MY HUSBAND ONLY TOUCHES ME WHEN MY MOTHER IS CALLING MY NAME IN A DREAM

In the quiet landscape of a seemingly ordinary marriage, some secrets don’t whisper—they call out from beyond the grave. For a woman named Claire, the slow, creeping distance in her relationship with her husband, David, was a familiar ache. But that quiet reality was shattered one night by a phenomenon so bizarre and terrifying it threatened to unravel her sanity. It began with the voice of her late mother in a dream and ended with the unfamiliar, desperate touch of the man lying next to her, revealing a pattern that defied all logical explanation.

An Unsettling Awakening

The night the haunting began, Claire was lost in a dream, walking through the hazy corridors of memory. Suddenly, a voice cut through the fog, sharp and clear: “Claire… Claire…” It was her mother, calling her name with the same distinct urgency she used when dinner was ready. The sound was so real, so vivid, it felt as though her mother was standing right in their home. Before Claire’s dreaming mind could even formulate a response, the vision dissolved. Her eyes snapped open not to an empty room, but to the reality of her husband, David, pressing against her with an intensity she hadn’t felt in years.

For a disoriented moment, she didn’t move, her body trapped between two worlds. Her mind was still echoing with her mother’s call, while her body was registering the shock of David’s embrace. He was kissing her with a desperate, almost starved passion that was entirely out of character. The stark contrast was jarring. All she could hear was her mother’s voice pulling her back from the edge of sleep, as if issuing a warning. She wanted to push him away, to demand an explanation for this sudden, perfectly timed hunger, but the words wouldn’t come. She was a silent spectator to her own husband’s strange and sudden desire.

The Facade of Normalcy

By morning, the unsettling intimacy of the night had vanished as if it were just a dream. Sunlight streamed into the room, and David was the picture of normalcy. He stretched, whistled a tune, and casually asked about breakfast preferences. Watching him move about the room, pulling on a shirt with a carefree air, Claire felt a profound sense of disconnect. It was as if his body had been borrowed by another entity during the night and returned at dawn, with no memory of its nocturnal activities.

David’s usual demeanor was one of polite distance. In their marriage, physical affection was a rare commodity; a single touch in a fortnight was a notable event. This made his desperate, almost frantic actions the previous night all the more disturbing. It wasn’t just the act itself, but its timing. It occurred at the exact second her mother’s voice had sliced through her dream. Coincidence? Her intuition screamed that it was not. The thought followed her like a shadow all day, a persistent, nagging question mark hanging over her reality.

A Test of Truth

That evening, as David returned from work, Claire studied him, searching for any crack in his composed facade. He laughed easily, his mood light and unburdened. She decided to conduct a small, careful experiment. During a lull in the conversation, she casually remarked, “I dreamt of my mother last night.”

The change was immediate and undeniable. The lightness vanished from his face. He cleared his throat, his body shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He avoided her gaze completely, his eyes darting around the room before he abruptly changed the subject to a power outage. He didn’t ask what the dream was about. He didn’t offer a word of comfort. His reaction was not one of disinterest, but of active, nervous avoidance. In that moment, Claire knew this was no coincidence. He was connected to it, somehow.

The Nightmare Repeats

That night, sleep felt like a dangerous country she was afraid to enter. She lay awake long after David’s breathing had settled into a steady rhythm, her mind racing. Every rational part of her wanted to dismiss it, to believe it was all a product of stress or an overactive imagination. But the look on David’s face had confirmed her deepest fears.

Eventually, exhaustion won, and she felt her consciousness begin to drift. She tried to force herself to relax, to let go of the consuming anxiety. And then she heard it again. Faint at first, then growing sharper, more insistent. It was her mother’s voice, piercing through the veil of sleep.

“Claire…”

Her eyes flew open with a jolt of adrenaline and terror. And just as they did, she felt it. A hand, warm and deliberate, sliding across her waist in the darkness. It was David. The pattern was real. The nightmare was repeating. And she was wide awake to meet it.