Chương 8
I looked toward the front door.
Then at Marcus.
The person I had loved.
The person I no longer understood.
Claire appeared in the hallway.
One look at my face told her.
She knew.
Marcus turned around.
“Everything okay?”
I smiled.
A smile I hated myself for making.
“Yeah.”
And for the first time in my life, I understood how easy it was to lie to someone who believed they already knew the truth.
Rachel was standing beside Claire’s car when we walked outside.
She was younger than I expected.
That was the first thing I noticed.
For some reason, I had imagined someone older.
Someone with gray hair and decades of experience written across her face.
Instead, Rachel looked like she was in her early forties.
Dark hair pulled into a loose bun.
A plain coat.
A folder held tightly against her chest.
The kind of person who blended into a crowd until you noticed the way she watched everything.
She looked at me once.
Not quickly.
Not dramatically.
Carefully.
“Anna?”
I nodded.
Rachel glanced toward the house.
“Is Marcus inside?”
“Yes.”
“Does he know I’m here?”
“No.”
She released a quiet breath.
“Good.”
Claire closed the distance between them.
“What did you find?”
Rachel looked at her.
“I found enough to know we shouldn’t discuss this outside.”
That sentence immediately changed the air around us.
Not because she sounded afraid.
Because she sounded certain.
We went into Claire’s car.
The three of us sat there with the doors closed while the house remained visible through the windshield.
The porch light was on.
The curtains in the living room were open.
Marcus’s shadow moved across the wall.
I watched it.
A simple shape.
A person.
Someone I had kissed goodbye that morning.
Someone I had trusted with my entire life.
Rachel opened the folder.
“I want to be very clear about something.”
I looked at her.
“This is not a conclusion.”
“Okay.”
“This is information.”
She removed a printed document.
“Daniel Harper was married to a woman named Laura Harper.”
The name meant nothing to me.
Rachel continued.
“Two years ago, Laura filed for divorce.”
“Because of Marcus?”
Rachel shook her head.
“No.”
I felt slightly relieved.
Then she added, “But Marcus’s name appeared in the divorce records.”
The relief disappeared.
“How?”
Rachel looked down at the paper.
“Laura claimed her husband had become obsessed with documenting her behavior.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?”
“She described cameras.”
Claire leaned forward.
“Like the one in Anna’s bedroom?”
Rachel nodded.
“Possibly.”
The word bothered me.
“Possibly?”
“Anna, I need you to understand something.”
Her eyes met mine.
“I cannot tell you what happened in someone else’s marriage.”
The carefulness in her voice made sense.
She wasn’t trying to scare me.
She was trying not to promise something she couldn’t prove.
“But,” she continued, “the pattern is concerning.”
“What pattern?”
“Monitoring.”
She turned another page.
“Tracking routines.”
“Recording conversations.”
“Collecting personal information.”
“Creating a record of someone’s behavior.”
I looked toward the house.
“Why?”
Rachel did not answer immediately.
That hesitation told me more than the answer would have.
“Some people do this because they believe they are protecting themselves.”
“From what?”
“From losing control.”
The words landed quietly.
But they hurt.
Because suddenly I thought about every time Marcus had corrected small details about me.
You forgot your appointment.
You told Claire you were going there, remember?
You said you wanted the blue dress.
You always get overwhelmed when you have too many choices.
Tiny things.
Things that had never seemed threatening.
Things I had mistaken for attention.
Rachel continued.
“Did Marcus ever make you feel like he knew you better than you knew yourself?”
I looked down.
“Yes.”
“How?”
I swallowed.
“He remembered everything.”
Rachel waited.
I laughed once.
A small, uncomfortable sound.
“It sounds stupid.”
“It doesn’t.”
“He knew my schedule better than I did.”
“That matters.”
“He knew what I was going to say before I said it.”
“Did that make you feel cared for?”
The question caught me off guard.
“Yes.”
Then I paused.
“Sometimes.”
Rachel nodded.
“That’s how control often hides.”
Claire looked angry.
“Why didn’t anyone tell Anna?”
Rachel looked at her.
“Because from the outside, it doesn’t look like control.”
She tapped the folder.
“It looks like a devoted husband.”
That was the part I couldn’t escape.
Marcus had never looked like a villain.
He looked like the person people trusted.
The person neighbors waved at.
The person who remembered birthdays.
The person who brought soup when someone was sick.
The person who everyone described as “such a good guy.”
Rachel put the documents away.
“There is something else.”
I looked at her.
“The name Daniel Harper wasn’t the only name.”
She reached into the folder.
A printed photograph.
She handed it to me.
It was a woman.
Late thirties.
Brown hair.
A tired smile.
“Her name is Melissa Grant.”
I looked at the picture.
“Who is she?”
Rachel watched my reaction.
“Does she look familiar?”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“She disappeared from her marriage three years ago.”
The word disappeared made my skin tighten.
“Disappeared?”
“She left.”
“Then why are you saying it like that?”
“Because people who leave usually leave traces.”
Rachel folded her hands.
“Bank accounts.”
“Friends.”
“Family.”
“New addresses.”
“Social records.”
I stared at the photo.
“What happened to her?”
“No one knows.”
The car felt smaller.
Claire looked at Rachel.
“Are you saying Marcus was involved?”
“No.”
Rachel’s answer was immediate.
“I am saying his name appears around people who describe similar experiences.”
That distinction mattered.
But it didn’t make me feel better.
A question formed before I could stop it.
“Am I one of them?”
Rachel looked at me.
“I don’t know.”
The honesty hurt.
“But you should find out why he has that notebook.”
I touched the memory card in my pocket.
I had forgotten it was there.
Until that moment.
Rachel noticed.
“What is that?”
I pulled it out.
May you like
Her expression changed.
“Where did you get that?”
