness was full of despair and turmoil. Like the speed of light, every memory you couldn’t recall before came rushing back.

Entering second grade.

Going to prom.

Meeting Miguel.

Getting Married.
Having Gabriella.
Kissing your husband.
Drawing with your daughter.
Family dinners.
Night cuddles.
The fights.
The screaming.
The crying.
The blood.
The guilt.
The hate.
The loss.

The Despair.

It came rushing back so intensely that it was grueling, before vanishing as quickly as it came.

You were left a hollow husk of a person. Your memories shed, leaving only two things behind: pure happiness and a need for your family.

~ I say, Oogum, oogum, boogum, boogum ~
Boogum now, baby, you're castin' your spell on me. ~

The jolly tune of Brenton Wood resonated from the record player, your hips swaying to the song while you cooked. Sunlight poured in through the drawn gingham drapes, filling your home with a warm glow that energized everyone inside.

But, in particular, you.

Your eyes occasionally glanced over at the cookbook you had "borrowed" from your and your husband's shared closet—a cookbook from his late mother.

Currently, you had tasked yourself with making a childhood Mexican-Irish breakfast for your husband to celebrate his birthda-

“Wait,” you uttered, coming to a stop. Your eyebrows furrowed, feeling like you’d done this before.

You glanced down at the breakfast you were cooking, a sensation of unease gripping you. You tried to figure out the source of this déjà vu when your thoughts were instantly interrupted by a pair of burly arms enveloping your waist from behind.

Your heart fluttered as a blinding warmth of happiness, adoration, and peace engulfed you. “Good morning, mi amor, ” your husband whispered into your ear, his deep voice of love enough to quell even your most chaotic days.

You leaned back into him, accepting his embrace. All previous worries and concerns vanished from thought, and the only thing you could think about was the feeling of how right everything was.

“You okay?” he asked, his hand caressing your stomach through your dress, his touch setting your body ablaze. Completely in love, you nodded, a huge smile on your rosy lips.

“Of course...

Everything is perfect.”