My Husband Dies Every Midnight

The Morning That Never Was

The silence that stretched between them was suffocating. Nathan's hands rested on her shoulders, his palms warm against the coolness of the room, waiting for an answer she couldn't give.

"I... I thought you were hurt," she finally managed, her voice fraying at the edges.

Nathan's brows pulled together in concern. He removed his hands from her shoulders just long enough to cup her face, his thumbs brushing away the tears she hadn't even realized were falling.

"Hey, I'm right here. You just needed a little nap, remember? I told you I was working too hard." He pulled her into his chest, and she melted against him, her sobs wracking her small frame. He was real. Warm. Alive. His heart beat steadily against her ear, a reassuring sound that had nothing to do with the cold, lifeless body she'd found hours ago. The paramedics. The sheet. The chill. The absence.

But he was warm. So very warm.

"Come on," he murmured, guiding her toward the kitchen. "Let's get you some tea. You're freezing."

She allowed him to steer her, her legs functioning without her brain's permission. He sat at the table, watching her with that fond, patient expression only he seemed to have. She perched on the edge of a chair as he set the kettle to boil, his fingers deft as he worked.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" he asked gently. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Her mouth opened, the words spilling out before she could stop them. You died. You died at midnight, and I watched them take you away. They kept you for six hours.

But the words sounded crazy, even to her.

"I... I had a nightmare," she lied, her voice coming out in a choked whisper. "About losing you."

Nathan's expression softened, and he crossed the room in two strides, coming to kneel in front of her. He took her hands in his, his thumbs brushing over her knuckles.

"Elena, I'm not going anywhere. We're okay. We're safe." He gave her hands a reassuring squeeze. "I promise."

The kettle began to whistle, and Nathan stood, pouring steaming water into a waiting mug. She watched his movements as he set it down on the table in front of her, his back to her as he leaned against the counter. His shoulders were tense, his posture rigid.

"Here," he said, sliding the mug toward her. "Drink some tea. Warm up."

She looked down at the mug, her eyes automatically noting the design on the handle. It was one of his favorites, a small heart-shaped loop of gold leafing that curled along the top of the handle. He'd bought it for her last year, on their first anniversary. It was one of her favorites, too.

But her gaze was snagged by the coffee table across the room.

The sketchpad was there. The pencil, too.

But the page was blank.

Her heart pounded in her ears. She should have been drawing. She should have been watching him work, listening to him murmur about the plans for the chapel. The archway, in particular. She'd watched him for three hours, her fingers curled around a mug of chamomile tea, her gaze locked on his every movement as he sketched and redrew the plans.

But the page was blank. The pencil lay discarded beside the sketchpad, and the room suddenly felt too small.

"Nathan," she said, her voice shaking. "What were you drawing before you... before you fell asleep?"

He paused, the teapot in his hands. He turned to look at her, his brows knitting together in confusion.

"Drawing? I don't remember... I thought I was just reviewing the plans."

"You were sketching," she persisted, her voice rising slightly. "Right there." She pointed at the sketchpad, her finger trembling. "The chapel archway. You said it felt off."

Nathan looked from the sketchpad to her face, his expression puzzled. He frowned. "I... I don't think I was drawing, El. I've been staring at this blank page for an hour. That's why I was so tired."

Her heart stopped. The room seemed to tilt. "No," she whispered. "No, that's not... You were drawing. I saw you. I watched you."

Nathan set the teapot down on the table and came to sit beside her again, his expression worried. "Elena, are you sure you're okay? Maybe you were dreaming, too. You said you had a nightmare."

"I wasn't dreaming," she said, her voice rising. "I was right here. I was watching you."

Nathan sighed and pulled her into his arms. "El, I think you need to get some rest. You've been working too hard at the hospital. This stress isn't good for you."

She pulled away from him, standing. "I need to shower."

