I never knew my husband was hiding a black handkerchief beneath my pillow every night while I slept.

We were barely a week into our marriage. I thought I would be sleeping peacefully beside the man I loved, but instead, I found myself waking up in the middle of the night for no reason.

Sometimes, he would wake too and whisper, “Sweetheart, why aren’t you sleeping?”
I always brushed it off. Maybe my body was just adjusting to married life.

I never knew the man I called my forever was not the man he seemed to be.

One night, I woke up restless. I walked to the sitting room, paced around for a while, then returned to bed. As I adjusted my pillow, I froze.

I saw a black handkerchief.

Fear shot through me. I tapped him. “Honey, honey.”

He stirred awake. “What is it?”

I pointed at it. “Look at this! I changed the sheets myself, even the pillowcase, I never saw this. How did it get here?”

He looked surprised for a moment… then smiled faintly.
“Oh, come on, darling. Maybe it slipped from the pillowcase. Why act so scared?” He laughed lightly and took it.

I took a deep breath. He held my hands gently and said, “Stop worrying. Get some rest.”

I obeyed, but my mind was restless. Maybe he was right… maybe it came from the pillowcase.

Still, some nights, I felt my pillow move… like something was being tucked beneath it. But it never occurred to me to check. Then one morning, he told me he had an urgent business trip and would be back in two days.

I accepted, even though I knew I would miss him.

That night, we spoke on the phone for hours. We laughed, we teased, and before drifting off I whispered, “Goodnight. I miss you.”

He replied softly, “Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon. I miss you more.”

I fell asleep smiling.

But in the middle of the night, I woke up.

At first, I thought I was just thirsty. I went to get a glass of water.
When I returned and adjusted my pillow, my hand froze.

The same black handkerchief was there, neatly kept.

My heart skipped. This time, I picked it up. I told myself I would keep it and ask him in the morning.

But the moment I held it in my hand, a knock echoed through the house. Soft at first… almost polite. Then louder. As if whoever was outside knew I was awake.

I turned in shock, then glanced at the clock, it was exactly 1:00 a.m.

To Be Continued

I stood there, speechless, the black handkerchief I had taken from under my pillow still in my hands. The knock kept banging on the door, each one echoing in the quiet house.

I dropped the handkerchief, still unsure of what to do. But as soon as it hit the bed, the knocking stopped. A strange instinct kicked in, and I touched the handkerchief again, the knock came louder, this time with urgency.

I sighed. This was strange. The knock continued, but now it was softer, almost like someone was waiting, watching.

I thought about calling my husband, but for some reason, I hesitated. Instead, I grabbed my phone and dialed Frank, my friend who lived not far from here. He picked up almost immediately.

“Hey, hope all is well?” he asked.

“It’s not well,” I replied quickly, my voice tight with fear. “I’m alone, and I keep hearing someone knocking at my door. Can you hear it? I’m scared. Can you check it out for me?”

He hesitated, his voice lowering. “Where’s your husband?”

“He traveled, and will be back in two days,” I said, my mind racing.

“Alright, I’m just leaving the club. I’ll drive down and check it out. Hold on.”

The knocking grew louder again, each bang making my heartbeat race. I tried to steady myself as I waited for Frank.

Then, just as quickly, his voice came through the phone. “There’s no one here. I’m right outside your house, and it’s completely quiet.”

I felt a wave of confusion wash over me. “What? No one outside?”

I rushed to the door and opened it. Frank stood there, his brow furrowed. “Are you sure? You’re hearing things?”

“I’m serious,” I said, still shaken. “I’m not imagining it. I don’t know what’s going on.”

I explained everything to him, the handkerchief, the knocking, and the growing unease in the house.

“Please,” I said, my voice low and desperate. “Stay here tonight.”

He took a deep breath, glancing around the dimly lit room. “You’re really okay with me staying here? I mean… with your husband not here?”

“Please,” I begged. “I can’t stay alone tonight.”

He sighed but agreed, reluctantly settling down on the couch.

Very early in the morning, my husband returned unexpectedly. I was still half-asleep when I heard him knock at the door. Then, he called my phone.

“Hey, it’s me. I’m outside,” he said.

My heart raced. I wasn’t expecting him back so soon, and my friend was still here. How could I explain this?

To be continued…

I had made up my mind, I was going to tell my husband about the black handkerchief, the strange midnight knock, and why Frank had slept over.

When I rushed to Frank and whispered that my husband was back at the door, he froze. Fear clouded his face. There was no way to escape. But I told myself: I’ve done nothing wrong. I will say the truth.

I opened the door, bracing myself for shouting, anger, or even worse. But none of that came.

My husband stepped inside calmly, glanced at Frank, and simply asked, “Are you the owner of the car outside?”

Frank stammered, “Y-yes, sir.”

“Alright,” my husband said, before sitting down casually, as if nothing was out of place.

I quickly tried to explain about the knocks, my fear, and why I called Frank instead of him. I apologized for not telling him earlier. To my surprise, he only replied with a faint smile, “It’s alright.”

I never knew then… my husband was responsible for everything.

Frank excused himself. He looked tense, his body stiff, and left.

Moments later, my phone buzzed with his text:

“Leave that house now. I don’t trust your husband.”

His words pierced me deeper than the midnight knocks. I sat in silence, my heart pounding. Why would Frank say that?

I couldn’t resist. I left the house to meet him. Frank looked uneasy as I asked, “Why don’t you trust him? What do you mean by that text?”

He sighed. “I can’t explain fully… but something is just not right. That’s why you’ve been so restless.”

A chill ran through me.

Then he asked, “Did you really make any findings before you got married?”

I lowered my eyes. “Not really. He seemed like a good man, so I felt no need.”

Frank shook his head, worried. He began making phone calls, desperate to confirm his suspicions. Finally, one of his friends who knew my husband spoke words that nearly stopped my heartbeat.

“That man… he’s been married to five women before. Three lost their minds. Only two remain. He keeps moving from city to city, never settling. And many of us believe the black handkerchief he carries is tied to something dark… something secret, the reason he has no child.”

My legs trembled. My breath felt trapped. The black handkerchief. The sleepless nights. The strange knocks. Suddenly, everything made sense.

I rushed home, not waiting for further confirmation. He wasn’t there. Quickly, I packed the few things I could carry and left.

From outside, I called him.

“So, you have another wife?” I asked, my voice shaking.

He stuttered, shocked. “Who told you that?!”

“Is her name not Catherine?” I pressed.

There was silence, then a weak sigh. “I’m sorry. Yes. But you’re the one I regard as my true wife. I don’t even love her. It’s you I love.”

Tears burned my eyes. “If you truly loved me, why didn’t you tell me before now?”

He kept quiet.

“No wonder my mind was never at rest in that house. I’ve left you for good.”

I ended the call. He called back, but I never picked.

That day, I learned a lesson: sometimes a five-minute inquiry can save you a lifetime of regret. Don’t rush into marriage. Don’t be blinded by sweet words or money. Do your own findings.

Frank stood by me, helped me recover, and I started afresh in another town. Today, I’m happily married with children.