When our only daughter left for college, I imagined my husband, Travis, and I would finally enjoy peaceful evenings together—quiet dinners, late-night movies, and long talks like we used to have. But instead, something shifted. He became cold, distant, and easily frustrated over the smallest things. Then, one night, he started sleeping on the couch. At first, I thought it was temporary. But days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. No matter how I tried to bring him back to bed—his favorite meals, heartfelt talks, even surprise date nights—he refused. He clung to that old, worn-out pillow like it was something precious.
One afternoon while cleaning, I noticed the pillow on the couch looked heavier than usual. Curiosity got the better of me. When I lifted it, I heard a faint rustling sound. My heart pounded as I unzipped the cover and discovered a hand-stitched seam inside. Something was hidden there. With trembling hands, I carefully opened it—and froze. Inside were small plastic bags filled with hair, each labeled neatly with names and dates. I didn’t know whether to be terrified or heartbroken. Fearing the worst, I decided to call the authorities before confronting Travis myself.
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