I’m telling you, it’s not her. Yes, she looks just like her and talks just like her. Yes, she can answer all the questions I’m asking and she can tell stories that only my wife would know. I get all that.

But you haven’t seen how her face changes when she thinks no one is looking. You haven’t seen what she writes in her texts, angry vitriol and vile hatred. You haven’t heard what she says when she talks to herself.

This is not the woman I married. I don’t know who took my wife or what they did with her. I don’t understand why they would do that, what possible purpose it could serve.

After always being her hero, I’m the enemy. I’m a problem she has to solve, I’m another thing she has to do. I’m a daily chore.

I used to fight with her but I don’t anymore. There’s a meanness I never would have believed she was capable of. She dismantles me, undermines and humiliates me. She makes me feel like a worthless child.

I’ve been sleeping in my car, in the driveway, with the doors locked. I would buy a gun if I could, but then she’d have me arrested. I keep a pocket knife with me at all times.

Obviously I can’t prove any of this. On the surface she looks and sounds exactly like she’s supposed to. But if I die, just know that it wasn’t an accident. I’d never commit suicide. Remember these words.