Her late husband called her(part 2)

A lady got a shocking call from her late husband who died a year ago and what he said Shocked her_2️⃣

(Written by Teachable stories) 

 

Margaret had returned home to settle into married life. One evening, while Frank was out for a meeting, she decided to unpack a few boxes he had stored in the guest room.

 

She wasn't snooping. Just organizing.

 

But at the bottom of one box, beneath old clothes and notebooks, she found a sealed envelope. Curiosity got the best of her. She opened it.

 

What she found inside made her chest tighten.

 

She found old documents

 

A psychiatric report. Dated six years ago.

 

It listed Frank's full name. No mistake.

 

And beside it—diagnosis: Dissociative Identity Disorder.

 

Margaret sat down slowly.

 

She flipped through the rest of the report. The handwriting of a specialist described a man who had struggled with violent episodes, memory loss, and blackouts—entire periods of his life he couldn't remember.

 

Further down, she found a record of an incident.

 

A woman. Injured. A girlfriend, perhaps?

 

The report said she had declined to press charges but warned that Frank's condition made him unpredictable—especially under emotional stress.

 

Margaret felt her hands trembling.

 

Her husband had never mentioned this.

 

Never once.

 

She tried to steady her breathing, but questions swirled in her mind.

 

Was this why Kenneth warned her?

 

Was Frank hiding a version of himself she hadn't yet met?

 

She heard the front door open.

 

Frank was home.

 

Margaret quickly closed the box and stood up, trying to act normal.

 

But everything had changed.

 

She had married a man with a hidden past—and possibly a dangerous one.

 

## The Warning Signs

 

Margaret didn't sleep that night.

 

She lay beside Frank, listening to the rhythm of his breathing, wondering which version of him was lying next to her. The one who kissed her forehead so gently… or the one described in the report—the one with dangerous gaps in memory and violent episodes.

 

Morning came, and with it, an uncomfortable silence.

 

Margaret wanted to confront him. But how? "Hey, I was unpacking and found your mental health records." No. That wouldn't go well.

 

So she watched. Observed.

 

At first, nothing seemed off.

 

Frank was sweet, attentive, and kind. He made breakfast. He kissed her goodbye when he went to work. But at times, he would pause in the middle of a sentence, go quiet, stare into space. Other times, he'd forget conversations they had just hours earlier.

 

Then came the first real sign.

 

It was a Thursday night.

 

Margaret returned home late from an event and found Frank sitting alone in the dark, murmuring something to himself. The lights were off. His shirt was stained with something red—wine, maybe?

 

When she called his name, he didn't respond. Not at first.

 

Then, slowly, he turned to face her. But the look in his eyes wasn't the man she knew. His expression was cold. His voice was low.

 

"You weren't supposed to come home yet."

 

Margaret froze.

 

He blinked, looked confused, then smiled like nothing had happened.

 

She pretended to smile back.

 

But inside, her heart was pounding.

 

 

The next day, she decided to dig deeper. She searched the house for more clues—anything to help her understand who she had married.

 

In the bottom drawer of Frank's study desk, hidden beneath receipts and papers, she found a small USB drive.

 

She plugged it into her laptop.

 

There were video files. Home videos. But not of her.

 

They were of other women.

 

Different faces. Different times. All sitting in the same room—talking to the camera like they were being interviewed.

 

One clip caught her attention.

 

A woman with dark eyes and a bruised lip.

 

She spoke quietly: "He's sweet at first. Then… something changes. Like he doesn't know who I am. One minute he's Frank. The next… I don't know. I'm scared."

 

Margaret slammed the laptop shut.

 

Her hands shook.

 

It wasn't just a past condition. It was still happening.

 

And she was next.

 

That evening, her phone rang.

 

Unknown number.

 

She answered.

 

A shaky voice on the other end whispered, "Is this Margaret?"

 

"Yes…"

 

"I don't know how to say this… but I was once engaged to Frank. I found your email by accident. You need to get out. I barely made it out alive."

 

The call cut off.

 

 

Margaret ignored the call.

 

She told herself it was fearmongering—another jealous ex trying to poison her joy. Besides, Frank had been nothing but loving. Everyone had a past, she reasoned, but not everyone had her patience. She was different. She believed in second chances. In healing. In love.

 

And for a while, love seemed enough.

 

But then came the argument.

 

It was over something small—forgotten groceries, a misplaced key. But Frank changed. His eyes darkened. He went silent.

 

Then, without warning, he shoved Margaret into the restroom.

 

The door slammed shut behind her.

 

She laughed at first. "Frank, are you serious?"

 

There was no answer.

 

She reached for her phone—but it wasn't in her pocket.

 

She tried the handle. Locked.

 

She banged on the door, called his name, shouted. Nothing.

 

Frank had locked every door in the house.

 

And he traveled out of the town immediately.

 

Hours passed.

 

Three days later, Frank did not return and Margaret remained locked inside the restroom; she attempted to break the door but was unable to do so.

 

Margaret drank from the restroom tap to stay alive. Her stomach ached from hunger. Her voice weakened from endless screaming. But no one heard her because the mansion was large and she had a small voice.

 

The mansion—once her dream home—was now a prison. Each moment in the darkness, she heard Kenneth's words echoing in her head. "Don't go to that wedding."

 

By the fourth day, Margaret had no more tears.

 

Her reflection in the mirror was almost unrecognizable—swollen eyes, pale skin, cracked lips. She scratched the walls. She prayed. She regretted.

 

By the sixth day. She stopped screaming because she had run out of strength.

 

7days later, Margaret was still locked in the restroom, and Frank didn't return.

Margaret lay on the cold restroom floor—barely conscious. Her face was thin and sunken. Her voice, too faint to speak. Her dress stained from days of being trapped in her own tears and silence.

 

Then, 8 hours later, something incredible happened. 

To be continued.... 

 

Written by Teachable Stories