I know it's not my husband, even though he returned home.

Half a year ago, my husband vanished. I forgot to return home after leaving for work one day. Because nothing like that had happened in our idyllic white-picket-fence community, it came as a terrible surprise to everyone in the area. No clue as to his whereabouts was ever located, despite the fact that the police and the neighbourhood watch both sent out search teams. It broke the hearts of our loved ones. The posters that went stolen have either been removed or covered with paper recently. The frequency and depth of the police updates decreased. No matter how much I tried, I had to face the fact that my Logan was not returning.

That is, until he fulfilled it.

I heard the garden gate creak open a week ago while I watered my petunias in the rear yard. My head whipped around to see, and sure enough, there he stood. In the same exact condition he was in when he vanished. He has the same pink lips curl, sparkling blue eyes, and windswept blond hair. The news shocked me. He stood in our yard as if he had popped out for milk, even though our families had grieved for him. He claimed ignorance when I inquired as to his whereabouts. Nothing from the previous six months resurfaced in his memory.

Our friends and family are very ecstatic. Their disbelief is palpable. The problem is, I don't believe it.

I get it; you think this is all insane. Going to the police would put me in a straightjacket, and our families would never believe me anyhow. I can't…