I felt a cool sheen of sweat on my brow, my heart beat against the inside of my chest. In the dim light coming through the curtains of my bedroom window, I saw a man I didn’t recognize. This had happened before, so I wasn’t immediately alarmed. But something was different this time. When I woke up with strangers in the past, there was always a small characteristic about the person I would remember. Something I could find unique to them that would allow me to know who they were. Like a goatee, the style of their haircut or the general shape or build of the person. The man beside me was unrecognizable. He was clean shaven and bald. When I went to bed last night, alone, no one was in the house. My husband has been away for five weeks on a book tour. I expected him back last night or early this morning, but my husband has hair on his head. The guy beside me doesn’t. I edged off the bed doing my best not to wake the stranger. I slipped into my walk-in closet and got dressed.
