Every morning before I leave for work, my husband kisses my forehead and tells me to “drive safe.”
That morning was no different.
I had barely driven two blocks when I realized I forgot my laptop charger. I sighed, turned the car around, and headed back home. It was supposed to be a quick in-and-out.
I unlocked the front door quietly.
That was when I heard him.
“Drink it quickly… before my wife comes back.”
My entire body went still.
The voice was Marcus.
But I had left him alone.
Who was he talking to?
My chest tightened as I stepped forward, each movement slow, careful. The house felt different. Heavy. Like it was holding its breath.
The bedroom door was slightly open.
I leaned just enough to see inside.
And my world shattered.
Marcus stood near our bed holding a small red cup.
In front of him, sitting on our matrimonial bed, was a woman dressed in a loose red robe. Her hair was long and dark, cascading over her face, hiding her features.
He handed her the cup.
I saw it clearly.
It was urine.
“Drink,” he whispered.
My stomach twisted violently.
The woman raised the cup to her lips. She paused for a second… then suddenly her head tilted toward the door.
Toward me.
My heart stopped.
Did she see me?
But just as quickly, she turned back and drank it all.
Every drop.
I almost screamed.
My elbow accidentally brushed the door.
“Who’s there?” Marcus’ voice snapped.
Fear took over.
I ran.
I didn’t think. I didn’t plan. I just ran.
My heart was pounding so hard I thought I might collapse before reaching the front door. I fumbled with the lock—
A hand grabbed my arm.
“Lauren! Why are you running?”
Marcus.
“Don’t touch me!” I screamed, shaking. “Who is she?! Who is that woman in our bedroom?!”
He stared at me like I had grown a second head.
“What woman?”
“The one in the red robe! The one drinking from that cup! Don’t lie to me!”
His face hardened.
“Lauren… there is no one in our bedroom.”
“Stop it!” My voice cracked. “I saw her!”
He let out a short laugh. Not amused. Not warm. Cold.
“Have you been sleeping properly? You’re scaring me.”
The way he said it… calm, controlled… almost concerned.
It made me doubt myself for half a second.
Then he grabbed my wrist.
“Come,” he said. “Let’s go look.”
We walked back to the bedroom.
It was empty.
No red robe.
No woman.
No cup.
The bed was perfectly made.
The air smelled faintly of cleaning spray.
I rushed to the bathroom. Empty.
Closet. Empty.
Guest room. Empty.
I felt dizzy.
Behind me, Marcus chuckled softly.
“You see?” he said. “There’s no one here.”
My hands were shaking violently. I knew what I saw.
I wasn’t crazy.
Then something inside me whispered: kitchen.
I don’t know why.
I just knew.
I turned toward the hallway.
Marcus’ laughter stopped.
“Lauren,” he said sharply. “Where are you going?”
His tone had changed.
I didn’t answer.
I walked to the kitchen.
Each step felt like walking into deep water.
I reached the doorway.
And froze.
Standing by the sink… was the woman.
Her back was to me.
Red robe.
Long dark hair.
Water running.
She was washing the red cup.
My throat closed.
“Marcus…” I whispered.
Slowly, she turned.
And my entire body went numb.
It was me.
Not exactly.
But close enough.
Same eyes.
Same nose.
Same mouth.
Like a distorted reflection.
She smiled.
Not kindly.
Marcus stepped behind me.
“You weren’t supposed to see her,” he murmured.
My blood ran cold.
“Who is she?”
He exhaled slowly, like someone tired of explaining something simple.
“She’s what keeps us together.”
My mind couldn’t process it.
“What does that even mean?”
He looked at the woman—at my double—with something almost like reverence.
“I met her years ago,” he said quietly. “Before you. She told me that to keep love from fading… a man must give something of himself. Something raw. Something humiliating. Something powerful.”
My stomach churned.
“You’re sick,” I whispered.
The woman tilted her head.
“She is weak,” she said softly, her voice identical to mine but hollow. “She doubts. She questions. She fears.”
Marcus’ grip tightened on my shoulders.
“She drinks what I give,” he said. “She carries the parts of me you can’t handle. She absorbs the rot. So our marriage can stay clean.”
Tears blurred my vision.
“This isn’t love,” I said.
The woman smiled wider.
“Love is survival.”
For a split second, I felt something terrifying.
Recognition.
Like she wasn’t just a stranger.
Like she was a version of me.
The part that stayed silent.
The part that swallowed humiliation.
The part that accepted things without screaming.
Marcus leaned close to my ear.
“You created her,” he whispered. “The first time you chose not to confront me. The first time you let something slide.”
The kitchen lights flickered.
I looked back at the woman.
She was holding the red cup again.
But this time, she extended it toward me.
My breath stopped.
“No,” I said.
Marcus’ voice turned cold.
“If you refuse… she stays.”
I understood then.
This wasn’t about urine.
It wasn’t about rituals.
It was about control.
About erasing pieces of me until I was nothing but obedience.
The woman stepped closer.
I could see tears in her eyes.
Not evil.
Not demonic.
Broken.
She wasn’t haunting me.
She was me.
And suddenly, something snapped inside my chest.
I grabbed the cup from her hand.
Marcus smiled in triumph.
But instead of drinking—
I hurled it across the kitchen.
It shattered against the wall.
Silence.
The woman gasped.
Her body began to flicker, like smoke losing shape.
“No!” Marcus shouted.
I stepped toward her—toward myself.
“You don’t need to drink his shame,” I said softly.
The woman’s face crumpled.
And then—
She vanished.
Just like that.
Marcus staggered back like someone had punched him.
“You don’t understand what you’ve done,” he hissed.
“Oh, I do,” I replied, my voice steady for the first time all morning.
“I chose myself.”
The house felt lighter.
Cleaner.
Marcus looked smaller somehow.
Not powerful.
Just pathetic.
I walked past him, grabbed my keys, and opened the front door.
“Lauren!” he shouted. “You can’t just leave!”
I turned.
“I’m not running this time.”
And I stepped outside.
The air felt different.
Sharp. Real.
I didn’t know what tomorrow would look like.
Divorce.
Therapy.
Starting over.
But as I got into my car, I realized something:
The most horrifying thing I had seen that morning wasn’t the woman in red.
It was the version of me who almost stayed.
And that woman?
She was finally gone.