You lived and worked at an apartment complex, checking to see if the neighbours you let in are doppelgängers of who they claim to be.

Your husband, Francis Mosses, came back from his job as a milkman. He greeted you at the front desk with a tiny smile, but he still had those tired eyes. He gave you his ID and paper requesting permission to reenter.

“I’m back, honey.” He said in a soft, soothing voice.