It took me a couple of days, but I finally managed to get around to picking up a daily pill organizer. That was one of the "goals" that I had made with Catherine before leaving her office. She always made sure to give me some sort of goal or homework to complete before next week's appointment. Not only was I supposed to get that organizer, but I was also supposed to indulge in a little self treatment. To take some amount of time this week to spoil myself. My plan was to have a mini spa day at home. To wear a facial and hair mask. To paint my nails. To actually take time to shave my legs, maybe. Come to think of it, I really hadn't taken any real time to use on myself in a long time. It was a little sad. But it was alright. Tonight would be different. I was even going to use lotion when I was all finished up with an extra long, hot shower for my skin to be smooth all over. I felt a little silly being so excited over such a simple thing.

My family and I returned home right before dinner would need to be made. It would be a taco night. Another thing I found a little exciting. It was one of my favorite meals we made at home. On top of that, my husband actually offered to help. Today was ultimately a good day.

Before dinner, I wandered into my bedroom. I would need to take my medication since I had surely forgotten to take them that morning along with a few other days. I sat on the edge of my bed and opened my pill bottle. My heart clutched tightly within my chest. There was a tiny, purple, folded piece of paper inside. I froze in shock for a brief moment. I stared, already certain of what was going to be written on the note. Ever so slowly, I slipped the paper out, unfolded it, and read. To no surprise, it was exactly as expected. Exactly like the previous one. Another warning not to take my pills with my own handwriting.

I checked the other bottle. Surprise, surprise. The same warning. When would I have written this to put it in my bottles? I tried my best to remember. But nothing came to mind. Was I blacking out? If I was able to leave myself notes that I didn't remember, what else was I capable of doing while not remembering? The mere idea alone of this being the case was a bit terrifying. If I blacked out, didn't that mean there were moments that my children could potentially be in danger?

I sat there for a minute in my panic. Thinking of all the horrible things I could have potentially been doing without realizing. My husband came into the room, his demeanor a little short.

"Are you gonna come help me out in the kitchen? I didn't think organizing your pills would take this long."

I looked up to him. I studied his face, trying to read him. I didn't know how he would respond if I told him what I had found. He didn't know about the previous notes, so why should I bother to tell him now? He would just ask me to take my medication. If he even believed me. Maybe he would think I was messing with him. Maybe I was somehow messing with myself? Or? Something? I didn't have the explanation, but I knew he wouldn't either. Whatever the case, this was my problem.

"Sorry, I'm coming. I still need to sort them. I guess I got distracted." I crumbled the notes like I had the first ones and tossed them into the trash.

After dinner, the children went about to play in their rooms. The baby was fast asleep. My husband and I sat across from each other at the dining room table, sneakily eating some ice cream and hoping beyond hope that the children didn't come running into the room. These were the sneaky moments of fun we had these days.

I smiled and looked up to my husband to remind him my long shower was up next. I would need him to monitor the children while I was busy. But there was something about him that hit me like a ton of bricks. His face. It had changed. He looked different.

Suddenly, his eyes met mine. "You okay?" He asked with his mouth full of ice cream.

At first, I didn't answer. I was too shocked. I stared at him hard, trying to distinguish the significance in this alteration. Was this even my husband? Or was this the other husband? Some other worldly cross dimension husband? Was anyone in this house even real? He looked fine before dinner. Why did he change only now?

"You look like you've seen a ghost, Kimmy." He said, "You're freaking me out. Earth to Kim."

"Yeah." I finally sputtered. "I'm good." I thought about how I would know if he was my husband or not. Would an imposter know our secrets? Our past? "Hun." I mulled over the question before asking, "On our first date out. Do you remember what I said? You were whistling. Do you remember?"

He chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Of course, I remember. My nose kept whistling. You ruined our romantic moment when you roasted me."

My eyes narrowed so slightly. So, he did remember. Then either this was my real husband or this person knew all of my husband's memories.

My therapist's words sounded in my head, already knowing what she'd say. "Does it make more sense for this to be your actual husband or for an imposter who looks almost identical to him to come replace him with all his memories?" Obviously, the first option made the most logical sense. And yet, I still felt uneasy around this potential imposter.

"Why do you ask?" He broke the silence of my internal overthinking.

"No reason." I forced a smile at him. "Just wondering if you remembered. It was a cute time for us. Long ago and far away."

"You sure you're good?" He asked again. He could tell I was off. And here I was thinking he was the one who was off.

"Yes. Just tired."

That night in bed, I couldn't sleep. I couldn't shut my brain off. I looked to my husband again. He was fast asleep and seemingly back to normal again. Normal. What a word. What a concept. To be normal. I sighed and stared up at the dark ceiling now. This whole time, I was worried about everything else being wrong. What if it was all really just me? What if this entire time I was what was wrong? What if I really didn't belong here? If that were true, then where did I belong? Where was home?

I closed my eyes and pictured a small cabin in a thick forest. With snow all around on the ground and smoke coming out of the chimney. A place miles away from any other living soul. How peaceful it would be to run away to such a cabin. To be surrounded by snow and silence. This was my quiet place. This was the place I retreated to within my mind when I wanted to get away from life. A tiny cabin, built for one. All mine. Clean and in order. With candles filling the air with the scent of maple syrup and baked goods. My peace. I lost myself for an amount of time before finally drifting off to sleep.