Fortune cookie wedding

This is my second ever time going to SNM. I wrote up about my first time and how magical it was and I'm so glad I got to go again because let me tell y'all I somehow managed to have an entirely new experience this time.
I got the Oz Guest ticket to ensure I got an Ace card, and I was the first one off the elevator. I was dropped off on the 5th floor, alone, which was quite creepy with all the hospital beds and tubs and the forest. There was no one for several minutes, and I was disoriented and couldn't find the stairs or any way out. I drifted between the tub room and the forest, and eventually a nurse appeared in the tub room. I observed her wringing clothes in water, and draping them across the tubs, staging them like they were people. This process was slow and I heard a noise in the distance so I followed that into the forest, where I saw one other guest watching the cottage in the forest. I noticed finally that there was actually a nurse inside, eyes closed, only visible from one angle so I hadn't seen her when I passed earlier.
With nothing else to do, I stood there watching for what seemed like ages. Surely, at some point, she would do something? It was so long that I thought for sure I was missing a lot of the show. I wondered if it was worth it. I wondered what the other guest was wondering. A few others passed us, but no other characters for the longest time. Then a bell chimed, and the nurse finally opened her eyes. She looked out at us, stood, and....closed the window. At this point I was sure I had just wasted my time. I was debating leaving. But no one else was moving. But surely, this was a waste of time. I turned to leave, and suddenly the nurse from the tub room appeared, crying, and the nurse inside the cottage opened the window to observe her. I must say the lighting here was excellent, but then the lighting in this show continuously impresses me. I have never been a lighting nerd but this show has made me realize how impactful lighting can be to a show. It's used masterfully in many scenes.
But back to the show. The nurse finally came out, and touched hands with the other nurse. They walked. I walked. We all wove through that forest, until the tub nurse ran suddenly, and we were running too, and then we were locked out from a gate. The tub nurse appeared in a window to the tub room, and danced as we watched. This small dance seemed to me like she was on the edge of a cliff, and her grief took her over as she fell suddenly off the edge. Not fell, leaped. I read this scene as a woman tortured by grief taking her own life, while a friend? Colleague? Observed.
Then my cottage nurse turned and walked slowly back to her cottage. She opened the door a crack, and turned, staring at me. I stepped closer. She opened it further. Cautiously, I stepped inside. She closed the door behind us. What transpired next was a magical experience I will not soon forget, with the taste of tea on my lips and whispered words about a moon like decayed bark and a sun like a wilted sunflower and stars like flies pinned to place. Blood will have blood...
I left and there was no one outside the cottage or indeed in the forest at all. I made my way through it and the tub room and finally found another hallway. I'm going to be honest, I do forget where I wandered then, and I may definitely be mixing up the order in which the following scenes happened because the night was a fever dream. But I witnessed scenes I did not see the first time I went last month. Somehow, by luck, other than the ending scene and the rave I did not see any duplicate scenes.
I saw the porter - who I don't think I ever encountered last time - and his dance in the hotel lobby is my new favorite. It's so full of raw joy, and though he was clearly an older man he danced with boyish jubilance that was infectious. More than a few of us observers were absolutely dancing along with him as we watched. I also found his interactions with the Boy Witch fascinating and their choreography at the telephones was my favorite by far.
The Boy Witch was another character I only saw in the ballroom and the rave last time, but who I witnessed several scenes with this time around. He's far too fast for me to follow, but I was lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time several times throughout the show. It was the same actor as last time, and I have to saw I think he plays the character really well. He's clearly sought after by everyone he encounters, seducing and drawing people in. I loved every scene with him almost as much as the Porter. Also, is the snake tattoo his or his characters? It's really beautiful, either way.
I saw two very intimate scenes with the Bald Witch, who I wondered how I missed last show but found out I didn't - she wears a wig through part of the show 😅 The little room she cleans up in a few times throughout the show off the side of the lobby is where I encountered her most. Once solo, and I felt almost bad I stepped into the room with her because I'm not small and I know I partially blocked the view of people outside of the room but fortune favors the bold right? I did try to squeeze myself into a corner, which only resulted in another person coming in to fully block the view from the hallway. That person caught the eye of the bald witch instead of me (I should have just stayed out blocking them 😤) and was allowed to touch her head in a very intimate moment.
The second time I caught her in there was by following a woman whose character name I don't know, after the ballroom scene where the two of them move the trees and then embrace. This time I did not care if I blocked people, me and one other person were in the room and watched the two women clean themselves up and reapply makeup. When the other woman left, I stayed with the bald witch (now wearing a wig), who fascinated me.
At some point I ended up in the rave bar before the rave began. I didn't know the "Hell Here" sign changed to "Hello There" before the rave! Every time I had seen it previously it had the o and t unlit. I saw Hecate readying for the rave. The music changed, and she danced, and eventually she made gasping sounds. Each gasp seemed to be a summoning. A ritual, drawing the other characters towards her. Her scream initiated the rave, and this time I had front row view from a different angle than I had previously, so it was like seeing it new all over again. Every bit as incredible, but different enough to feel like a brand new experience. And again, the lighting, seriously I'm a lighting whore after this show. I will forever judge theater experiences by their use of lighting compared to this show now. I hope whoever is in charge of lighting design is paid handsomely because seriously their work really drives the story. The music too, but I'm more impressed by the lighting tbh.
After the rave, I debated trying for the Hecate 1 on 1 since I knew what triggered it from last show, but I wanted to try new experiences this time so I tried to follow the Boy Witch instead. But I couldn't keep up, and there were too many people, and the next thing I knew I was by myself wandering empty halls again.
I can't remember if this happened before or after the rave, but I saw Agnes in the hall with all the shops. She went into a bedroom, and lay to sleep, where the tailor (not sure that's the characters actual title?) snuck in through the closet and put her capelet over her as she slept. When he left, she woke, and she locked the door to the room. I watched her put on makeup, and then go into the closet. Me and the 3 others watching kind of looked at each other, wondering if we should follow. Two of them tried the door, to find it's locked. Once I knew that I plowed into the closet and had a delirious thought about going to Narnia but no, I just ended up back in the shops hallway, where I saw Agnes meet the man who had covered her when she slept, and together they went into the clothier, and danced as he presented her with fabrics to choose from, and when he left she stole his money, and he brought her flowers, and then she went back to her room. She went next to the detective agency, and wrote a letter which I couldn't read despite trying over her shoulder (I'm a creep, this show makes me feel like such a voyeur lol).
At some point I ended up back in the lobby, watching the porter and the Boy Witch and two women and I think MacBeth? Dancing on the lobby desk, which was wonderfully choreographed again. Instead of following the others I stayed with the porter and situated myself in front of him as he made a tiny boat out of a card. Then Agnes was there, ringing the bell for the porter, and I realized then we'd had a reset because I had seen this scene already. I went to take the boat origami, but as I reached for it another guest snatched it away - like literally, she had been pressed to my side the entire scene, her fingers twitching so she clearly knew the opportunity would be coming. I thought that was a little uncalled for, but whatever, I'd already had a few very special moments today I wasn't going to let one instance sour anything.
I left to find another scene as I had watched this one already, and ended up back at the Manderlay bar by accident. Took that opportunity to use the restroom and grab a quick drink because a woman was singing and she had a lovely voice. Listened until her song was done and when I went to leave, the guy who was the greeter at the start of the show asked if I want to enter a different way, and took me in through the "main" entrance which somehow I had never gone in through before?? This deposited me in the lobby of the hotel of course, and I wandered until I encountered two people running towards each other and embrace, sobbing. The man went on, and far too many people followed him so I followed the woman, who went into the room with the lit cross where Duncan(?) body is. She unwrapped him and used true loves kiss to bring him back to life. Together they went to the ballroom and danced, which was beautiful. Then she left, and I followed our resurrected Duncan because I had NO IDEA he came back to life at any point from last show so I was like bro what are you gonna do with your new life??? Well, he decided to retrace his steps of course, clearly confused and slowly remembering what had happened to him as he went first to the cross room, then to the place of his murder, then through to the room he dances in before his murder, and then he went running. I tried keeping up but well, I am not a runner.
Somewhere along the way I end up back in the ballroom, having followed someone I encountered in the hall. I thought oh great, banquet again, let me wander and see if anything else happens elsewhere since I have already seen this? But as I went to leave, the Porter and a woman came in, and positioned themselves in the back of the ballroom. I had not seen this before as I'm usually at the front, so I decided to stay and see if they do anything interesting. And this is when I realized the show was ending, because the banquet turned into a hanging, and we were then all ushered out.
Second time going to this show, and I feel I saw a whole new show having witnessed so many scenes I hadn't seen last time. I wonder how many more I am missing? I hope to see it once more next month, and maybe finally see the entire show and put together the pieces of plot. I definitely feel that this time I was able to absorb more, and found myself actually applying motives and thoughts and words to scenes that had none. I love that there are very few spoken scenes - it leaves the experience up to the beholder to interpret, and I know from reading others recaps that we all kind of notice different inflections that mean different things to us and change how we view a scene. I'm only sorry i waited so long to see this show - I wish I could have seen it more often to truly capture all of it.
But, I may have another chance next month! Until then, I for one will definitely be getting a good nights sleep after all that walking today 😂

