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.**