George's Doubts

George was slumped on the couch, his weary eyes darting between the half-folded laundry and the toys scattered across the floor. It had been two weeks since Julie left to participate in that experiment about exposure to the cigarette smoke, and he was feeling the weight of her absence.

"Okay, kids, bedtime!" called George with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. He ushered his two young children upstairs, tucking them into their beds and kissing their foreheads before returning to the chaos downstairs. The house felt empty and quiet without Julie's presence, he missed both her laughter and bossing them around. But that silence was now also a rare moment of respite for George.

As he collapsed onto the couch once more, his phone buzzed with an incoming message. George's heart leaped in his chest – it was from Julie!

Hey, just letting you know everything is going well here, I'm somehow coping with the smoke and I think I'll manage to finish the test. You can't even imagine how I miss you guys. Please kiss Lily and Tim and tell them Mommy loves them and will be home soon.

Love, J

His initial surge of happiness and relief washed over him like a warm embrace, swiftly followed by a growing suspicion. Julie's message seemed so... bland. Sure, it had a nice tone, as was anticipated, but there was none of the usual warmth and affection he had come to expect from his wife. She was always one to send long, detailed messages filled with playful banter and sweet sentiments - if she had time for such messages, of course. Her text from last week was way longer and had much more flare in it, so could it be she wrote this in a hurry? But what else could she be busy with?

"Is everything really okay?" George muttered to himself, his fingers tapping against his phone in contemplation. He reread the message several times, searching for any hidden meaning or subtext. But it was just so... short. And impersonal.

"Maybe she's just busy with the experiment... somehow," he reasoned, trying to brush off his unease. But the nagging feeling wouldn't dissipate. Something felt off, and he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"Maybe I should do some research of my own," George mumbled under his breath, his fingers shaking as he opened the internet browser on his phone. If he could find more information about the Institute and that doctor that contacted her - what was her name again? - ah, Amanda Kailyn or... Collins! Yes, Amanda Collins!

His thumbs tapped away at the screen, searching for any nugget of information that might put his mind at ease. But after countless websites, articles, and even forums, George found nothing – not a single mention of the smoking study initiated by the National Smoking Research Institute or Dr. Amanda Collins. His heart raced with mounting frustration, each dead-end further intensifying his concern for Julie's well-being.

"Damn it!" he suddenly exclaimed, venting out his frustration. "Why can't I find anything about this experiment?"

"Hey, Dad, are you okay?" came the concerned voice of Lily, peeking into the living room.

George quickly composed himself, forcing a smile for her benefit. "Yeah, sweetheart. Just a little stressed. Don't worry about me."

"Okay…" she hesitated before retreating upstairs.

Left alone once more, George sank back into the couch, his hands rubbing his temples as he fought to keep his worries at bay. He couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right – that there was more to Julie's involvement in the experiment than met the eye.

"Maybe I'm just overthinking things," he thought, trying to rationalize the situation. "Julie's smart, and she wouldn't get involved in something dangerous or sketchy. She must be fine… right?"

But despite his attempts to reassure himself, the unease continued to gnaw at his insides, like a relentless itch he couldn't quite scratch. The silence of the house seemed to amplify his concerns, leaving him restless and agitated. He needed answers – concrete evidence that Julie was safe and that all of this was just a product of his overactive imagination.

"Tomorrow," he resolved, gripping his phone tightly. "I'll call the Institute and ask for Dr. Amanda Collins. I need to hear it from them – that everything is okay."

The morning sun spilled through the curtains, casting a soft golden hue across the room. George stirred, his sleep-deprived eyes opening reluctantly as he reached for his phone on the nightstand. Memories of the previous day's restless searching flooded his thoughts, and he clenched his jaw with determination. Today, he would call the Institute and get to the bottom of this.

"Thank you for calling the National Smoking Research Institute," a polite, professional voice answered. "How may I assist you today?"

"Hi, I'm trying to reach Dr. Amanda Collins," George said with a slightly shaky voice.

"Dr. Amanda Collins?" The receptionist paused, her tone laced with confusion. "I'm sorry, sir, but I think we don't have a Dr. Collins on staff."

