My Husband Killed Me In His Dreams

My breath caught in my throat.

Sebastian stood beside my bed with his eyes closed, completely unaware of me watching him.

And in his hand was the knife.

The same silver blade from my dream.

For several seconds, I couldn't move.

My mind desperately searched for an explanation, but every possibility felt more frightening than the last.

Maybe I was still dreaming.

Maybe this was another nightmare.

I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again.

Sebastian was still there.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

"Sebastian?"

He didn't respond.

His face remained strangely calm, almost peaceful, despite the knife hanging loosely from his hand.

I stared at the blade.

A thin line of moonlight reflected off its edge.

It looked exactly like the knife I had seen moments earlier in my dream.

The same shape.

The same silver handle.

The same narrow blade.

My fingers curled into the bedsheet.

I should wake him.

Every instinct inside me screamed that I should.

But another part of me was terrified of what would happen if he opened his eyes.

What if he wasn't really asleep?

What if the dream hadn't been a dream at all?

Sebastian suddenly turned toward the bedroom door.

I stopped breathing.

He began walking.

Slowly.

Quietly.

As though he knew exactly where he was going.

"Sebastian?"

Nothing.

He opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

I remained frozen for another few seconds before forcing myself out of bed.

The floor was cold beneath my bare feet.

I followed him.

I kept several steps between us, afraid to get too close.

The hallway was dark, with only faint moonlight coming through the tall windows.

Sebastian didn't turn on a single light.

He walked through the darkness without hesitation.

I watched the knife swinging slightly at his side with every step.

My stomach twisted.

Where was he going?

I knew the answer before we reached the end of the hallway.

His study.

The door was closed.

Sebastian stopped in front of it.

For a moment, he simply stood there.

Then he reached for the handle.

The door opened.

I frowned.

The study was normally locked at night.

Sebastian was extremely protective of that room. He kept important documents there, and even the housekeepers weren't allowed inside without permission.

Yet he walked in without hesitation.

As though the locked door had never existed.

I followed him.

The room was almost completely dark.

Moonlight spilled through the tall windows, falling across the desk and bookshelves.

Sebastian walked straight toward his desk.

Then he stopped.

I stayed near the doorway, watching him.

His head tilted slightly.

His hand moved beneath the desk.

I frowned.

What was he doing?

Then I heard it.

A small click.

Something inside the desk moved.

One of the drawers slowly opened.

My heart began beating faster.

I had never seen that drawer before.

Sebastian reached inside.

For a moment, his fingers disappeared beneath the darkness.

Then he pulled something out.

Another knife.

My stomach dropped.

I looked at the knife in his hand.

Then at the one he had just taken from the hidden drawer.

They were identical.

Completely identical.

I stared at them, unable to understand what I was seeing.

Why did Sebastian have two of the same knife?

Why had he hidden one?

And why had he walked here in his sleep carrying the other?

Sebastian suddenly moved.

He placed the knife in his hand inside the drawer.

Then he stood there, staring down at it.

His breathing changed.

It became slower.

Deeper.

His eyelids fluttered.

I stepped backward.

Sebastian's eyes opened.

He turned.

His gaze landed directly on me.

"Serena?"

I couldn't answer.

He looked confused.

Then his eyes moved around the room.

"What are you doing here?"

I swallowed.

"You walked here."

He frowned.

"What?"

"You walked here from our bedroom."

He stared at me.

"I don't remember that."

"You were asleep."

His expression changed.

"What?"

"You were sleepwalking."

He looked down at his hand.

Then at the open drawer.

His face slowly lost its color.

"I..."

He stopped.

I watched him carefully.

"You don't remember?"

He shook his head.

"No."

His voice sounded genuinely confused.

He looked at the knife inside the drawer.

"I don't remember opening this."

"You opened it."

He looked at me.

"Did I hurt you?"

The question surprised me.

"No."

His shoulders relaxed slightly.

Then he closed the drawer.

I stepped closer.

"Why is there another knife in there?"

"I don't know."

"Sebastian."

"I don't know, Serena."

His voice was firmer this time.

I studied his face.

He looked frightened.

Not angry.

Not defensive.

Frightened.

That scared me even more.

"Have you ever seen that knife before?"

He stared at the drawer.

"I don't remember."

I folded my arms.