My fiancé and I are putting together a registry and need some help in narrowing the sea of options out there. We obviously want good pots and pans that don't cost a fortune. We'd appreciate any recommendations on brands, care, style of pans and anything else you guys can help with. Thank 🙂

I'm not sure if this is truly allowed but here it goes! My roommate and I are 2 professionals (M) in our early 30s, and sadly our lease is up June 30th; the homeowner is finally selling. We're in Morris County, the North Jersey area, and find housing expensive as hell despite having well-paying jobs.
We have a third roommate who's not the best and thankfully going their own separate way, but we'd still like to remain 3 as it's the sweet spot in nicer housing options at better price points while also being nicely 'social.'
A bit about us.. we've known each other ~7 years now and work for the same company, a local fortune 5. Have active social lives, play videogames, hobbies and hang out a bit, but we also enjoy having alone /quiet time. We'd like to think we get along with everyone! We have no preference for demographic, girls can apply too if you're up for dealing with two guys. We just want maturity and a sense of humor really.
Again, not sure if this is against the rules, but if anyone is in a similar situation and would consider the gamble of being roommates with us, I'm happy to partner up with you on the housing search! Feel free to stalk my post history and message me if you're looking too!

I love my fiancée, and she loves me too. I am very fortunate to be marrying her in a few months. However, as our dating relationship and engagement have progressed, I've been feeling increasingly close to her to the point where I'm now in a state of high emotional dependency that concerns me. I now feel some amount of irritability if I'm not with her, not getting attention from her, or if there's any kind of issue between us. All of this is amplified by the fact we live in different cities and can only see each other maybe once every two weeks. I've been struggling to pursue my goals and hobbies due to the irritability and constant distraction of thinking about her all the time. My ability to focus is deteriorating. We are both waiting until marriage to be physically intimate, and I find it extremely difficult to stop daydreaming about it as we get closer to our wedding date. I have not thought about sex this much since I was an adolescent teenager, and I hate it. It's making me underperform at work and neglect other aspects of my life. I want to start meditating again to improve my focus, but it seems to me a surface level solution. More than that, I don't want to place my emotional wellbeing as a burden on my fiancée, so I want better tend to myself and my health so that I can be better for her. I'm wondering if anyone else can relate to this experience. Any comments, thoughts, or advice to offer are appreciated!
tl;dr - I'm becoming so emotionally dependent and constantly distracted by thoughts of my fiancée and our upcoming marriage. It feels unhealthy and I'm not sure what to do.

Hey you cute little beans 💕
Pick a number between 1-20 and comment with it below.
You'll receive one of the following items:
💫 Inside a Sandcastle Foreground
💫 Nest Foreground
💫 Day at the Beach Background
💫 Chocolate Cake Background
💫 Valentines Faellie Plushie
💫 Beach Essentials for this Summer (book)
💫 Negg Faerie Usuki Doll
💫 Kadoatie Puffs
💫 2 Scoops of Friendship
💫 Strawberry Faellie Cake
💫 Plushie Negg
💫 Wild Negg
💫 (NC) Lab Ray Fortune Cookie
💫 (NC) Faerie Quest Fortune Cookie
💫 5 Dubloon Coin
💫 2 Dubloon Coin
💫 1 Dubloon Coin
💫 Bri Codestone
💫 Lu Codestone
💫 Purple Eizzil
So people can't guess which items are connected to which numbers, I'll be using a RNG for items every guess. Items will change positions so if both you and someone else both guess 1, you may still receive different items. Value of items will vary from 1kNP to 35kNP+.
Good luck!
I'll keep this going till 11:59pm PST 🩷 if you win an NC item I'll be sending those last just so I know how much NC to purchase :)
It will take up to 72hrs for me to send everyone their gifts depending on how many entries there are so please be patient and don't worry! I won't forget about you.
Please put your UN in your flair, in your comment or DM me (dm is slower cause reddit doesn't send me notifications for this all the time)