George's heart skipped a beat, his stomach churning with unease. "What do you mean? She's conducting some smoking study that my wife, Julie, is participating in."

"Sir, I apologize, but we have no ongoing smoking studies with volunteers right now or a Dr. Amanda Collins affiliated with our institution," the receptionist replied, her words puncturing George's already fragile hope.

"Are you sure?" George pressed, desperation creeping into his voice. "Can you please double-check? My wife left home to participate in this experiment, and I haven't been able to find any information on it."

"Please hold," the receptionist said, her voice now tinged with sympathy. As George waited, his heart raced, anxiety coursing through his veins like wildfire. What if Julie was in danger? What if this whole thing was a scam? Or what if... she lied to him?

"Sir, I'm sorry, but there's still no record of any such study or Dr. Collins," the receptionist confirmed after several agonizing minutes. "I understand your concern, but we cannot provide any information on this matter."

"Thank you," George muttered, his voice barely a whisper as he hung up the phone. He stared at it, the sense of dread and confusion swelling within him like a storm on the horizon.

"Julie..." he murmured, his fingers gripping the phone tightly. The weight of his worry threatened to crush him beneath its ****. What had she gotten herself into?

"This is not good, something is very wrong here. Why the hell did I let her go?" he scolded himself, shaking his head in an attempt to clear the fog of uncertainty that clouded his mind. He spent the entire day trying to find any kind of information on the web, called numerous different institutes, research centers and prominent pulmonology clinics.

Nothing. Not even a trace.

Defeated, he collapsed on the couch. "Tomorrow I'll get to the bottom of this. And I'll start with the police."

He couldn't abandon his wife to an unknown fate. He would find answers – no matter how long it took or what he had to face along the way. Whether she was in danger or was cheating on him, he had to find out what was going on.

The following morning, George awoke with a knot in his stomach. He had tossed and turned throughout the night, plagued by nightmares of Julie trapped or worse, just like his characters often ended in his novels. This time, it seemed his own wife was part of some dark crime novel. The heavy curtains cast a gloomy shadow over the room as he sat up, rubbing his tired eyes.

"Okay, focus," he told himself, taking a deep breath. "First things first: call the police."

As he reached for the phone, it suddenly rang, startling him. Hesitantly, he picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Good morning, Mr Wilson, this is Dr. Amanda Collins," came the voice on the other end of the line. George's heart skipped a beat, a mixture of relief and trepidation washing over him.

"Dr. Collins? Uhm, I tried to reach you yesterday at the Institute, but they said–"

"I know, I know," she interrupted gently. "I apologize for the confusion. Our research facility is not directly under the Institute; we're operating as a separate entity for them. That's why they didn't have any information about our study or me."

"Right," George replied, trying to quell the unease that gnawed at him. "So, how is my wife? Julie Wilson. Is she okay?"

"Julie is doing very well in the experiment," Dr. Collins assured him. "She's adjusting nicely to the study protocols, and we're seeing some promising results already."

"Good, good..." George murmured, his voice betraying the lingering doubts that clouded his mind. As much as he wanted to believe Dr. Collins, something still felt off.

"Is there anything else you'd like to know?" She asked, her tone warm yet professional.

"No, I... I just needed to make sure she was alright," George stammered, feeling foolish for even entertaining the idea that Julie might be having an affair. But the seed of doubt had been planted, and he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that there was more to the story than he knew.

"Thank you, Dr. Collins. I appreciate the update."

"Of course," she replied kindly. "If you have any further concerns or questions, please don't hesitate to reach out."

"Will do," George said, hanging up the phone. He sat there for a moment, the weight of his fears and suspicions pressing down on him like a heavy cloak.

"Get it together, George," he muttered under his breath, trying to focus on the fact that Julie was supposedly safe and well. He resolved to put aside his doubts and anxieties, at least until he could gather more information or perhaps managed to contact Julie directly. This Amanda caught him off guard, but he decided he'll prepare better and call her back soon. For now, he tried to calm down, but despite his best efforts, the tendrils of suspicion continued to coil around his heart, tightening their grip as the days slowly passed.