My heart pounded as I gripped the rusted doorknob, my fingers trembling. The cabin looked abandoned, its wooden frame weathered by years of rain and wind. But my husband’s dog—*our* dog—was here. And in its mouth, his *jacket*.
I hesitated for only a second before pushing the door open.
The hinges groaned in protest, revealing the dimly lit space inside. My eyes adjusted, scanning the interior. A small fireplace, glowing embers still burning faintly. A rickety wooden table with a half-eaten plate of food. And then—
A man.
Sitting in the corner.
His back was to me, shoulders hunched. His dark, unkempt hair was longer than I remembered, streaked with gray. His clothes were worn, his boots caked in dirt. But I *knew* him.
“*Daniel?*” My voice cracked as I said his name.
The man stiffened. Slowly, he turned his head.
And when our eyes met, I knew—I wasn’t crazy. It was him.
My husband.
“*No…*” I whispered, taking a shaky step forward. “*Daniel, it’s me.*”
He didn’t move. His face was gaunt, his beard thick, his expression unreadable. But there was something *else* in his eyes—something distant. Like he wasn’t just shocked to see me… but like he didn’t even *know* me.
“*Who are you?*” he finally said.
A cold chill ran through me.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “*Daniel… it’s me. It’s Claire.*”
His brows furrowed, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. He looked down at his hands as if trying to piece something together. Then, suddenly, his eyes darted to the dog.
“*Jack?*” he murmured, and for the first time, his voice cracked with recognition. The dog wagged its tail, stepping closer.
“*Yes!*” I gasped. “*Jack ran home! He found me, Daniel—he led me here!*”
He inhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “*Four years…*” he whispered. “*I don’t… I don’t remember.*”
“*What happened to you?*” I asked, stepping closer. “*Where have you been all this time?*”
He lifted his eyes to mine. And then, in a quiet, haunted voice, he said:
“*I don’t know.*”
