MY HUSBAND FORBADE ME FROM ENTERING THE BASEMENT AND INSTALLED AN ALARM—ONE DAY, I SNUCK IN
At first, I thought it was sweet.
“Stay out of the basement, babe,” my husband, Ryan, had said with a mischievous grin. “I’m working on something special for you.”
I had laughed. A surprise? How romantic!
But weeks passed, and **his behavior changed.**
He became **paranoid.** Any time I walked near the basement door, he’d appear out of nowhere, blocking my way.
Then, one evening, I casually mentioned grabbing some old clothes from storage.
**His reaction? Terrifying.**
He **physically stopped me.**
His grip was firm, his voice eerily calm. “**I told you not to go down there. Ever.**”
The next day, an **alarm system** was installed—just for the basement.
That’s when I knew.
**Something was very, very wrong.**
So, one afternoon, while Ryan was at work, **I finally did it.**
My hands shook as I entered the security code I had secretly watched him type a dozen times.
**Beep.**
The second I opened the door, **the alarm blared.**
I **didn’t care.**
I rushed down the stairs.
And when I reached the bottom, my stomach **dropped.**
Right in the middle of the room, on the floor, was a **crib.**
Not just any crib—a fully furnished **nursery.**
Toys, blankets, a rocking chair. Baby clothes neatly folded on a shelf.
And taped to the wall—**sonograms.**
My sonograms. From my **miscarriage last year.**
My breath hitched. My hands shook.
Then I saw it—an **open journal.**
I stepped closer and read the first page.
*”She doesn’t understand. I had to save him. He’s still here. We just need to bring him home.”*
Oh. My. God.
Ryan wasn’t planning a surprise.
**He had lost his mind.**