The horror in my chest tightened. Was he doing this? And if so, why? I cautiously moved closer, examining the intricate details. Some of the drawings seemed to depict our family, but in twisted, unnerving ways. There were strange equations and scientific notations that meant nothing to me. It was as if he had been working on some secret project or unraveling a mystery that was consuming him.

In the corner, a journal lay open, filled with frantic scribbles. I hesitated, then picked it up. As I scanned the pages, it became clear that my husband was documenting a descent into paranoia and obsession. He wrote of feeling watched, of hearing voices whispering secrets to him whenever he was alone. He mentioned a “great discovery” he was on the verge of making, something that could change everything. My husband, the rational man I thought I knew, was lost to something dark and incomprehensible.

Fear clutched at my heart as I realized the magnitude of his secret. He wasn’t having an affair; he was losing his grip on reality, trapped in some delusion that had driven him to this point. I felt a wave of sorrow for him, for us. How had I not seen this? How had he hidden it so well?