The first time I heard her cry in her dreams, I assumed it was nothing more than a nightmare.

I once thought I knew everything about her. We’ve only been married for three weeks, but during our courtship, we shared everything — her favorite foods, the things she enjoyed, her aspirations, what made her laugh, and the tiny habits that defined her.

She is everything a man could hope for: beautiful, gentle, intelligent.

In the daytime, she’s radiant. She dances around the kitchen while making breakfast, calls me “My King.”

She would take my hand and promise,

“Solomon, I’ll choose you a thousand times over. In this life and the next.”

And I would respond with a smile:

“Katura, I’ll be with you, now and forever.”

I believed every word — until the nights began speaking louder than her promises.

It crept in slowly. I would wake in the dead of night to find her quietly sobbing. She was asleep… yet tears streamed down her cheeks. Her body trembled faintly, like she was trying not to break.

One night, I couldn’t stay silent. I touched her shoulder softly. Her eyes drifted open. Before I could speak, she whispered, “Why are you not sleeping?” Her voice steady, as though nothing unusual had just happened.

I didn’t know what to say. The same face that had been wet with tears now looked serene, bright, untouched. It felt as if the moment had dissolved into thin air.

But it hadn’t. Because every night…

It came back.

Again.

And again.

Sometimes I caught fragments of whispers like:

“Give me some time…”

I would glance at her, but her expression remained calm. The room would fall silent again, as if I had imagined it.

I began to second-guess myself — was I imagining things, or was something truly wrong?

One morning, I finally asked,

“Are you okay?”

She smiled, stroking my face.

“Of course I am, darling.”

I studied her quietly before asking,

“Do you know that you cry in your sleep?”

She looked puzzled.

“Cry? Me? No, I don’t cry in my sleep. Are you sure you weren’t dreaming?”

I wanted to accept her answer.

But something deep inside insisted I wasn’t dreaming.

So last night, I made a decision: I wouldn’t fall asleep. I needed the truth. I couldn’t go on like this.

I lay beside her, pretending to be asleep, my lids barely lowered.

She turned toward me… checking whether I was really asleep.

Then, at exactly 2:14 a.m., she shifted to the other side… readjusted her pillow… and faced the wall.

And then…

The bedroom light shut off.

“If she cries again tonight, I need answers — or this marriage won’t last,” I muttered to myself, fear already pressing on my chest. I had left the light on… yet it went dark right at midnight.

I inhaled slowly and stayed motionless. The room was still.

No light. No movement. But I stared into the dark with wide, alert eyes.

It felt like the room had emptied out…

Then I heard her move slightly on the bed.

And then—

That soft, broken sob again.

She whispered, “I’m tired… I’m sorry… No… Leave him…”

I leaned closer, trying to hear clearly.

“Leave him?”

Who was she speaking to?

And who was she talking about?

I shot upright and reached over to tap her. But my hand touched empty space. She wasn’t there. The spot beside me was completely vacant.

A wave of panic hit me. I reached for my phone to use it as a light — but it was gone.

Before I could even call her name, I felt something crawling up my leg.

“Mumi mo! Awo mo!” I screamed and leapt off the bed. I don’t even remember how I reached the door. I dashed out of the bedroom and slammed the door shut behind me.

Sweat pouring.

Hands trembling.

I leaned toward the door, trying to catch any sound inside.

Then a voice drifted from the living room.

Soft. Steady.

“My king,” she said, “Why did you rush out of the bedroom? Is anything wrong? You’re sweating.”

I turned around slowly. She sat there in the living room, calm as ever, holding a cup of tea. I wiped the sweat off my forehead and approached her. None of this felt like a joke anymore.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“We were just lying down. How did you get out here? And why is the bedroom dark while the light here is still on?”

She smiled. “Ah ah, honey… I felt cold and came out to make some tea. Do you care for some?”

“Katura,” I said firmly.

“What is going on in this house?”

She stood and placed a hand on my arm.

“Relax,” she said. “Maybe you need a check up, you’ve been overstressing your brain.”

“Enough!” I snapped.

