Amy Raine
873 posts

Amy Raine
@amy_raine
A writer of edgy ,racy, romantic books. Loves anything arty or creative. Prosecco and chocolate are life’s essential items.
Liverpool, England Katılım Ocak 2021
246 Takip Edilen132 Takipçiler

Despite unfavourable comments previously made by Farage about Tommy, this is a big move, one I would consider an endorsement of the ‘Unite The Kingdom’ event this Saturday & credit where it’s due… A lot of people would love to see you there @Nigel_Farage - something to consider
Nigel Farage MP@Nigel_Farage
The Unite the Kingdom rally on Saturday should be treated no differently to the pro-Palestinian march on the same day. The fact that two-tier justice is being applied against patriotic Brits is disgraceful. thetimes.com/uk/article/met…
English

My sister called me at 2:00 AM. She was crying.
"Come get me. Please. I think my husband is dead."
I was already putting on my shoes.
"Where are you?"
"The closet. He's in the bedroom. He's been standing there for three hours. He hasn't moved."
"Who hasn't moved?"
"Tom. My husband. But it's not Tom."
I drove to her house in fifteen minutes. She lives twenty minutes away.
I didn't knock. She left the back door unlocked like she said.
I found her in the bedroom closet. Kneeling behind her winter coats. Shaking.
I pulled her out.
"Where is he?"
She pointed to the bed.
No one was there.
"He was here," she whispered. "Standing right there. Facing the wall. For three hours."
I checked the whole house. Empty.
Her car was in the driveway. His car was gone.
"Claire. Where is Tom?"
She looked at me. Her eyes were strange. Not scared. Confused.
"Tom died," she said. "Three years ago. You were at the funeral."
I stared at her.
"Claire. I was at your wedding. Last year. I gave a toast. You cried."
She shook her head.
"That wasn't Tom. That was someone else. Someone wearing Tom."
I sat down. My legs felt wrong.
"Claire. You're scaring me."
She grabbed my phone. Opened my photos. Scrolled to her wedding.
"That's not Tom," she said, pointing at the groom.
It was Tom. Same face. Same smile. Same suit.
But she was right about something.
His eyes were wrong. In every photo. Too dark. Too still. Like a photograph of a photograph.
I looked at Claire.
"Who did you marry?"
She started crying again.
"I don't know. I don't remember. I just remember waking up one day and he was there. Making coffee. Calling me honey. And I thought... I thought I was going crazy. Because I knew Tom was dead. But he looked like Tom. He sounded like Tom."
She grabbed my arm.
"So I pretended. For a year. I pretended he was Tom. I pretended everything was fine. But last night, I woke up. And he was standing at the foot of the bed. Facing the wall. Not moving."
"What did he say?"
"He didn't say anything. He just stood there. For hours. I watched him. And then I realized."
"What?"
"He wasn't breathing."
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