"You keep saying you don't remember."

"Because I don't."

He rubbed his forehead.

"I was asleep. I don't remember leaving the bedroom."

I wanted to believe him.

But I couldn't forget what I had seen.

I pointed toward the drawer.

"Then why do you have two identical knives hidden in your study?"

He didn't answer.

The silence stretched between us.

Finally, he looked at me.

"Let's go back to bed."

I shook my head.

"I can't."

"Serena."

"I just watched my husband walk through the house in the middle of the night with a knife."

"I wasn't awake."

"That doesn't make it less frightening."

His expression softened.

"I would never hurt you."

The words should have reassured me.

Instead, they reminded me of the dream.

Sebastian standing over me.

The knife.

The blood.

And those final words.

I'm sorry.

I looked away.

"I need some time."

He nodded.

Neither of us spoke as we returned to the bedroom.

That night, I didn't sleep again.

⸻

The next morning, Sebastian left early for work.

Before he left, he kissed my forehead as though nothing unusual had happened.

"Try to get some rest."

I watched him walk toward the front door.

The moment it closed behind him, something inside me changed.

I knew I couldn't simply forget what had happened.

I needed answers.

I returned to the study.

The door was unlocked.

I stepped inside and closed it behind me.

For several seconds, I stood in silence.

I felt guilty for searching through Sebastian's things.

He was my husband.

I trusted him.

At least, I thought I did.

But there was a difference between trusting someone and ignoring something that terrified you.

I started with the desk.

I opened every drawer.

Documents.

Contracts.

Receipts.

Nothing.

I checked the cabinets.

Business files.

Old financial records.

Still nothing.

I searched the shelves.

Nothing unusual.

I was beginning to feel ridiculous when I noticed something.

One of the bookshelves looked slightly different.

A wooden panel wasn't sitting completely flush against the wall.

I walked toward it.

My fingers brushed over the edge.

Then I pulled.

The panel moved.

My heart began pounding.

Behind it was a narrow compartment.

Inside sat a small black box.

I took it out.

My hands were trembling.

I looked toward the door before opening it.

The box contained several things.

An old watch.

A few folded papers.

And a photograph.

I picked up the photograph.

Sebastian was standing outside a large mansion.

He looked younger.

Much younger.

But there was no mistaking him.

His arm was wrapped around the waist of a woman standing beside him.

She was smiling.

Sebastian wasn't.

There was something strangely familiar about the way she stood.

The shape of her body.

The length of her hair.

Something about her made my chest tighten.

I turned the photograph over.

Nothing.

I turned it back.

Then I noticed her face.

It had been scratched out.

Not once.

Not twice.

Someone had dragged a sharp object across it repeatedly until almost nothing remained.

I stared at the ruined face.

My stomach twisted.

Who had done this?

And why?

I looked at Sebastian again.

He had his arm around her as though they had once been close.

Very close.

A thought entered my mind.

One I didn't want to entertain.

Who was she?

I searched through the box again, hoping to find something that would give me an answer.

Nothing.

No name.

No date.

No explanation.

Then I heard a car outside.

My heart jumped.

Sebastian.

I quickly put everything back.

The watch.

The papers.

The photograph.

I returned the box to the hidden compartment and pushed the wooden panel closed.

I barely made it out of the study before I heard the front door open.

"Serena?"

His voice echoed through the house.

I stood in the hallway, trying to slow my breathing.

"Yes?"

"I thought you were resting."

"I was."

He looked at me for a moment.

Then his eyes moved toward the study.

My heart skipped.

"Were you in there?"

I forced myself to smile.

"No."

His gaze remained on me.

For a moment, I thought he knew.

Then he nodded.

"Come downstairs."

I followed him.

But the photograph stayed in my mind.

The mysterious woman.

The scratched-out face.

And the strange feeling that somehow...

I had seen her before.

That night, after Sebastian fell asleep, I quietly took the photograph from where I had hidden it.

I sat beneath the soft light of my bedside lamp and studied it again.

Sebastian.

The woman.

Her destroyed face.

I turned it over.

Nothing.

I turned it back.

Then I noticed something I hadn't seen earlier.

There was faint writing along the bottom edge.

My breath caught.

I brought the photograph closer to the light.

Four words had been written on the back.

My fingers went cold as I read them.

She was supposed to die.