She handles international transport. Constant business trips, meetings with partners. I got used to her not being home often.
And what did she tell you? “She works for a construction company,” I replied. “She supplies materials, negotiates with contractors.” We looked at each other, and in that moment, a strange understanding dawned between us. Two women deceived by the same man had suddenly become allies.
“So he lied to you and me,” Sarah said. “The only question is: why? Why did he need two families, two lives? What’s the point?” I shook my head.
I don’t know. But it seems to me it’s not just that. Judging from the videos I’ve seen, he was afraid of something.
He talked about some danger, about the need to be careful. Maybe he’s involved in something illegal, Sarah thought.
“Possibly,” she said finally. “He’s been very nervous lately. He often checked to see if anyone was following him, and he forbade David and me from posting photos on social media.”
And once I saw him hiding a package in the garage, under the floorboards. When I asked him what it was, he downplayed it, saying it was just old documents that might come in handy someday. We both fell silent, lost in thought.
The situation was getting more and more confusing. Who was John, really? What was he doing? And more importantly, where was he now? Where is John now? I asked. According to him. Sarah shrugged.
On a business trip to Philadelphia. I’ll be back in two weeks. He told me he was going to New York for a month, I wrote it down. Turns out he could be anywhere.
Or with a third family that neither you nor I know about. Sarah shook her head. No, not that.
Two families. That’s already too complicated to manage. Three.
That’s impossible, even for a master liar like John. I agreed with her. In fact, leading a double life is difficult enough.
A triple would seem unbelievable to me. There’s something else, I said after a pause. On the flash drive, I found scans of several passports.
All in John’s name, but with different last names. Anderson, Miller, Smith, Johnson. Sarah shuddered.
Miller. That’s my last name. John adopted him when we got married.
He used to be Anderson, but in our marriage he’s Anderson too, I objected. We looked at each other, and I saw the same understanding in his eyes as I did. “False documents,” he said quietly. He uses different names in different situations.
Like a movie spy or a criminal? I nodded. It explained a lot. And at the same time, it explained nothing.
Why does an ordinary person need false documents? The more complicated the situation became. We’d been sitting in the café for over an hour, and during that time we managed to order and get a cup of tea each, but the conversation didn’t end.
I told Sarah about my life with John, and she told him about hers. Two parallel stories, two versions of the same person.
Were there any oddities in your life with him? I asked. Anything that aroused suspicion, that made you think? Sarah thought. There were calls, she answered after a pause. Strange calls, after which he would get nervous, irritable.
Sometimes, in the middle of the night. He said it was because of the time difference, because his colleagues were from other countries. But he always went to another room, spoke in a low voice, and when I asked him what the conversation was about, he responded evasively or got irritated.
I’ve had similar cases too, I nodded. And what else? Packages. Sometimes I received packages with no return address. He never opened them in front of me; he always took them to his office.
And when I asked what was inside, he said they were work materials, technical documentation, or samples. Sarah nodded. We had packages like that too.
Once, I accidentally opened one and thought they were books I’d ordered. There were papers in a foreign language and a small box sealed with tape. John got really angry and yelled at me.
It was the only time he raised his voice at me. I remembered that in my life with John, there had also been a similar episode. I took his work briefcase by mistake, and when I opened it, I found some documents in a language similar to Arabic.
John got really angry, snatched the bag from me, and was sadder than a cloud all night. We came to the conclusion that our husband was clearly involved in something he didn’t want to reveal. Something that could be related to international contacts, possibly illegal operations.
But what exactly? We didn’t know. And what will we do now? I asked after a long silence. When does he get back? How will we act? Sarah shrugged. “I don’t know.”
I’m not even sure I want to see him after everything I’ve learned. Sixteen years of marriage, and during all this time he lived a double life. He lied to me, cheated on me, possibly put David and me in danger with his shady dealings.
How can I trust him after that? How can I remain his wife? I understood his feelings. I felt something similar. Six years of my life turned out to be built on lies.
Everything I knew about my husband turned out to be false, a facade behind which hid a completely different reality. “But you have a son,” I commented. “David. He needs a father.”
Sarah smiled bitterly. A father who lies and cheats? Who could be a criminal? No, David doesn’t need such an example. He needs an honest and decent person to look up to.
And John? John isn’t like that. I couldn’t agree more. After everything we learned, the image of John is that of an honest and decent family man.
He collapsed like a house of cards. In his place was a completely different person. Deceitful, hypocritical, possibly dangerous.
And you? Sarah asked. What are you going to do? I shrugged. I don’t know.
But I’m definitely not going through with this charade. I can’t live with someone anymore who, as it turned out, I don’t know at all. We exchanged calls and agreed to keep each other informed of everything that happened.
Especially if John shows up at one of our houses. As I was about to leave, Sarah suddenly grabbed my hand. “Wait,” she said.
There’s something else. You mentioned the box you found in the cactus pot. What was inside besides the photograph? “Just the photograph,” I replied. And should there be something else?
Sarah frowned. In the video you watched, John mentioned something about documents in the box. About bank accounts, real estate, insurance.
But you didn’t find anything like that? I shook my head. No, just the photograph. Maybe he meant the documents on the USB drive? It’s possible, Sarah agreed, but she didn’t seem convinced.
Or maybe the box has a false bottom? It hadn’t occurred to me. A false bottom? Like in spy movies. But considering everything we learned about John, it didn’t seem so unbelievable.
“Are you carrying the box?” Sarah asked. “No,” I replied. “I left it at home and only took the USB drive.” Sarah nodded.
Understood. When you get home, examine it carefully. Maybe there’s some hidden mechanism, a hiding place.”
I promised I would. We said goodbye, hugging like old friends, even though we’d only known each other for a couple of hours. It’s funny how common misfortunes can bring people together.
On the way back to Boston, I thought about our conversation with Sarah. She seemed sincere, as shocked and confused as I was. Apparently, she truly didn’t know I existed, just as I didn’t know hers.
We were both victims of the same deception, puppets in the hands of a master manipulator we considered our husband. But who was John, really? What was hidden behind all his masks? And most importantly, did he really have a dark past or present involving illegal activities, as we suspected? I returned to Boston late at night. It was already around 10:00 when I got onto the platform at the central station.
Tired, emotionally drained, but determined to get to the bottom of the truth, I decided to spend the night in a hotel and take the first train home in the morning. I needed to carefully examine the box again, study all the documents on the USB drive, maybe find more clues. And then…
Then I decided what to do. How to rebuild my life after everything I’d learned. I found a hotel near the station.
Small, cozy, with friendly staff. I checked in, went up to my room,
