The two-story house with a terrace looked cozy and well-maintained. I approached the front door and immediately noticed signs of burglary. The lock was broken, and the door was only held by its top hinge.
My heart pounded with anxiety. Something had really happened. Someone had broken into the door.
But where’s Sarah? Where’s David? I carefully pushed the door open and entered. “Sarah?” I knocked. “David? Is anyone home?” The answer was silence.
The house seemed empty. I crossed the hallway and entered the living room. There was complete disarray.
Overturned furniture, torn-out drawers, contents scattered on the floor. It seemed someone was searching for something, and doing so in a hurry, with no regard for safety. I went up to the second floor. The same picture.
Devastation, chaos, scattered things. In one of the rooms, apparently David’s bedroom, were textbooks, sports uniforms, and posters ripped from the walls. In another, probably Sarah’s bedroom, the contents of the wardrobe were gutted on the bed, with the nightstand drawers ripped out.
What happened here? Who organized this pogrom? And most importantly, where were Sarah and David? I went downstairs and examined the kitchen. The mess was less, but still noticeable. On the table were two cups of unfinished tea.
So they were here when the break-in occurred. Perhaps they heard something and tried to hide? But where? And why didn’t Sarah answer my calls or texts? I went out onto the back deck. From there, I could see the garden and a small wood behind it.
Perhaps they ran over there? They hid among the trees. Sarah. I shouted. David.
It’s me, Emily. Are you here? In reply. All I could hear was the rustling of leaves and the birds singing.
It seemed like no one was on the plot. But where could they have gone? They didn’t have a car; the nearest settlement was several kilometers away. I returned to the house, feeling a growing anxiety.
Clearly, something had happened, something bad. But what exactly, and how did it relate to John and his secrets? Scanning the living room, I noticed something shiny under the overturned armchair. I bent down and picked it up.
It was a cell phone. The screen was cracked, but the device was still working. I pressed the button and saw the screensaver.
A photo of Sarah with David. It was her phone, the same one she’d sent me her morning text from. So I was here when he texted me.
And, apparently, shortly after, something happened. Something that made her drop the phone and run. Or…
Or forced her to flee. The thought sent shivers down my spine. What if Sarah and David hadn’t just gone into hiding? What if they’d been kidnapped? What if all that talk about danger wasn’t just empty words, but a real warning? But who could have kidnapped them? And why? Does this have to do with John, with his secret affairs? Or with our meeting yesterday? Maybe someone was watching us, discovered what we were talking about, and decided to act? I didn’t know what to do. Call the police? But what would I say? That my husband’s wife, with whom he is in a bigamy relationship, disappeared with their son after our meeting, where we discussed his double life.
It seemed like the ravings of a madman. I decided to examine the house again, hoping to find some clue, some trace that would indicate what had happened to Sarah and David. The office, which, judging by the furniture, belonged to John, was in the same disarray as the other rooms.
The desk drawers were open, papers scattered, books knocked off the shelves. I began sorting through the scattered documents, hoping to find something useful. Most of the papers turned out to be common household bills, receipts, and old letters.
Nothing to explain what had happened. But in one of the books on the floor, I found a piece of paper tucked away. It was a handwritten text, written in a handwriting I instantly recognized.
John’s handwriting. “Sarah, if you’re reading this, my fears have come true. They’ve found out about you and David.”
Don’t try to contact me, don’t stay home, it’s dangerous. Go to Cleveland, to my Aunt Mary’s house. You know the address.
You’ll be safe there, at least for a while. And don’t tell anyone about Laura. No one, do you hear me? It’s a matter of life or death.
I reread the note several times, trying to grasp its meaning. John warned Sarah of the danger. He said some people had discovered something about her and David.
They advised him to go to Cleveland, to the house of an Aunt Mary. And they asked him not to tell anyone about Laura. Laura? Who is Laura? Another woman in John’s life.
Another secret. And who are these people John wrote about? Who posed a threat to Sarah and David? And is this related to his double life, his secret affairs? The questions multiplied, and answers remained elusive. But one thing became clear.
Most likely, Sarah found this note and, following John’s instructions, went to Cleveland. That’s probably why she didn’t answer my calls or texts. She was on the run, trying to hide from some unknown threat.
But what should I do? Go to Cleveland to find Aunt Mary? Or go home, lock myself in the apartment, and wait for John to return, demanding explanations? Or maybe go to the police, tell them everything I know, and let them figure it out? I didn’t have time to decide. Outside, I heard the sound of a car approaching. I looked out the window and saw a black SUV pulling into the driveway.
Two men in dark suits emerged, very similar to the special services agents in the movies. My heart sank. Who are these people? What do they need? Do they have something to do with Sarah and David’s disappearance? And most importantly,
Do they pose a threat to me? I decided not to wait to meet the strangers. I quickly hid John’s note in my pocket, slipped out the back door, and ran into the woods. If these people were truly dangerous, it was best to stay away from them.
I ran through the trees, trying to move silently and leave no trace. Voices were heard behind me. The men discovered the house was empty and were apparently now inspecting the grounds.
I needed to get as far away as possible, as quickly as possible. I don’t know how long I ran through the woods. Maybe an hour, maybe more. Finally, exhausted, I stopped at a small stream.
I listened. It seemed there was no pursuit. Either the men didn’t notice me fleeing, or they decided there was no point in chasing an unknown guest.
I sat down on a fallen tree and tried to gather my thoughts. What’s going on? Who are these people? Why did John warn Sarah of the danger? And most importantly, what should I do now? First, I needed to get out of the woods and back to civilization. Then, I’d decide where to go.
To Cleveland, to find Sarah. Home? To the police? I pulled out my phone to check for a signal and froze. The screen showed a missed call notification.
From John. He called just 10 minutes ago, when I was in the woods, where the signal apparently went dead. With trembling fingers, I pressed the call-back button. Beeps.
One, two, three. I thought he wouldn’t answer when his voice sounded on the other end. So familiar and yet so strange.
“Emily? Where are you?” There was tension and anxiety in his voice. I didn’t know how to respond. Tell the truth? Lie? Pretend I don’t know about her double life? In the woods, I finally replied.
Not far from your wife Sarah’s country house. The same one you forgot to mention during six years of marriage. There was silence on the other end of the line.
Then John said quietly, “You know. It’s not a question, but a statement.”
He understood that his secret had been revealed. Yes, John, I know, I confirmed it. I know you’ve been married to another woman for 16 years. I know you have a teenage son.
I know our whole life was a lie. Not all of it, he objected. Not all of it, Emily…
I truly love you. That was never a lie. I smiled bitterly.
