Chương 8
“I don’t think you do.”
Marcus became quiet.
I looked around the room.
The same house where Vivian had spent holidays.
The same dining room where she had complimented my cooking while asking whether I had considered helping Daniel’s business more.
The same guest room where she stayed whenever she said she was lonely.
“She knew,” I whispered.
Marcus didn’t try to comfort me.
That was one of the reasons I trusted him.
He didn’t offer empty words just to make a difficult moment disappear.
“We don’t know what she knew yet.”
I closed my eyes.
That sentence was fair.
It was also frustrating.
Because emotionally, I had already arrived somewhere my evidence had not.
I wanted to believe Vivian had been manipulated.
That Daniel had acted alone.
That there was one person responsible and one person to blame.
It would have been easier.
But life rarely gave people clean versions of betrayal.
I called Vivian that afternoon.
She answered after several rings.
“Claire.”
Her voice sounded cautious.
Not surprised.
Cautious.
“Did you know?”
A pause.
“Know what?”
I almost laughed.
Even now.
Even after everything.
She reached for denial first.
“About the account,” I said.
Another pause.
Then a quiet breath.
“Daniel told me not to say anything.”
The words landed harder than I expected.
Not because they confirmed it.
Because they showed she had known there was something to hide.
“You knew.”
“I knew he was struggling.”
“That is not what I asked.”
She was silent.
“Did you know he moved money from our account?”
“I knew he borrowed money.”
“Borrowed.”
The word sounded ridiculous coming from her.
“Did he tell you that word?”
“Claire.”
“No.”
I stood up.
“I need you to answer this.”
She exhaled.
“Yes.”
The room felt smaller.
“Yes, I knew.”
I walked toward the window.
My hand pressed against the glass.
“Why?”
“I thought he was going to fix it.”
“That is what everyone keeps saying.”
“I believed him.”
“You believed him because you wanted to.”
Her voice changed.
A little sharper.
“And you believed him because you loved him.”
That stopped me.
Because it was true.
I hated that it was true.
“I never moved money from your account.”
“No.”
She paused.
“But you helped him hide it.”
Another silence.
A painful one.
“I was afraid.”
The honesty caught me off guard.
“Of what?”
“Losing my son.”
I leaned against the wall.
There it was.
The explanation underneath the behavior.
Not an excuse.
A fear.
“I watched his father destroy himself,” she said.
“I watched him lose everything because he couldn’t admit he needed help.”
“And you thought protecting Daniel meant protecting the lie.”
“I thought I was giving him time.”
“You were giving him permission.”
She didn’t respond.
I could hear something in the background.
A television.
A car passing.
A normal life continuing while ours had collapsed.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
I closed my eyes.
I had wanted that apology for years.
Strangely, hearing it did not repair anything.
It only confirmed the damage existed.
“I need to know everything,” I said.
“What?”
“Every conversation.”
“Claire.”
“Every time he asked you for money.”
She became quiet.
“Every time he told you something about me.”
The silence that followed was the longest one yet.
That was when I knew.
There were more pieces.
“I don’t know if I can.”
“You can.”
My voice surprised even me.
Not because it was angry.
Because it was steady.
“You can, Vivian.”
She swallowed.
“Daniel said you would leave him if you knew.”
I looked at the ceiling.
“So he knew.”
“Yes.”
The answer was soft.
“He knew exactly what he was risking.”
That hurt more than anything.
Not the affair.
Not the money.
Not the lies.
The knowledge that he understood the cost and chose anyway.
After we ended the call, I sat at the kitchen table.
The same table where Daniel had once proposed with a ring hidden inside a coffee mug because he said he wanted the moment to feel like us.
Simple.
Private.
Real.
I remembered laughing because I almost threw the mug away before seeing the ring.
That memory came back so clearly that for a second I felt the old warmth.
Then it disappeared.
Not because it wasn’t real.
Because it belonged to a different version of us.
Marcus called later with an update.
“The bank confirmed the request came through proper channels.”
“How?”
“Someone provided enough information to verify identity.”
“Daniel.”
“Most likely.”
“Most likely?”
“We need documentation before making that conclusion.”
I hated how careful everyone had to be.
But I understood.
Carelessness was what had brought me here.
“Can we stop the account activity?”
“We already have.”
“Good.”
“There’s something else.”
I waited.
“The device connected to the account wasn’t only accessing financial information.”
My stomach tightened.
“What else?”
“Your email.”
I looked toward my computer.
“What?”
“Your personal email account was accessed from the same device.”
I felt the air leave my lungs.
“How long?”
“Several months.”
I sat there silently.
My email.
The place where I kept everything.
Work conversations.
Medical records.
Private messages.
Documents.
The pieces of my life I never imagined anyone else reading.
“Did he send anything?”
“We’re still reviewing.”
“Marcus.”
“Yes?”
“Find out.”
After the call ended, I walked through the house and opened every drawer.
Not because I expected to find something.
Because suddenly I felt like I had been living in a place where someone else had been watching.
The feeling was unbearable.
In Daniel’s office, I found the old tablet he used for travel.
I almost ignored it.
Then I noticed something.
A small crack near the corner.
I remembered it.
Daniel had dropped it six months earlier.
He had said it was nothing.
He had been unusually nervous when I asked what he had been doing on it.
At the time, I thought he was embarrassed about breaking it.
May you like
Now I wondered what he had been afraid I would see.
I placed the tablet on the desk.