She walked to the bathroom, her heart pounding in her ears. She locked the door behind her, her breath coming in short gasps. She turned on the faucet, filling the room with the sound of running water, before she opened her phone and opened her photos. She found the picture she'd taken last night at 11:47 PM, of Nathan's profile as he sat at the kitchen table, sketching the plans for the chapel. She'd taken it because she loved the way the soft light from the lamp glowed on his cheekbones, the way the lines of his mouth curved into a smile as he worked.

The photo is loaded.

The timestamp said 11:47 PM.

But the picture was different.

Nathan was sitting at the table, his head bent over something. But the page in front of him was blank. His hand was empty. There was no pencil.

And in the reflection of the window behind him, there was something else.

A shadow. Tall and slender, it stood just outside the window, its face hidden by the glass.

Elena's breath caught in her throat. She leaned closer, her fingers brushing against the screen, her heart pounding. The shadow had no face. Just a dark, gaping mouth where one should have been.

She dropped her phone in the sink, the screen cracking as it hit the porcelain.

"Elena?" Nathan's voice came through the door, muffled but concerned. "Are you okay in there?"

She stared at the broken phone screen, her pulse hammering in her ears.

"I'm fine," she said, her voice coming out as a lie. "Just tired."

Nathan pulled her into his arms again, and she let him, her heart aching with something she couldn't name.

Because she knew, with absolute certainty, that tonight at midnight, it would happen again.

And she would be the only one who remembered.

As they walked back to the living room, she looked up at the wall where the clock had been.

The brass-faced antique Nathan had bought from LoDo was gone.

In its place was a bare spot on the wall, slightly lighter than the rest of the plaster, as if something had been hanging there for a long time.

"Nathan," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Where's the clock?"

He looked at the wall, then at her, confusion marring his features. "What clock, El? There's never been a clock there."

Her knees nearly buckled.

She had heard the clock. She had heard it tick and chime the hours, its steady rhythm filling the silence as Nathan's body had gone still beneath the sheet. She had watched the brass hands move, seen the light catch on the polished surface as they moved to the hour.

But it had never been there.

Not for anyone but her.

She looked at Nathan, at the man she loved more than life itself, and she understood.

The curse wasn't just about death.

It was about erasure.

And she was the only one left who could remember what had been.

Nathan's phone rang on the table, and he picked it up, frowning at the screen.

"Weird," he muttered, tapping the screen. "I got a voicemail from... myself?"

Elena's blood ran cold.

"Play it," she said, her voice hollow.

Nathan tapped play, and his own voice came out of the phone, calm and steady.

"If you're hearing this, it's already started. Don't trust the morning. Don't trust the blank pages. And Elena-"

The voice paused, as if the recording had glitched.

"-burn the charm. Before midnight."

The message ended, and Nathan looked at her, his face pale. "What does that mean?"

Her hand flew to her wrist, fingers brushing against the charm bracelet she wore. The one with the missing charm. The one her mother had given her before she vanished sixteen years ago.

The one that had been missing when she woke up this morning.

But as she looked at it now, she felt it.

The cold metal of the missing charm. The familiar weight.

It was there. And it was shaped like a clock.

Nathan's phone rang again, and he picked it up, tapping the screen. Another voicemail, this one from an unknown number. He tapped play without hesitation, and a woman's voice came out of the phone, her voice rough with age.

"Maris's daughter. You have until sunset. Find the ledger. Or he dies again. And next time, he won't come back."

The line went dead, and Elena's hand flew to her mouth.

Maris.

Her mother.

Who had been dead for sixteen years.

Nathan looked at her, his eyes wide with fear. "Elena. Who is Maris?"

She couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe.

Because her mother had never told anyone that name.

Except the people who had made her disappear.

And now they were calling.

The clock on the microwave blinked.

11:47 AM.

Twelve hours until midnight.

Twelve hours to find a ledger that might not exist.

Twelve hours to save the man she loved.

Or lose him forever.