Mar 22
Da Quinstah's picture

Not Mine

When I looked in her eyes, I saw different. When I carried her, I felt different. Everything that I sensed about her was telling me wrong except the fact that everyone else looked and acted just like my baby. Sure it looked and acted like my baby, but I swear something was off about this one. I refuse to call this child mine. My wife just says that I’m over reacting, but I don’t think my gut has ever told me something so intense. So intense that I cannot ignore it. It all just happened overnight. One night I put my child in her crib, the next morning I found someone else’s daughter in the same crib.
 I have no clue where my daughter is, but if it’s the last thing I do I will find her. Everyone says I’m crazy, and some have even recommended I get therapy, especially my wife. But I don’t think I can live any longer with thinking that my daughter isn’t here. So I will have to either figure out if the baby really is mine and prove me wrong through a DNA test, or I will have to find my daughter another way.
 Before I take the child to the doctors, my wife seems to be very eager to keep the child and I home. She thinks that the baby needs to be fed. She goes into the bathroom where the baby could be calm and have some privacy. That’s when I hear the door lock. I knock on the door to ask my wife if she can open the door. She tells me to leave her and the baby alone. I ask if there is something wrong. She says nothing. I start to hear the baby shriek. I tell my wife to open the door, she still says nothing. The baby’s screams only seem to get louder. I kick down the door to hear the baby’s cries stop. I take a second before I go into the bathroom. Did I just hurt or possibly kill the child while kicking down the door? I take a deep breath and move the door. No one is in the bathroom.
 I dart my eyes around the room in search for my wife and the child. I don’t stop looking for what isn’t there until I hear my doorbell ring. I run down to the front door to answer who is waiting. I open the door to a SWAT team yelling for me to get on my knees and put my hands behind my head. I ask what is wrong. The police officer that shoves me in a police cruiser says “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning.”  I was arrested that day and sent to prison. I had no idea why this was happening until the judge told me in court.
 I locked my wife in the basement. She saw that I had something wrong with me, that I started talking to myself during some nights, that I’d stand facing the wall for hours. She thought at first it was just sleepwalking, that was until I started doing it in the middle of our conversations. One day she felt that it was unsafe for our daughter to be in the same house as me with my problem. She let me put our daughter in the crib and waited until I fell asleep. After I was asleep, she took the baby to her friends house for the night. She says that when she came back, I was waiting for her at the door. I took her and locked her in the basement for several days. She claims that I kept calling myself in the third person Kyle. My name is Adam, so it didn’t make much sense. But I couldn’t believe what I heard in court and on the news.
 It was odd because I had no memory of any of these things. The only thing I remember being odd was the fact that my baby was in her crib one night, and replaced with another the next. The doctors say that I have DID, that I have another personality, which did all of the bad things to my family whilst trapping me in an illusion. I will be getting therapy in prison soon (I passed the lie detector test), and if that doesn’t work, I’m guessing I’ll go where all the looneys go. It’s sad because it feels like I’ve been framed in a way. My wife was with me the whole time, yet they found her in my basement. The only thing I know for sure is that that child was not mine, she was safe and sound at my wifes friends house, and that nobody ever saw that child in my house ever again. As long as my real family is safe, I will spend a thousand years in prison for them.

Da Quinstah's picture
About the Author: Da Quinstah
Author has not loved anything.