“I need answers! Who are you, really?”

Then…

A sound drifted from the bedroom.

Soft… exactly like her voice…

Calling my name.

I looked toward the bedroom door, then back at her. Her pleasant smile had vanished.

I grabbed a small torch nearby.

“I’m going to check that room,” I said.

“Stop,” she ordered. But I ignored her. It was time to find out the truth.

As I stepped forward, her voice came again — but this time it was firm, deep, unmistakably a man’s voice.

“Stop!”

I froze. My legs went weak.

That wasn’t Katura’s voice. That was a man.

I didn’t know whether to turn around to see what I had just heard…

Then I noticed a stick leaning beside the dining table.

For a moment I hesitated. Should I grab it? Or would that make things worse?

Still torn, the sound from the bedroom grew louder. It wasn’t just any sound — it was a soft cry… calling my name. And it was my wife’s voice.

I couldn’t go in there. That deep, unfamiliar voice behind me had warned me not to.

I felt something standing there, right behind me. I couldn’t even turn to look. Fear locked me in place.

Then my instincts screamed: Run! Run now!

“Run?” I whispered.

Before I could think further, the living room light went out.

With whatever strength I had left, I bolted. I flung the door open and sprinted barefoot into the street.

I ran like a hunted antelope. I left everything — my home, my wife — none of it mattered. I just wanted to stay alive.

I ran until my legs gave out.

I collapsed beneath a tree, breathless and disoriented.

“What is really going on in my life?” I whispered.

She always denied crying in her sleep.

But tonight, when I tried to uncover the truth, everything spiraled into something terrifying.

And we’ve only been married for three weeks.

Exhausted, I drifted off right there under the tree. When I woke up, it was already after 9 a.m. I looked around — I was far from town.

I got up, brushed myself off, and started heading back. It was daylight now.

I made up my mind: my wife and I needed to talk. I thought I knew her… but now I wasn’t sure.

When I reached the house, the front door was wide open.

Puzzled, I stepped inside, and just then my mother-in-law appeared, carrying a small bag with Katura’s clothes and a food flask.

“Good morning, ma,” I greeted, still confused.

She didn’t reply.

She stopped and stared at me with an expression I couldn’t read.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Where are you taking my wife’s clothes? Where is she?”

The way she raised her voice made it feel like I’d suddenly turned on a loud radio.

“I thought you were a responsible man! You came to my house acting gentle and caring… but now I’m seeing the opposite.”

“Mummy, please calm down. What happened?” I asked, completely lost.

“What happened?” she echoed sharply.

“Where were you when your wife needed you most? You disappeared. Now she’s in the hospital! I hope you’re pleased.”

Hospital?

I froze, unable to speak.

She hissed, brushed past me, then stopped and turned.

“She’s at Montena Hospital. I expect you to show up.”

Then she walked away.

My head was spinning with questions.

My wife had never mentioned being ill. What happened to her last night? And how did my mother-in-law find out?

Everything looked normal… until I stepped into the bedroom. The bedsheet was rumpled and slightly stained.

I ignored it. Getting to the hospital was all that mattered. I changed quickly and rushed out.

At the hospital, I approached the nurse at the desk.

“Excuse me, please. My wife was admitted here. Her name is Katura. What room is she in?”

She looked at me, shook her head slowly, and sighed.

“Hmm… Men… Men… anything in a skirt, they just chase.”

I frowned. “What does that mean?”

She waved me off.

“It won’t come from my mouth, please. Her room is 102. Follow that corridor.”

I walked the way she pointed.

There, down the hallway, I saw my mother-in-law on a call.

I nodded and said, “Oh, there’s my mother-in-law. Thank you, nurse.”

But the nurse muttered something that made me freeze:

“Mother-in-law keh? Mother of who? Hmm…”

I looked back at her.

“What are you saying? Do you know her?”

She wouldn’t answer. My wife was hospitalized. Could this tie to her midnight cries? My head throbbed. I needed answers.

I faced the nurse again, desperate.