I am a huge fan of Ken McKusick (Filmstudy) and all the analyses he does. One of my favorite things he has invented is a rubric for comparing teams' schedules. I haven't seen one done yet for the 2024 schedule (and 2022-23 were done only in podcast form rather than written articles, AFAIK). So with all credit to Filmstudy for creating this system, I've gone ahead and applied his approach to the 2024 schedules for the AFC North.
As a reminder, the "who" and "where" of the schedule are set by formula (mostly which division you're in and which place within the division you finished last year). So this analysis concerns only when the games happen. For example, in 2021, playing the Browns twice wasn't anything to complain about; playing them twice in three weeks, while they had the bye week during the middle week, was something to complain about.
Here are the factors, applied to this year's schedule:
Playing in London: -10 for a home game, -2 for a road game, +2 for no game, +2 if bye follows London game. No London game for the Ravens this year (+2). No London game for any other AFCN team this year either, so no special advantage. Note: now that the NFL also does games in other countries, this one may need some updating in the future. I'd propose scoring Munich games the same way as London and Sao Paolo a little gentler at -8, because it's an even longer flight but a much easier time zone change.
Playing on a Thursday: +3 for a home game, -3 for a road game but no deduction for week 1 or after a bye, +3 for a 2nd Thursday game. Thursdays are weird mixed bags. They're good because you get a "mini-bye" afterward (usually). They're bad because they force you to play on a short week. Road Thursdays are especially bad because travel makes the week even shorter with travel. The Christmas Wednesday games have the same general characteristics so I've counted them as Thursday games for this scoring. The Ravens have a home Thursday night against the Bengals (+3) and away Wednesday against Texans (-3 away, +3 second TNF game). Net +3. In a nice bit of equity, all the other AFCN teams also have two TNF games, one home and one away, when you include the Christmas game in this set (that's Pitt's second and home game). So this is also a wash.
Opponents playing on Thursday the prior week: +3 to start, then -3 for each one): None for us (+3). Pitt (Cowboys, week 5) and Cleveland (us, Week 18) each get one. Cincy gets Pitt twice: Week 13 and Week 18 (after the Christmas game).
Monday Night Football: +2 to start, then -2 for each one; +1 for home game following MNF, -1 for road game following MNF -1, +2 for bye following MNF. While these games are fun for fans, they leave the team with a shorter week afterward. How much that matters depends whether it's a home or road game, and a bye after erases the negative effects. The Ravens get two (Week 7, 12), with one leading to a home game and one leading to a road game (total -2). Bengals and Browns each have one followed by a road game (-1); Steelers get off lightest, with one followed by a bye (+2).
Opponents playing on Monday the prior week: -2 to start, +2 for each opponent coming off MNF. Ravens have one (Buffalo, Week 4), for +0 net points. Cincy has none; Browns get one (us in week 8), and Steelers get two (NYJ and their second CLE).
Bye Week: Actual by week minus 10. The idea here is that later byes give you a chance to rest up later in the season when injuries have accumulated, which is good. Ours is week 14, the latest possible (+4 points). The rest of the AFCN hits between week 9 and week 12, so this is a decent advantage for us.
Opponents coming off a bye: +7 to start, then -7 for each one. It's inexcusable for the NFL to schedule teams coming off byes against teams that aren't. Fortunately the Ravens avoid that problem this year (+7). Cleveland has one (Eagles). Cincy, like us, has none. Pitt gets Cincy.
Subjective Adjustment: -5 to +5 points. This is entirely in the eye of the beholder but here's my take. I give our schedule +2. The biggest negative is the killer stretch of 3 games in 10 days leading up to Christmas; but that's offset a bit by having the bye right before. The rest of the season doesn't have much egregious going on for us. It's a light travel schedule without hard back-to-back trips (the two times we have consecutive away games, one of the games is still in the Eastern time zone). Some of the hardest games are scheduled favorably: KC in week 1 (no uneven rest problems) and BUF on a short week. With the biggest problem partly offset and a relatively favorable schedule otherwise, I think this is slightly positive. What about the other AFCN teams? I give the Browns schedule a -1. The early string of 3 consecutive road games (4 of their first 6) is pretty unfavorable and two late-season TNF games kinda sucks, but nothing egregious overall. Cincinnati gets a +0. Their schedule is mostly pretty easy/favorable in terms of travel and rest, but their biggest complaint is that both times they play Pittsburgh, the Steelers will get a long week (coming off Weds/Thurs games) - a valid complaint given the importance of those division rivalry games, but partly offset by Cincy coming off a bye in the first meeting. That makes it a wash for them and 0 points awarded. Pittsburgh gets a -2. They have a lot of early road games (4 of the first 6, like Cleveland), and they have the same killer December that we do but without having the bye right before it. That said, this schedule isn't nearly as bad as the Steelers' internet commentary makes it out to be; they actually have an advantage over their opponents overall in terms of net rest days (as do we).
Bottom line: The scheduling gods have smiled upon us. Compared to other AFCN teams we have some decent scheduling advantages, coming mainly from the late bye week and the lack of opponents coming off rest (Thursday night games or byes). Interestingly, Pittsburgh's schedule comes out not nearly as bad as Twitter makes it sound; on pure scoring, Cleveland's is actually a bit worse. Let's hope the Ravens can make the most of the schedule they've been given.

Item	Baltimore	Cleveland	Cincinnati	Pittsburgh
London	+2	+2	+2	+2
Thursday Games	+3	+3	+3	+3
Opponent off TNF	+3	0	-3	0
Monday Games	-2	-1	-1	+2
Opponent off MNF	0	0	-2	+2
Bye Week	+4	0	+2	-1
Opponent off Bye	+7	0	+7	0
Subjective	+2	-1	0	-2
Totals	+19	+3	+8	+6

Her remains are currently in the elephant shaped cookie jar on the kitchen table downstairs. She loved elephants, and we've had that cookie jar for as long as I could remember.
It is hard to believe she is in there and not physically with us. It is hard to believe I won't feel her hugs or kisses anymore. To hear her laugh, see her smile, hear her randomly singing throughout the house. To come home from college and see her sitting in her usual spot on the couch with Judge Judy on, or a crime show playing. Or to pick her up from work because we shared the same car. I can't believe that car is now officially mine. I know she is here in my heart, but dammit I would give anything just to see her again.
She spent a little over two weeks in the hospital. I had to call 911 for her and she was brought in by an ambulance. After the first two days of her being in the ICU, they told my dad and I that she would not make it through the night. My dad bought two plane tickets for my two brothers to get here that night to see her. Miraculously, she made it through the night. After a few days, she woke up. A couple days after that she was moved out of the ICU and into a regular room. She was awake and talking although it was hard to understand her voice. I was just so happy to see her doing better. I was so sure that she would recover and we could bring her home. April 25th, she was moved back into the ICU for breathing issues. Then, her organs were failing. The morning of April 26th, she passed away.
My mom meant everything to me. I was so comfortable being myself around her. I could tell her things I couldn't tell anyone else. She supported my sexuality and who I am as a person. We went almost everywhere together. We fell in love with the show Supernatural together. We met Jenson Ackles and Misha Collins together.
Now she's gone. I won't have that again. I keep thinking about all of the things she won't get to do. She won't be able to finish her KitKat bar I got for her at the gas station just a couple days before she was admitted to the hospital. She won't be able to wear her new work shoes she just got before the hospital. She won't be able to enjoy the gifts she received from her friends during her hospital stay. She wasn't there for my birthday which was yesterday. She won't be here for her own birthday next month. She won't be there for my graduation, or my wedding, or any important event in my life.
It feels like a dark shadow is just wrapped around my heart and it's just staying there. I'm off from college for the summer, so I'm just existing now. I've been getting out of bed later than usual. I talk to my friends and spend time with them like nothing has happened. I haven't cried for a couple weeks now because I don't talk about it. It's like I've been trying to ignore this, to distract myself from the pain. Writing this post now, I keep stopping to cry because writing this is bringing back the hurt, the memories, the feelings. My mom shouldn't have died. I shouldn't have to be making this post. She should still be here with me. My mom was amazing, and she didn't deserve to have her life cut short. I could go on and on and on about this, but that would make the post too long so I will end it here.

