The unfortunate prank-proof day

Today is March thirty first, and I must prepare. It is the day before April Fools' day, and my wife and our two boys are quite the tricksters. Every year they spend the entire night before, prepping several annoying and tedious pranks that I always can predict. It's a nuisance, and I don't like surprises. They scare me. So instead, I decided that every year, I will send them away on a short trip so the entire day before I can prepare myself and make the house prank proof. I hop out of my bed with almost a happy state of panic, and rush to shut off my alarm clock. They will be back late tonight, so I have the entire day to get to work on my prank proofing. My daily meds sit on the nightstand next to my alarm clock, getting completely ignored while I begin my routine. I grab the bag of materials I have been saving, pulling out first, the super sticky double sided tape. The kind that keeps furniture and items from being moved by activity. I head to the living room with a grin. One of their favorite pranks over the years, has been rearranging all the furniture and movable items in the house, and acting like absolutely nothing is different, leaving me to doubt if I have truly gone insane. "Not this year", I mumble to myself while I begin the long process of taping every single piece of furniture to the floor. I tape all the couches, the chairs, the side tables, even the flower vases and books. All taped to their perfect and original spot in the room. After three hours of speeding around the house taping everything that can move, I sigh in relief, before beginning the next task on my agenda. Disposing of every single pregnancy test in the house so that my wife cannot pull that one again. She doesn't know this but I've wished for a third child, a little girl, for years. Every time she pulls this prank, it hurts me secretly and I am not in the mood for it to happen again. I make sure to check every bathroom cupboard, medicine cabinet, and even in her nightstand, to dispose of every pregnancy test, and her fake positives she hides in the book she doesn't read. She thinks I don't know about them hiding there, but I do. I always know. As I'm clearing those out of the bedroom, my daily meds catch my eye again. I shrug it off, remembering to take them later when I have more time. My next task is very simple, double check that my caller ID is up to date and that my spam call protection software is also up to date. Prank calls are one of the basics, it always gets old. I know that I don't have some secret girlfriend and that I haven't won the lottery. I don't even play the lottery. I laugh, thinking about my ridiculous family, and finish with the phone. I decide to take a quick break, seating myself on the perfectly placed couch that will not move for a long time. I check my phone for any texts from my wife or sons, it's a little odd that I haven't received a single message from them, but I assume it's because they are on their flight. "Break over!" I talk to myself, getting up to scour the kitchen for every bit of cellophane that could be placed in doorways or on toilets. Every box of Jello mix which they could put my belongings in. And every bit of string, thread or twine that could be set up as trip wires. No need to throw them away for one day, so I toss all of the things I will be getting rid of, in a large bin to stuff in the shed when I am done. Once I am finished with everything I need to do, I drag the bin outside to the shed. The shed is full of several dusty bins that look exactly like the one I'm holding. I can't quite remember why, but I shrug it off, throwing the bin in, and heading back into the house. The sun is setting and it's getting late. Still no message from my wife. They should have landed by now and be in their Uber on the way home. I can't drive for mental health reasons, I have a few disorders that make it kind of impossible to drive, so they usually Uber back for things like this. I thought for sure she said the plane would land by eight fifteen. It's already almost nine. I shut the back door, locking both locks, before I slide to the couch. I lay there in complete silence, awaiting the arrival of my family. I almost fall asleep when I jolt up, checking my phone again. Still nothing and it is almost ten. I dial her number, letting it ring and ring before it goes to voicemail. "What the hell…" I mumble to myself, heading to my bedroom. Their flight must have been delayed. I try not to overthink it, before curling up under my favorite blue blanket, and nodding off peacefully. My eyes are nearly closed, the meds on my nightstand frowning at me with distaste at never taking them. I awake the next morning, a feeling of excitement in my stomach for all of my family's upcoming prank fails, and to see them again. My wife is still not in my bed. I frown and grab my meds that I notice again, sliding them down my throat and getting up to check the house for my family. They're nowhere to be found. I sit once again on my couch, dialing my wife. I call her time after time, for twenty minutes straight listening to it ring, before I glance at my phone looking more closely. I haven't been calling my wife, I've been calling...my therapist? Slowly but surely the meds kick in, as I look around the small house I live in. Tears pool in my eyes, as I realize I have been the one playing all the pranks. It is April second, I am alone, and the meds that have been staring me down for two days, are my schizophrenia meds. There is no wife, there are no kids. And it is not April Fools' day.