The Substitute

I was lying in bed on a hot August night. I was forty-eight, and he was thirty-five. He married me because I was well-off, and I married him because he was a handsome, poor young man, and because I thought I could control him.

For three years, his snoring never stopped. Regular as the ticking of a clock, interrupted only by the hum of the air conditioner.

At three in the morning, the phone rang.

"Madam Salma Oweis? I am Lieutenant Saeed from the Salihiyah precinct. Does your husband own a black 2021 Chevrolet?"

Yes. Why?

“The car was involved in a horrific accident on the airport road and burned completely. We found a semi-charred body inside, along with documents and a phone belonging to your husband. We need you to come to the morgue immediately to identify the body.”

I looked to my side. My husband was asleep, snoring as usual.

I answered him: Impossible. My husband is sleeping right beside me now.

The lieutenant fell silent for a moment, then whispered:

"Get close to him. Is his chest moving?"

I moved closer. The snoring continued, and his chest rose and fell.

I looked at the table. The iPhone had disappeared, replaced by a green Samsung phone.

I answered him with a trembling voice: The iPhone is gone.

The lieutenant said:

"Get out immediately. In your nightclothes, don't waste a single second. Do not wake him up. I will arrive in ten minutes."

I went down the stairs barefoot, trembling with weak steps from the intensity of my fear.

After a few minutes, the police car arrived.

I said: "You must arrest the man sleeping in my house."

He replied: "I cannot raid a house without permission from the prosecution. I will leave the sergeant in front of the building door. If he tries to leave, we will stop him."

I got into the car with him, and we set off for Al-Mouwasat Hospital.

The smell of formalin and the chill struck me the moment I entered the morgue hall. I felt a chill run through my body.

The orderly opened one of the iron drawers.

It was him. The mole under the eye, and the scar on the eyebrow. My very own husband, dead and charred.

I backed away in terror.

By the door, a young woman was crying, holding a sleeping toddler.

She asked me:

"Are you Salma? I recognized you from the picture."

So I asked her: "Who are you?"

She answered me: "His second wife. For two years."

I stared at her.

She said: "He used to tell me he was forced to stay with you because of your money. But he didn't want to live with you, he wanted to stay with us."

I answered her coldly, yet I saw him every single day.

Then I looked at the body. If this is my husband, who was the man I left in my bed?

The lieutenant screamed:

"We must return to your house immediately!"

On the way back, the lieutenant called the Ministry of Interior archives looking for Ghassan Oweis. After an eerie silence, the shocking reply came: The husband had an identical twin, who was wanted by the judiciary for the murder of his wife before meeting his end in a burned car accident about four years ago.

We arrived at the building. The sergeant was still standing in front of the door.

The lieutenant asked him sharply: "Did anyone leave?"

The sergeant shook his head negatively. "Sir, absolutely no one has crossed this door during your absence."

We rushed upstairs; the apartment door was open.

We entered the bedroom. The bed was empty.

And on the pillow lay the green phone.

I looked at Lieutenant Saeed and said:

"Can't you arrest him?"

He answered, staring at the phone:

"We can arrest one of them, but the problem is we don't know which one is the real one."

Moments later, I received an audio recording on my mobile.

It was my husband's voice whispering:

"Salma… don't be afraid. I am your husband who is in your house."