Just curious. I've lurked on here a bit and see a lot of thoughtful responses coming from dismayed people.
I graduated around 20 years ago with a media studies degree. I initially started out as an art major, but switched out after ending up in a really bad graphic design course. The teacher basically walked around, didn't give real feedback, no critiques, no resources. I was interested, but wasn't particularly talented. Just....had a good eye, like a lot of people do. Loved the art history. But as far as GD, I felt like I was working very hard to come up with concepts while actually producing very little of value. Nothing I was particularly proud of. I didn't want to be another cookie cutter designer at best.
Yet it was kind of a hard decision. Fortunately, the school I transferred to also had hands-on multimedia courses under the media studies program so I got my creative fix, and I wanted to work on websites anyway. The idea of doing impractical studio art courses was weighing me down, and I was finally free of that.
I've had a lot of bad, underpaid jobs myself over the years, but also a lot of great (and well known) clients. Mostly doing content management (boring, too easy), front end coding (exhausting at times), some writing/editing, a fair amount of Photoshop for the web. But I really didn't start getting paid decently until after age 30. Y'all are not alone.
I think a few years ago, I was finally at peace and happy with my college decision. I was back at a real gig after the pandemic and learned that my product owneproject manager boss was making the mockups in Figma. No real background in design. I used Canva for a few things. I even watched a talented designer get laid off and openly worry about money.
Design doesn't seem to be a valued field anymore, unless maybe you move up and play nice in a corporate setting where people will pay you decently and value your input. Of course, it takes a certain person to do that, and I don't think most truly creative folks fit the bill.
However, neither does front-end development, especially with AI growing in popularity. I'm scared of the prospect of less remote work, more competition for remote work, and more 'creative project manager / producer' jobs/tasks ....with all the annoying software that comes with it.

I'm looking for that crispy tender chicken tossed with that perfect orange sauce - sweet, savory, citrusy, a little sticky...and just the right amount of spicy. Large serving fills up the whole plate (or to go barely closes) and sets you back about thirteen bucks or so with egg roll/rangoon and maybe a soup choice. Fortune cookie, of course. Every city has the one...what's Saginaw's?

I am wanting to spend majority of summer with my Long Distance Partner. I came here on 17th March, and applied for a Visitors Visa whilst here, as we returned to Sweden on short notice (2 months prior to when we planned) as my girlfriend had to move apartment back in Sweden, so I came with her to help her move.

1. I have requested to stay for 87 Days
2. I provided I have the funds to be able to stay for the days requested
3. I do not have a flight booked home yet but obviously am planning on it (Reason for is because we planned to take our Dog to the UK so we're taking a different airline)
4. I misinterpreted the question during my interview on if I have any commitments back home, and forgot to mention I have medication which is dependent upon my life, so I told the office I have no commitments. I am in a fortunate position to where I don't need to work, henceforth no contracts on cars, accommodation, or Job. If I have to appeal I am going to inform them I have medication which I need to return to the UK for.
5. I have been to Sweden and left before going over my Day limit 7 times over the past 2 years (I heard they take this into consideration also to show you have shown you have left before when entering)

Can anyone shine some light on if they have hopes I wouldn't be rejected? I planned to attend a wedding in August which I'm losing hope of being able to attend. Many thanks to anyone with advice!

Background: My partner and I recently moved in together. We have been together for almost 7 years. The first 6 years, I was working towards my BA and MA, and working full-time to support my parents. My dad has mental health issues and stopped working for years, and my mom couldn't pay our household bills alone. I figured, because I was living there too, I could contribute my share. My share quickly turned into paying their entire mortgage, groceries, car payments, for my dad (unemployed) to remodel their kitchen, etc. The total is probably somewhere in the tens of thousands. I hate to sound harsh, but I literally kept my parents out of bankruptcy- I know I enabled my dad too by not letting him experience consequences. I really burned myself out and my mental health suffered a lot. At that same time, my partner was working two full-time jobs and supporting a close friend through their mental health crisis. My partner was my rock through everything, and I honestly wouldn't be alive without him. He talked me down from the metaphorical ledge many times- I felt so trapped in my situation. Luckily, a few months before I graduated with my MA, my dad was stable and had a job so he could be a household contributor. Then I moved out with what pitiful amount of savings I had to finally be with my partner. We are so in love, and I am grateful for every day. We were long distance before moving in together, and saw each other monthly or every other month the whole time. So living together is a dream come true. The issue: My partner and I were at the thrift store and saw a wedding dress. It was gorgeous! We chatted about how it was a bittersweet thing to see there. We got Chinese takeout that night, and our fortune cookies said: "A big question will soon change your life" (my fortune) and "The answers you're looking for are right under your nose" (my partner's). Are you kidding?? That's some rom-com level shit!! Obviously we took a pic and sent it to a few close friends and my mom, including the story of our day. It was meant to be a cute but silly little sign from the universe kind of thing. Then my mom responded with: "Whoa, slow down. He just got here, you just met him lol". When I tell you I saw red... I saw the message and went quiet. My partner asked what was up, and I didn't want to tell him. He asked me again, and I showed him. He was incredibly hurt. Her message was incredibly invalidating of our relationship- as if the first however many years don't "count" or something because we were long distance. My parents were invited over for dinner today, and she made that comment last night... I don't even want to see her right now. WIBTA for uninviting my parents to dinner?

