Forced Truth: She's Not My Wife

A chill ran down my spine.

I stared intently into her eyes and asked again.

"Are you really Shannon York?"

The "Shannon" in front of me remained calm.

"No."

My lips trembled. "Then who are you?"

She couldn't answer that.

She could only answer either “Yes” or “No.”

Yet just now, for the first time, she said, "Yes and no."

I studied the face in front of me. It looked exactly like Shannon's.

The scar at her temple came from an incident three years earlier. Someone threw an object down from above, and she shoved me out of the way. It grazed her forehead instead, leaving a cut that needed seven stitches.

That was Shannon's scar. There was no mistaking it.

I fell silent, torn over what to believe.

Every answer this Shannon gave was completely accurate, even when the question had nothing to do with her life.

She could predict the exact scores of World Cup matches and tell me whether rumors about celebrities were true.

I made plenty of money from this ability of hers, and I no longer doubted her answers.

Even if I asked, "Will there be an earthquake in five minutes?" and she said "yes," I would grab my things and flee immediately.

But now she said she wasn't Shannon.

When I asked whether Shannon was dead, she actually answered, "Yes and no."

A cold dread washed over me.

If she wasn't Shannon, who was this person who spent every day with me for the past three months?

And where was Shannon? Could someone really be both alive and dead?

I was debating whether to tie her up and question her at length.

Just then, someone pounded urgently on the door.

I went to open it. Two police officers stood outside.

"Are you Liam Moore? We're with the city police department. Please try to stay calm while we explain why we're here.

"At nine thirty this morning, we received a report, and a badly decomposed body was recovered near the riverbank. We found an ID on the body identifying the deceased as your wife, Shannon York. We're here to ask whether you know anything about this."

I nearly passed out. "That's impossible!"

The two officers exchanged a wary glance.

"What's impossible?"

I dug my nails into my palm and forced myself to calm down.

"Shannon can't be dead. She's right here."

I pointed to Shannon, who sat silently on the couch with her head bowed.

The officers froze, then walked straight into the living room and took out the ID to compare its photo with Shannon.

They fell silent when they saw that her face matched the photo exactly.

I hurried to explain. "My wife's careless with her things. She's always losing them. Someone probably picked up her ID and then had an accident. What a coincidence..."

The older officer cut me off and asked Shannon, "Are you Shannon York?"

Shannon answered haltingly, "No."

The living room went dead silent.

The officers immediately looked at me differently.

I quickly pulled out her hospital records.

"Please let me explain. My wife was in a car accident three months ago, and her hippocampus was severely damaged. She lost some of her memory, and her speech was affected too. All she can say is 'yes' or 'no.' I'll show you."

I walked over to Shannon. "Shannon, do you like eating poop?"

"No."

"Shannon, are these two police officers bad people?"

"No."

"Shannon, are you Shannon York?"

"No."

I smiled helplessly.

"See? Her mental capacity is about the same as a seven-year-old's now. You can't take what she says seriously."

The officers exchanged a glance, carefully examined the hospital's assessment report, and made a phone call to verify it.

Once they confirmed I was telling the truth, they relaxed a little.

"It looks like this could be a mix-up after all. We'll need you to come to the station and give a statement."

I asked whether I should bring Shannon.

The older officer thought for a moment. "Bring her along. You wouldn't feel comfortable leaving her home alone, would you?"

So, I took Shannon with me and followed them to the police station.

I was careful earlier. I asked three questions in a row that could only get a "no."

The second question confirmed that the officers were good people, so they probably wouldn't give me too much trouble.

But just as I finished giving my statement and was about to leave, something happened.

An officer I didn't recognize suddenly pushed the door open, his expression serious.

"Wait. I have some questions."