Chương 5
The marks.
The camera.
The names.
The times.
The places.
When I started writing, my hands stopped shaking.
It was strange.
Putting the fear into words made it smaller.
Not gone.
Just contained.
Around noon, Claire found something while scrolling through old messages on my phone.
“Anna.”
I looked up.
Her face had changed.
“What?”
She turned the phone toward me.
A message from Marcus.
Six months earlier.
I had forgotten about it completely.
It was sent while he was on a business trip.
The message was simple.
Can you check the guest room closet when you get home?
I had replied.
Sure. Why?
His answer came ten minutes later.
Never mind.
I stared at the screen.
“That’s it?”
Claire shook her head.
“No.”
She tapped the message.
“Look at the time.”
11:43 p.m.
I looked at her.
“So?”
“Anna, you told me last night the first time you noticed strange things was three weeks ago.”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
Claire pointed at the screen.
“Then why was Marcus sending messages about the guest room closet six months ago?”
I felt cold.
“What does that mean?”
Claire didn't answer immediately.
She opened another conversation.
Then another.
She searched Marcus’s name.
Old messages appeared.
Things I had forgotten.
Things I had ignored.
A canceled dinner.
A strange question about whether I had thrown away old paperwork.
A message asking if I had moved a box from the basement.
At the time, they had all seemed random.
Normal.
Now they looked different.
Like pieces of a picture I had been staring at for years without seeing.
Claire placed the phone down.
“Anna.”
I looked at her.
“He didn’t start documenting you recently.”
My throat tightened.
“What are you saying?”
She glanced toward the house.
Then back at me.
“I think Marcus has been preparing for something for a long time.”
Before I could answer, my phone rang.
The number on the screen was unfamiliar.
Claire saw my expression.
“Don’t answer.”
The phone kept ringing.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then it stopped.
A message appeared.
Unknown Number.
You need to stop looking through Marcus’s things.
My entire body went still.
Claire picked up the phone.
Her face drained.
A second message arrived.
You have no idea what you’re involved in.
I stared at the message until the words blurred.
You have no idea what you’re involved in.
The sentence felt different from a threat.
Threats were meant to create fear.
This felt like a warning.
That was somehow worse.
Claire locked my phone screen.
“Did you give anyone your number?”
“No.”
“Anyone who knows about Marcus?”
I shook my head.
“My lawyer?”
“I don’t have a lawyer.”
“Your doctor?”
“No.”
She looked back at the phone.
“Then whoever sent this knows what you’re doing.”
The quiet that followed was heavier than the fear from the night before.
Because the camera in the bedroom had been about me.
This was about someone knowing I had found it.
Someone watching the house.
Someone waiting to see what I would do next.
I walked to the window.
The street outside looked exactly the same.
A man across the road was unloading groceries from his car.
A woman was watering flowers near her mailbox.
A teenager rode past on a bicycle with headphones on.
I hated all of them for a second.
Not because they had done anything wrong.
Because they were living normal lives.
I wanted to be one of them.
I wanted my biggest problem to be a late bill or a broken appliance.
I wanted to complain about Marcus leaving cabinet doors open.
I wanted to be annoyed that he never remembered to replace the toilet paper roll.
I wanted boring.
I wanted ordinary.
“I’m calling someone,” Claire said.
I turned around.
“Who?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“That’s not helpful.”
She looked at me.
“You’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“The thing where you get scared and start trying to manage everyone else’s emotions.”
I opened my mouth.
Then closed it.
Because she was right.
It was something I had always done.
When our mother was sick, I became the person who told everyone the doctor’s appointment was probably fine.
When my father lost his job, I was the one who said we would figure it out.
When Marcus and I fought, I was usually the first person to apologize.
Not because I was always wrong.
Because peace felt safer than conflict.
Claire picked up her phone.
“I know someone who might help.”
“Who?”
“An attorney.”
“I told you, I don’t have one.”
“Not yours.”
That made me uneasy.
“Whose?”
She hesitated.
“Mine.”
I frowned.
“You have an attorney?”
She gave a small humorless laugh.
“After my divorce, yes.”
I looked at her.
I had known about the divorce.
I had not known this part.
“I thought you just handled everything yourself.”
“I tried.”
She looked away.
“Turns out trying to be strong by yourself just means you suffer quietly.”
The honesty in her voice stopped me.
Claire had always been the confident one.
The person who walked into restaurants without reservations and somehow got a table.
The person who argued with customer service representatives until companies apologized.
I forgot sometimes that confidence and fear could exist together.
“Call her,” I said.
Claire nodded.
She stepped outside to make the call.
I stayed inside.
Alone.
The house felt louder without her.
The refrigerator hummed.
The clock above the stove ticked.
A notification appeared on my phone.
A calendar reminder.
I looked at it.
Friday dinner.
Marcus.
Me.
A restaurant reservation he had made two weeks ago.
I stared at the reminder.
Two weeks ago.
Before I knew.
Before the tea.
Before the camera.
My first reaction was anger.
Then sadness.
Then something more confusing.
I wondered if he had been planning that dinner as a normal husband.
Or if it was part of something else.
That was the worst part.
Not knowing which memories were real.
My wedding day.
May you like
Our first apartment.
The night we adopted our dog, Cooper, after arguing for three hours because Marcus said we were not ready.