Hey B'ys.
My old man and I are planning our sailing trip for the year, and we're thinking to sail around the Burin from Terrenceville to Garden Cove. I'm hoping to talk to a few people that are familiar with (parts along) the route.
Going to leave in late July (weather permitting) and make stops at:
Belleoram
Grand Bank (or Fortune)
St. Pierre
St. Lawrence (or another harbour, in the area)
Merasheen
and back to the bottom of Placentia Bay.
I'm familiar with the waters from Paradise Sound up to Garden Cove, but I've never sailed on Fortune Bay, nor around the tip of the Burin.
I'm looking for fellers from anywhere along that route to talk to about prevailing winds, sunkers, tide rips, shallow waters that build up chop and anything else that might keep a sailor on the right side of the waves.
Also interested in speaking to anyone that can explain to me what the process is for sailing to-and-from St. Pierre (legal requirements, customs, etc.). I know there's a lot of B'ys along the south coast who've made that trip once or twice...
Finally, I read there's a folk festival in Belleoram the weekend we'd be calling, so I'd love to hear more about that, too (I'm a trad. musician, and would love to play a few tunes).
Thanks a lot. I know lots of Skippers are not on Reddit, but I'll type up some questions to pass along, or make a phone call, or whatever else works. And I don't care if they ever sailed or anything, just want to talk to someone who knows the water and all her moods.
Any help would be appreciated. Thanks.

Telling my story here to get it off my chest. And maybe there are other couples out there facing the same issue who can relate.
I'm Chinese Non-Muslim and my Partner is Malay Muslim. We met in uni and we've known each other as friends for 2 years. After some trust building and heartfelt confessions, we decided to start dating casually, to see if we'd actually last together, knowing the challenges we'll face as a multiracial couple in Malaysia. I was upfront and clear about never wanting to convert my religion, so a long term relationship may not possible. He is open minded and he accepted my boundaries. We didn't change who we are for each other. We accepted each other.
1 week became 1 month, then became 6 months, then 1 year, and now it's been over 2 years. Ever since we started dating, he became less pessimistic about life, and I became more self confident. We both became better people, but we are still who we are. I've never been so sure of a man and I want to spend the rest of my life with him. And he has told me the same, which still makes me blush like crazy.
Throughout our relationship, I have thought about marriage several times. The first few times I thought about it, I ended up crying. Because I know we could never be legally married in Malaysia without me converting my religion. And no marriage means we would also never be able to have children in Malaysia. I have expressed to him my sadness and he reaffirmed what he said to me during the early days of our relationship, that he doesn't want to force me to change myself and he loves me because I'm me.
We talked about eloping overseas and building a life there, but that means we'll have to leave behind our life, our friends, and our families in Malaysia. We'll also need a lot of money to do this. Another option we have is to just continue dating forever, but in our hearts and souls, we'll be committed and intertwined with each other forever. Going down this road, I'll never have the big day of my dreams, and we'll never have children, but at least we'll save a lot of money and we can spoil each other haha. We can still have a big "Company" dinner just for the hell of it. And we'll have pets together.
We both know that's going to be a decision to make very far into the future. We've decided we'll cross that bridge when we get there. For now, we are going to relax and just enjoy ourselves as best we can. It's not always easy because I get worried about the authorities tearing us apart. We have to lay low and be careful who we trust. Fortunately, we are currently surrounded by close friends and loved ones, and are surviving just fine. I hope that the future of Malaysia is more progressive, but that's probably just wishful thinking.
PS: I'm not looking for solutions, just want a listening ear to share this with.

We all have our current preferences for how much ammo we have saved and stockpiled, BUT -- how much are we actually shooting it and how frequently? How much ammo of various types would you like to be (realistically) burning through and how regularly? And if/when you recommend a training/shooting regimen for new shooters, what would you encourage their ammo usage to be?
I'm very fortunate to have a substantial stockpile and my own ranges and classroom. What I don't have anymore is much time to get out there.
Having spent many years as a paid transportation device for guns and kevlar, my weekly regimen and my recommended weekly round-count for my employees/contractors was 50-100 rounds of pistol and rifle, (which I could thankfully write off as a business expense), just as a maintenance exercise to keep the rust off. That seemed like plenty to keep things sharp, and we'd attend semi-annual training exercise and weapons quals.
I don't think we can expect that from everyone, especially with the increased costs. But what's your current regimen, what would you recommend, and what would you like it to be -- without the requirement of winning the lottery?

