A Husband’s Sleep-Speaking Secret
I WOKE UP TO MY HUSBAND MURMURING IN HIS SLEEP — WHEN HE FINISHED HIS “SPEECH,” I IMMEDIATELY BOLTED TO OUR GARAGE
THAT NIGHT, I WAS WAITING FOR MY HUSBAND TO ARRIVE HOME FROM WORK, BUT HE TEXTED TO SAY HE’D BE LATE AND TOLD ME TO GO TO BED. IT FELT STRANGE, BECAUSE HE NEVER GOT HOME LATE FROM WORK.
I RETIRED TO BED AND BEGAN TO READ, BUT I MUST HAVE DOZED OFF. I WAS AWAKENED BY HIS MUTTERING IN HIS SLEEP.
“YES, OFFICER, IT’S COMPLETELY MY FAULT,” he muttered. “SHE’S IN MY GARAGE RIGHT NOW. YOU CAN GO DOWN AND FIND HER THERE…”
I DIDN’T WANT TO WAKE HIM, BUT CURIOSITY (AND LET’S BE REAL, PANIC) GOT THE BETTER OF ME. I QUIETLY DESCENDED TO THE GARAGE TO SEE IF ANYTHING WAS AMISS.
HIS CAR WAS PARKED THERE, BUT THE HOOD HAD A DENT — AS IF HE’D STRUCK SOMETHING.
THEN I HEARD IT. HEAVY BREATHING EMANATING FROM THE FAR CORNER OF THE GARAGE. I FROZE AS I TURNED TO SEE AN INDISTINCT FIGURE IN THE CORNER ⬇️I FROZE AS I TURNED TO SEE AN INDISTINCT FIGURE IN THE CORNER. My heart pounded in my chest. Slowly, I reached for my phone and turned on the flashlight, the beam cutting through the darkness. As I moved closer, the heavy breathing became more distinct, almost like whimpering. The ‘indistinct figure’ began to take shape. It wasn’t a person. It was… a dog. A large, shaggy dog, curled up in the corner, its fur matted and dirty. Its breathing was ragged, and I could see a visible tremor running through its body. As I got closer, I saw a fresh wound on its leg, and a dark stain on the concrete floor beneath it. Understanding dawned. The dent in the car. The late night. The guilty sleep-talking. He hadn’t hit a person. He’d hit this dog. He’d brought it home, injured and scared, and hidden it in the garage, overwhelmed and unsure what to do.
Relief washed over me, quickly followed by a wave of sympathy for the poor creature. I rushed back inside and gently woke my husband. “Honey,” I whispered, “there’s a dog in the garage. It’s hurt. Is… is this what you hit with the car?” He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and his face immediately fell. “Oh, you found him,” he sighed, guilt etched on his face. “I didn’t want to worry you late at night. I… I hit him on the way home. I couldn’t just leave him there. I was going to call the vet in the morning.”
Together, we went back to the garage. Seeing the dog, my initial panic transformed into concern. We carefully examined his leg and decided to take him to the emergency vet right away. As we gently coaxed the dog into the car, my husband took my hand. “I’m sorry I scared you,” he said. “I just… I didn’t know what to do.” I squeezed his hand back. “It’s okay,” I reassured him. “Let’s just get him help.” The vet confirmed it was a fracture and thankfully, nothing more serious. We ended up adopting the dog, naming him Lucky, a constant reminder of the night my husband’s sleep-talking led me not to a crime scene, but to a new member of our family.