“Please, if you know anything about my wife… or that woman who was standing there… please tell me. I didn’t even sleep last night.”

She studied me for a moment, then exhaled deeply.

“All I can say is this—be careful. That woman you saw? She’s not her mother. And your wife… I’m not even sure she’s human.”

My eyes widened.

“What?! My wife? What do you mean she’s not human?”

“I can’t explain,” she whispered. “Just watch yourself. That’s all I can say.”

I asked again, “Medically… what’s wrong with her?”

She shook her head. “We’ve run every test. Nothing is wrong.”

I sighed heavily and walked off to see my wife.

Too many questions. Too few answers. The more I looked, the deeper the confusion grew.

“This is getting scarier every day,” I muttered.

When I reached her door, I paused, breathed in, and stepped inside.

The moment the woman I thought was her mother saw me, she started shouting again.

But my wife, Katura, lifted her hand weakly and said,

“Mama, please. It’s alright. He didn’t do anything. I took his place.”

The woman stiffened. She didn’t understand what Katura meant.

I was even more confused.

“Took my place?”

My heart raced.

I needed to leave. In fact, everything I’d heard and seen was enough. I decided the moment I stepped out of that room, I’d go home, pack my things, and disappear.

Forget marriage. Forget love. My life came first.

But just as I was about to excuse myself, Katura looked at me and said,

“I know what you’re thinking. But please… wait. I need to tell you something.”

I froze in place.

She turned to the woman. “Mama, please. Give us a moment. I need to talk to him alone.”

The woman stood, remained silent, and slipped out.

Now it was just us.

Katura adjusted herself, slowly sat up… and suddenly the air shifted. It felt thick, strange, as if something unseen had entered.

“Come closer,” she said.

“I need to tell you why I cry every midnight… and who I am.”

I was trembling.

I looked around… then dragged my feet toward her.

As I got nearer, she said, “I know you’ve been confused about everything in our marriage. I never intended to fall in love with anyone because I came here for another purpose… but somehow, I grew fond of you. And that’s why I tried so hard not to harm you.”

I froze.

“There were others before you,” she continued softly, “and I was under pressure to make a painful choice. They wanted something I couldn’t give.”

Her voice shook.

“I’ve carried this burden for years. I cry because time has run out. And if I’d let you get too close… you would’ve paid the same price others paid without knowing.”

My jaw dropped.

I whispered, “So… where do you come from?”

She inhaled deeply. “There’s a place… one people rarely mention. Desperate women go there seeking favors. But everything they receive comes with a condition.”

I listened closely.

“The woman you call my mother had four sons and desperately wanted a daughter. She went there… and that’s how I came. But every few years, someone always paid the price. She didn’t realize it… until it was already too late.”

I shook my head sadly.

Then she said, “Call her in. I need to tell her the truth.”

I stepped outside and brought the woman back in.

Katura looked at her gently. “Mama. My time has ended.”

“Stop saying that!” the woman cried.

Katura met her gaze.

“I was never meant to stay forever. And now… I have to go. I’ve caused too much pain, even to the people who loved me most.”

The woman fell into the chair, eyes wide with regret.

She sobbed uncontrollably, her hands trembling. Tears streamed endlessly.

Then Katura said,

“Desperation is dangerous. When you’re too desperate, you lose the ability to tell right from wrong. You start calling bad things good… just to get what you want.”

Her words struck me deeply. I stood there, shattered.

I started wondering how I even fell in love with her. After just two weeks, I was already rushing into marriage.

She looked at me and said, “You escaped what others didn’t. Not everything that looks like a blessing is truly one. Some gifts shine brightly on the outside but hide something darker within. In this life, be careful. Be patient. Ask questions. Don’t let appearances deceive you. Remember, not everything that glitters is gold.”

She slowly turned her head and whispered:

“Goodnight.”

Before anyone could react, a loud flutter swept through the room. A strange shadow darted past the window… and she vanished.

That was the end.

I ran out, packed my belongings, and left that town forever… ready to start over.

I never returned.

Some doors are better left unopened.

I learned my lesson the hard way.