What’s in the closet, Kirsty?
He knew I hid a secret.
I smiled, tried to look confused.
He waited, crossing his arms.
I worried that he'd already seen. He had.
What else could he think about the pile?
His wife’s a cheater. She has another life. Another husband. Children.
He’d never believe the truth: I’m not a cheater; there’s no other life; no other man; I don’t know who the children are who visit me at night.
But I did have a secret. And maybe it’s fair to say another life, even if was smaller and against my will.
I should have destroyed those frames, burned the photos within. Now it looked like I saved them, cherished them. The truth couldn’t be farther. I feared to touch anything to do with… whatever they are…with one exception.
“It started last Halloween,” I said to George, my husband, my real husband.
He stopped packing for a moment, working out the impossibility of this statement. “I’m taking the girls to my parents.” He resumed the tossing of shirts, pants, etc. into our big suitcase.
“It’s true,” I said, but weakly. The children in the picture are at least six and four respectively. They were born six months ago.
“They’re not… my kids,” I said of the boys in the photos. They’re not kids is what I almost said.
George stopped and squeezed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “Kirsty,” he said slowly, “there are baby pictures. I saw them.”
“That’s-”
He quickly raised his finger, exasperated, angry, done.
“The first picture is you holding a newborn, and…” He swallowed painfully, his throat gone dry. It always does when he’s upset. “And the father in that picture, with his arm around you, isn’t me.”
When I couldn't deny it, he nodded like he knew all along our marriage would end.
We were happy. We really were. George and I had managed to overcome the typical breakdown that often comes with raising children. Only since last Halloween had distance been made by me.
I should have told him as soon as it started.
“Girls!” he called as I followed him down the stairs to the front hall of our lovely home. We’d scrimped and sacrificed to buy and keep this place, our dream by the lake. He’d been so proud. I couldn’t tell him I wanted to leave the first night sleeping there.
Cara and Ella protested through play, ignoring the adults, continuing to jump on an old box they’d long since flattened. Rays from the western sun placed my daughters into an inspired, hallowed light, and I started to cry. He was going to take my babies away.
George opened the door, intending, I’m sure, to drop the suitcase in the car before returning to physically carry the girls out.
But he hesitated in the doorway.
“George?”
The suitcase fell with a solid thud on the floor. “There’s no way,” he said.
“What?”
“There’s no way,” he said, with emphasis on the last word, “you would have had time for…this…”
Not defining "this" as cheating was progress. “Yes!”
He glared, quieting my desperate enthusiasm. I wasn’t off the hook. “Tell me. The truth.”
“I can’t.”
He reached for the suitcase.
“No, not because I don’t want to,” I protested. “I don’t know what’s happening!” I sat on the carpeted steps and stared through blurred vision at my trembling hands. The shriek I’d filled the house with - “happening!” - had put a halt to the box's obliteration. Cara and Ella hesitated for a few seconds before leaping into action.
Cara, the oldest, six, punched her dad in the buttocks. “You have to be nice!”
Ella, four, sat beside me and patted my trembling hands. “It’s okay, mummy.”
Such lovely daughters. Nothing like the boys in those photos when they were this age.
George grasped Cara's wrists and gently walked her back into the house, using his foot to kick the suitcase from the swing of the front door.
"It's alright, girls," he said with weak resolve. "Go and play."
"No!" Cara shouted. She kicked at her father and he pulled her close into a bearhug. Gradually, the girls calmed and were convinced to return to the box in the front room.
"Kirsty," George said, "you have to tell me." He sat down on the step beside me. "Please." I would do anything to take away the hurt in his eyes. "Please."
"I can't. But… I can write it down. Maybe." I took out my phone. We shared Google Drive. When I made a new document, he reluctantly started his phone. The man was a dream. He watched his screen, and waited patiently for my words to appear.
Without preamble, I returned to the awful moment when it all began: a strange and disturbing dream. Words came like an infection from beneath a torn scab. The wound had been opened. Nothing could stop this now.
Sex with another man has never been a desire of mine. I love George. He loves me.
Plus, the man in my dream was a stranger, and not particularly handsome. He has a plain face set to unwavering boredom and unkempt male pattern baldness. Our dream sex felt obligatory, just something we had to do.
I awoke on the wrong side of midnight. November 1st and I was craving ice cream instead of the girls' gathered candy. The freezer left by the previous homeowners came with unopened ice cream. Freezer burned or not, I wanted some.
After retrieving a spoon from the kitchen, I intended to destroy a brick of neopolitan. He waited in his flannel pajamas, barefoot on the concrete floor. His arms were crossed.
"Cravings?" he said.
I dropped the spoon. It clattered down the basement steps. Before I could run away, he disappeared like someone had erased him from head to foot in one clean sweep.
Had to be a dream. That's what I told myself. The spoon stayed in the basement until daylight. Ghost or nightmare, there was laundry to do the next day.
I crossed the concrete floor fast and only felt safer when I'd closed the door to the more modern laundry room. Never thought builder's grade tiles and track lights would make me feel anything but sad.
His voice caught me sorting.
"Kirsty!"
I dropped the cup of detergent all over the floor.
"Shit."
I came out of the laundry room, figuring George had been looking for me in uncharacteristically rude fashion. He hated speaking between rooms. Shouting throughout the house was highly impolite. It must have been important, I figured.
As soon as I stepped onto the bare concrete, however, deep sadness, the kind that seems to physically leech the strength from your body, dominated the room.
"Hello?" I don't know why I said that. The basement is a low ceilinged rectangle. There are no hiding spots except for the laundry room I'd come from. After a deep breath, I walked briskly to the stairs.
"Any day now," a raspy voice breathed into my ear. I jolted and slipped forward, falling and clipping my chin off a step. It made my teeth click painfully. Nobody there, of course. I ran upstairs and George had gone outside with the girls to play hide and seek.
I wanted to tell him. He looked so happy. It's hard to convey in words the kind of smile he showed me through the window. Imagine contentment mixed with unreserved joy and hope. Yes, it's difficult to picture. So few of us can ever have such a moment. Sort of like finding a natural view completely untouched by humanity. Beyond rare and precious.
I’m rambling now to avoid writing about what followed. The point is I couldn’t tell him. I hoped it’d go away and stop.
But, of course, it didn’t, and things got much worse.
I awoke in a great deal of pain. Having already given birth to children, the feeling was familiar. Despite getting up and gasping, George continued to snore in our bed. He’s a deep sleeper, but a quick and early riser. I’ve never heard him complain about getting out of bed either, especially when there’s an emergency.
I might have woken him up but I was disoriented and confused. Part of me believed I was still pregnant with Ella. It wasn’t until I’d gone all the way to the kitchen to avoid waking up the girls, that my brain caught up: Girls. Plural. Ella was asleep in her bed upstairs.
“Ohhhhhhhh shiiiiiiiiiiit.” I knew the signs of labour. This couldn’t be happening. “Ohhhhhhhhh.”
I was definitely going to wake everyone up if this continued.
My phone was upstairs by my bedside table. We don’t have a landline. I should have called 911. I should have woken up George.
Instead, I went downstairs where I could vocalize pain without disturbing anyone. Such a pathetically passive response. But that’s how I was raised. Keep it down, don't you frown.
His hands seized mine as soon as I descended the last step. Serious and bald without dignity is how to best describe his physical appearance. Cold and cruel is what he is. The lights turned off and, in the perfect darkness of the basement, he was all that I could see.
He produces a red light from his body somehow but his touch is literally frosty.
"Kristy, it's time," he said. No joy there. Just straight facts. Something was coming. I was going to give birth to it. In the dull red glow of his being, the first boy came.
