Chapter 6 - THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
The woman in the photograph had a name.
Jessica Monroe.
Twenty-seven years old.
Former employee at my husband's company.
And, according to Detective Brooks, she had been receiving money from him for nearly a year.
I stared at the photograph again.
“She says she's carrying his child?”
“Yes.”
“Does she have proof?”
“She's claiming she does.”
“Claiming?”
Detective Brooks nodded.
“The pregnancy hasn't been medically verified yet.”
I looked at her.
“So you think she's lying.”
“I think we don't know yet.”
That answer followed me home that night.
Home.
The word felt strange now.
My house no longer felt like home.
It was a crime scene.
A place where dirt had been packed around my neck.
A place where people had laughed while I struggled to breathe.
A place where my husband had planned my disappearance while sleeping under the same roof.
I stayed at my sister's apartment under police protection.
For the first time in months, I slept without locking myself inside the bathroom.
But sleep still wouldn't come easily.
Every creak sounded like footsteps.
Every faucet made me remember the pitcher.
Every patch of soil outside the window made my throat tighten.
At two in the morning, my phone rang.
Detective Brooks.
I answered immediately.
“What happened?”
“We found Jessica.”
My heart accelerated.
“Where?”
“She came to the station voluntarily.”
“Why?”
“She wants to talk to you.”
I sat up.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“About what?”
“She says your husband lied to both of you.”
The next morning, Jessica entered the interview room alone.
She looked nervous.
She looked younger than twenty-seven.
And she was holding a folder.
She placed it on the table.
“I know you hate me.”
“I don't know you.”
“You know what he told me about you.”
I said nothing.
“He said you were unstable.”
I looked at her.
“He said you were dangerous.”
My hands tightened.
“He said you were trying to destroy his company.”
She swallowed.
“He said he was trapped.”
I stared at her.
“And you believed him?”
“Yes.”
The word came quietly.
Then she began crying.
“I believed everything.”
She opened the folder.
Inside were emails.
Messages.
Bank transfers.
Photographs.
My husband had told her he was divorcing me.
He told her I had agreed to leave.
He told her the house would be theirs.
He told her we would never meet.
But the last page made my blood freeze.
A medical document.
My name was on it.
“What is this?”
Jessica shook her head.
“I didn't know what it was.”
I read the first line.
Psychiatric evaluation.
Fake.
Fabricated.
Prepared months before my pregnancy.
“He gave this to you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He said if anyone asked why you weren't around anymore, I should show them this.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“He planned to disappear me.”
Jessica nodded.
“He told me you would eventually be institutionalized.”
I closed my eyes.
Then Jessica whispered:
“There is something else.”
“What?”
“He wasn't going to let you have the baby.”
I opened my eyes.
“What does that mean?”
“He told me the baby was a problem.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did he say?”
Jessica looked terrified.
“He said after you were declared incompetent, he would take custody.”
“And you?”
“He wanted me to raise the baby.”
Silence.
Then I asked:
“Did you believe him?”
She nodded.
“Until I saw what he did to you.”
I stared at her.
“How did you see it?”
She pulled out her phone.
“I received a video.”
My heart stopped.
“From whom?”
She turned the screen toward me.
It was my backyard.
My husband stood beside the dirt.
The video had been recorded from the side fence.
And behind the camera was someone I recognized.
Mara.
I looked at Jessica.
“Where did you get this?”
“My husband.”
I froze.
“Your husband?”
Jessica nodded.
“Your husband's brother.”
I stared at the screen.
May you like
My husband's brother had been filming.
And suddenly the family tree became much darker than I had imagined.