"His name is Hadad," the man said, placing a large, infant boy with a lot of hair and, I swear, a hint of beard, on the bare concrete. Hadad looked like a three month old they use as newborns on TV. He didn't cry. He hardly seemed to breathe as his dark eyes roamed the darkness. His light resembled the man's, a less intense red.
I felt another contraction, and winced.
"She comes next," the man said.
I felt so weak. "Who are you?" I asked him.
At last, he smiled and I wished he hadn't. It made me feel small, insignificant, and beneath his concern. "You know who I am," he said. "I'm your husband."
Pain wracked my entire body. Something didn't feel right. The birth of Cara and Ella had been without difficulty.
"Push," my "husband" ordered. "She is upset with you, and will kill you if you don't get her out now."
"It has to be a nightmare," I told him. Sweat poured in streams down my face. The unborn "she" in question writhed and damaged my insides. I screamed. I couldn't help it.
"Push!"
I obeyed and the second boy spilled onto the bare concrete, coated in blood and dust.
"It's a boy," I said.
The man looked displeased. "The body is male. She is Hebat. No wonder she is angry." Like the other infant, Hebat appeared aware of her surroundings and had far too much motor control for a newborn. The light pouring from her body was dull silver. Her eye sockets were two pits of concentrated despair. I had to look away.
The babies were pressed into my arms.
The man stretched out beside me. "Open your eyes and smile." I resisted. "Do it. Now." What choice did I have? The flash from his cell blinded me. They were all gone by the time my sight recovered. Only the sweat remained as evidence of the ordeal.
It had to have been a hallucination. Some very bad food poisoning maybe. The source could be as simple as an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato. I had been stress eating since we'd moved in. I stood up and took some comfort in a Charles Dickens' reference.
"More of gravy than of grave about you," I said. My words seemed consumed by the dreadful weight of the air. "Whatever you are."
Whatever you are: something bad in any case. At best, I'd hallucinated prolonged and traumatic labour and needed medical attention. Yet, when I limped up the basement stairs, all thoughts of waking George vanished. There on the kitchen island sat a propped frame containing the photograph taken only moments ago.
The man looked happy. Only Hadad appeared in this picture, which meant another one was somewhere. I didn't panic. I worried more about what George would think if he saw the photos. I had to find them all.
Hebat and his father and I were mounted in a dark wood frame by the master bedroom. It'd be the first thing anyone saw if they woke up. I plucked it off the wall and, together with the first photo, tucked it under some blankets in the dresser we'd shoved in the small walk-in closet.
You might not believe this, but I went straight to sleep after. I climbed under the blanket in my sweaty pajamas, shut my eyes, and didn't have enough time to deny what had happened. I was unconscious until morning.
George placed a coffee on my nightstand. That's what I remember. He rubbed my feet while I slowly awoke. The girls were watching TV downstairs, munching on apple slices. There was forty minutes still before we had to seriously consider getting ready to take Cara to school.
George would drop her off on his way to work downtown. He chose his hours and always chose convenience for his wife and kids. Ella and I planned to spend the morning gardening. Then we would nap much of the afternoon away until George and Cara returned. A life so perfect is so very rare.
I didn't want to spoil things with a very convincing nightmare. Besides, I felt fine. Not so good that I wanted to look in the dresser to see if those photos really were there, but not ill. So I remained silent again.
November started fine. Idyllic days and nights filled with laughter and joy and television. Just as I started to believe in the dream we'd made, they came again.
The wail of a child's hunger is a powerful call for a parent. When it's a chorus, even of two, it cannot be ignored. Only I awoke to Hadad and Hebat's cries for their "mother" from the basement.
Half asleep, I drifted into the kitchen and searched for their milk bottles. When no bottles could be found, I remembered they were newborns. Milk swelled in my breasts and made my nipples ache. Just like when Cara or Ella would awaken in the night. It was a relief to feed them.
But what the fuck was I doing?
I was acting like the man in the basement and the devil babies were mine. It'd been less than a week since Halloween and that horrible nightmare illusion. I had already taken on the beleaguered newborn mother role without question.
Their cries intensified and flayed the weak resistance of exhausted reasoning.
Don't wake George. Don't wake my babies, my real babies.
"What took you so long?" the man critized, his voice monotone, the question unrhetorical.
"I… was sleeping. I went to the fridge first." Under his severe gaze, I stopped in the midst of the dark room. Hadad had quieted. Hebat cooed as if laughing at her own joke. I couldn't see them because the lights were off. They liked the dark better. Somehow I knew that about them and him.
"You should sleep down here," he said. "A mother should always be close to her babies."
The statement was nonsense but not altogether wrong. I wanted to be close to my babies, the daughters sleeping in bliss upstairs, away from the evil fermentation in the basement.
"Kirsty," he said. "Are you listening?" His hand touched the small of my back. The gentleness surprised me. I squawked and flinched away. "What’s wrong with you? They're hungry." He pressed on my shoulders until I sat on the cold floor.
They came from the shadows, already walking. I wanted to go, but I knew he wouldn't allow it. He pulled my cat t-shirt off over my head and their fierce mouths suckled, relieving the pressure of excess breast milk quickly. It felt physically good and psychologically alien.
I looked down at them once and immediately regretted it. Their emanated light had intensified to a point where perception of them hurt.
Each time I blinked my eyes were drawn to some isolated part of their bodies. The vision got closer to the point of disgust. Everything is gross if you're close enough. There is no beauty under a microscope. If you think there is then you're not using the right magnification.
Hebat's eye drew me in. At first, I saw the dark sphere, and then the strands of her eyelashes. Her gravity kept pulling until the creatures that live in eyelashes were revealed: Demodex folliculorum. I looked the microscopic horrors up.
The babies had more parasites than any child should. They wanted to show me and could somehow do so.
I asked him about it. "Why are they showing me these worms?"
He smiled, contemptuously as usual. "Trying to impress mother. Neither of them understand your horror and insignificance. You are the ant who knows they're an ant. Lucky you. They think you will be proud of the life their corporeal forms produce and host. Give them a few hours. It will pass."
"Why are you doing this to me?"
"I'm not sure what you mean. We're married. Now, prepare to smile." His cell reappeared and I noted the lack of features; it might have been a singed rectangle of spent firewood. He frowned when I failed to smile. "Smile, Kirsty. These are your children."
I managed to stave off the tears and hold the babies close. The smile was more difficult. In the inevitable aftermath of their sudden disappearance, the frames depicted an exhausted, wrinkly woman smiling painfully. It took a second to recognize myself.
The things in the basement sapped my strength. I looked dehydrated, beleaguered. The scale in the bathroom said I'd dropped six pounds. I'd weighed myself the morning before.
"Whoa, you've lost weight," George noted, thinking I'd be pleased. "This place has been so good for us, eh?'
To produce another smile proved as draining as the previous night. "Y-yes," I stuttered too late for him to ignore.
"Hey," he said, touching my forearm.
I flinched.
"Whoa, you okay? What's wrong?"
I should have told him. "Nothing. Bad sleep. A nightmare. I'll be fine."
A lie is an agreement. George wanted to agree, I think. He wanted life to be fine because he was happy for once. We struggled so hard before we came to Bridal Veil Lake. It was supposed to be our dream.
Guilty if I told him the truth. Guilty because I didn't. I began to resent his happiness, though he had done nothing but be the wonderful man he'd always been.
To Cara and Ella I became a body in motion, No brain left to guide them away from harm or answer their questions about nature and the universe.
"I don't know." That's what I told them often.
So they began to treat me like a kind of butler.
"Can I have some juice, please?"
"Sure, sweetheart."
"Mommy, can I have a snack?"
"Of course." And I'd run off to fetch it.
"Cookies."
"Yes, dear."
When Christmas came, I had two and they induced the same level of joy. Visiting the basement to feed and nurture Hebat and Hadad became a nightly occurrence. I'd learned to awaken, if I could get to sleep at all, and go quietly.
He berated me severely if I missed a night, and there were subtle threats made casually.
"I may have to squash you yet," he said, his tone as deep and cold as always.
"It won't happen again," I promised. "They’re getting big." In fact, they were no longer infants. Both had grown to the approximate age of six or seven in a few months. Still, they never spoke. Their dark eyes watched me as they ate food from the kitchen upstairs, food I'd hidden from my family.
"More meat," the man demanded.
"Of course." And I ran to the freezer and gave them frozen sausages in the package. They never complained or demanded the food be prepared a different way. No objections from my "husband" either.
Hebat tore the styrofoam and plastic wrap away and flattened the row of sausages stuck together between powerful molars. Hadad contented itself with licking them like a popsicle.
I'd stay until the photo. Then they'd release me by vanishing. Always with an exhausted breath, I'd trudge up the stairs and search for the frames and hide them in the same place.
They only smiled in the pictures. At no other time did they express any kind of emotion unless indifference counts.
My own children and husband weren't doing much better. Their concerns about my fatigue and ruminating slowly ceased as I repeated the excuse: I’m just tired. It'll pass.
Of course, I did not know when the nightmare would stop.
"When will it end?" I asked him one night, while Hebat and Hadad exercised like they had a mission.
"What do you mean?" he said.
I was surprised he answered. He usually didn't. "This. This. When can I go back to normal and not come down every night? I'm so very tired."
He frowned and I thought some punishment must be coming. Instead, he looked more confused. "I don't understand. You aren't happy? Your children grow into power and strength and will take their place in the world. They will be great and you - you, of all the tiny things, made that happen. Ask yourself what you want out of life, and see if Hebat and Haddad aren't your answer."
Too many words, all at once, for an exhausted mother. I didn't speak for the rest of the night. The infernal trio vanished, and the latter moments of the ritual I carried out with his challenge in mind.
I want my children to be strong, happy, and safe.
"Juice," Cara demanded the next morning, a Saturday, while she watched cartoons.
"Get it yourself!" I hissed, from tired to angry in a second.
"But I can't," Cara accurately pointed out. She didn't look away from the TV. Looking at me wasn't safe, and she knew it. Her and Ella held hands and sat a little straighter. It broke my heart. What had I done?
George came downstairs, attracted by my shouting. "What’s going on?"
Empathy became sadness, and the constant burden rekindled to anger swiftly. "Just children treating me like a servant."
He smiled. "Ah, yes, and how are the royal princesses this morning?"
His levity irked me. "You would know if you didn't sleep in so much."
The smile vanished from his face, and instead of the fight I seemed to want, he mumbled a quiet apology and joined the girls. They climbed onto him as he wrapped them into a cuddle.
"What are we watching?" George restarted his smile, his calm, for the girls. I hated myself. It had to end. Tonight.
After another dreary day of going through the motions, and the girls and George had fallen asleep, I went to the kitchen and chose the knife I thought sharpest.
"Kirsty," he said, his voice a whisper rising from the depths of the house.
"Coming," I whispered back.
"Mom," said another voice, a girl's, and I knew that Hebat had, at last, found herself and the wholeness of her being had been corrected.
I started to cry. I went downstairs and there she was with her brother and her father. He looked tired but some of the grimness had cracked to allow the first real contentment I've ever seen him express.
"Is that for the cake?" he asked. "We already have one."
I remembered the sharp knife. "Meat," I said. "There’s ham in the freezer."
He nodded, seeming to accept the answer.
"Mom," Hebat said, "Do you think I'm…" She gestured to herself, her face, and her body, and I understood the question, born from doubt and a desire to be validated.
I pulled her close. "You are the most beautiful girl in the whole world." We cried together. Hadad cut into a poorly made, asymmetrical cake by the light of his aura. No one cared that he did so on the floor. I brought out the ham from the fridge and we ate slices with our hands.
"It's almost done," he said. "They’re nearly grown. They are strong, and they are happy. You've done a good job, Kirsty." He watched our children fight to smear icing on each other's faces. "I'm sorry if I was mean. Or cold. I've never done this before." And he meant raising children. "It was the hardest, scariest thing anyone can try. I shouldn't have blamed you for… Hebat… It wasn't your fault."
Before I could pat his hand, he and the kids vanished. Darkness so familiar couldn't extinguish a new fear. I went upstairs and found the last frame. I held my daughter in the photo, my beautiful Hebat. He must have taken the photo without my notice.
I took it upstairs but couldn't bring myself to hide it.
I didn't see that one, George wrote into the document.
I forgot he was watching.
He typed again: Are you saying there is something in the basement?
Yes, I replied.
He stirred in the living room. I hadn't moved from the stairs, but I could tell by his stomping how angry he'd become. All of his negative, violent traits he saved for those in the world who would harm his family. George the Protector was fearsome to behold.
But he had no chance against my other husband.
"Come out! Come out you coward!" George bellowed. At first, nothing happened. The moment before calamity, even when the specific consequences aren't known, is still in slow motion. He carried on shouting. The girls rushed into the hall and didn’t hesitate to investigate.
"No!" I shouted. "Cara! Ella!"
Their feet padded down the steps. A violent commotion followed, screams and raging voices, both deep and childishly shrill.
The most unsettling quiet followed.
I chewed through the fear and the horror tearing me apart and finally moved.
No evidence of violence could be seen from the top of the stairs. The concrete looked bare and dusty and the light revealed nothing more. They were gone, all of them.
"Hebat," I whispered. "Cara? George?"
Him, I thought of, the nameless husband and felt no hint of his presence. He'd always been there. I know that now. It had nothing to do with the house. His absence was felt more than his insidious presence. Yet, I felt no relief. George and the girls were gone. I sat on the floor and cried for all my missing children.
When I finally emerged from the basement, the whole house had been filled with night. Their photos were everywhere. The others were upstairs. I gathered them on the kitchen island. How could I explain any of this to the police?
I needed help. I called my parents. It took twenty minutes before my father picked up.
"Kirsty? What's wrong?"
"Dad," I whimpered. "George is gone. Cara. Ella."
"What? What did you say?"
"They’re gone, dad. George. The girls are gone."
I heard his bed springs protest as he rolled out of bed. My mom said something I couldn't hear, and he shushed her.
"Kirsty," he said, "are you alright? Are you hurt? Are you in danger?"
Why was it so hard to understand? "Dad. George is gone."
"Kirsty, who the hell is George?"
It was my turn to be confused. "He's my- you know him. My husband…"
"Kirsty," he said very slowly, "are you on drugs? Did you take something?"
"No. Are you?"
"Excuse me?"
I hung up.
I have their photos. I have all of their photos. That's what I brought to George's parents before the sun rose. They wouldn't open the door and spoke to me through an intercom.
"George is gone," I said.
"We'll call the police."
"This is your son. These are your granddaughters."
I heard my mother-in-law say, "Who is she?"
"We don't have a son," my father-in-law said. "Go away."
I left.
Back to the house. Our dream sat empty and I live there, but none of the people in my family photos are my family.
I remember but the world never does. My parents think I'm ill and that I used AI to create the family I apparently never had.
How did I buy the house without a job or income? With deep concern for my mental health, they showed me a news story. I had won the lottery the day I turned eighteen.
His influence there, payment for services rendered.
A lie is an agreement.
What had I agreed to? I'm afraid I know the answer: I never wanted a family.
God help me. God help them.
I don't know what to do with these pictures.