Chương 8
“What information?”
She swallowed.
“Money moving through your company.”
Marcus frowned.
“My company was audited.”
“I know.”
“The audit cleared us.”
Naomi looked at him.
“Did it?”
The question made him uncomfortable.
Because he remembered.
The audit had cleared them.
But it had happened quickly.
Almost too quickly.
He had been too distracted to question it.
His wife had vanished.
His business was under pressure.
Everyone around him told him to focus on survival.
“You think the audit was fake?”
“I think someone wanted you to stop looking.”
Marcus was quiet.
A car drove past them.
A horn sounded somewhere down the street.
Normal sounds.
Ordinary sounds.
But nothing felt ordinary anymore.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
Naomi looked at him.
“Because I tried.”
Marcus froze.
“What?”
“I tried to contact you.”
“When?”
“Three months after I disappeared.”
His heart skipped.
“I never got anything.”
“I know.”
“Then how do you know?”
Naomi looked at him.
“Because the message came back.”
“What message?”
“The one I sent you.”
Marcus felt his throat tighten.
“What did it say?”
Naomi looked down.
“I told you I was alive.”
A silence followed.
Marcus felt something break open inside him.
Five years.
Five years believing she left.
Five years believing she chose silence.
Five years believing he was the only one searching.
“Who stopped it?” he asked.
Naomi looked at him.
“I don’t know.”
Then she reached into her bag and pulled out an old envelope.
The edges were worn.
The paper had been folded and unfolded many times.
Marcus recognized the handwriting immediately.
His own name was written across the front.
His breath caught.
“Where did you get that?”
Naomi held it out.
“Someone mailed it to me last week.”
Marcus stared at the envelope.
“Why would someone send you a letter you wrote to me?”
Naomi’s eyes stayed on his.
“Because they wanted me to know they were ready for us to find out.”
Marcus slowly took the envelope.
And before he opened it, he saw something written beneath his name.
A sentence that made his hands go cold.
Because he recognized the handwriting.
But he had never written those words.
“Marcus,” Naomi whispered.
He looked up.
“What?”
Her voice dropped.
“Someone added a second page.”
The second page was folded behind the first.
Marcus held the envelope under the streetlight, turning it slowly as if the angle of the paper could somehow change what he was seeing.
The handwriting looked almost like his.
The same sharp M.
The same slight curve at the end of his last name.
But beneath the familiar writing was a sentence he did not remember putting there.
DO NOT TRUST THE STORY THEY GAVE YOU.
His fingers tightened around the paper.
“Who wrote this?”
Naomi watched him.
“I don’t know.”
“You said someone added it.”
“I said someone added a second page.”
Marcus looked up.
“You’re telling me someone took my letter, added something, and sent it back to you?”
“Yes.”
“That’s impossible.”
Naomi gave him a tired look.
“Five years ago, you thought me disappearing was impossible.”
He looked away.
She was right.
And he hated that.
The city moved around them.
A taxi stopped at the curb.
A couple stepped out laughing.
A delivery driver checked his phone while waiting for an order.
Marcus stood there holding evidence of a life he no longer understood.
“Where did you get this?”
Naomi hesitated.
“A week ago.”
“From who?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s becoming your answer for everything.”
Her expression tightened.
“And yours used to be pretending there was always an answer.”
The words stung.
Not because they were cruel.
Because they reminded him of something he had avoided.
After Naomi disappeared, uncertainty had been unbearable.
So he accepted whatever certainty people offered.
He accepted the detective’s explanation.
He accepted the lawyers.
He accepted the condolences.
He accepted the idea that his marriage had ended because there was no other option.
Maybe he had not been searching for the truth.
Maybe he had been searching for permission to stop hurting.
Marcus folded the page carefully.
“Take me to the storage unit.”
Naomi studied him.
“You’re sure?”
“No.”
The honesty surprised both of them.
Marcus looked at the envelope.
“I’m not sure about anything.”
A small sadness crossed her face.
“That’s the first honest thing you’ve said to me tonight.”
Marcus almost responded.
Then he stopped.
Because she was right.
He had spent the entire evening trying to prove he had been wronged.
Trying to prove he had been abandoned.
Trying to prove he was the victim.
But Naomi had been standing in front of him carrying her own version of the same pain.
And he had not asked once what she lost.
They walked toward the parking area.
Neither of them spoke.
The silence between them was not comfortable.
But it was different from the silences they had shared inside the hotel.
This one did not feel like punishment.
It felt like two people trying to find a language they used to know.
Marcus unlocked his car.
Naomi stopped.
“You still drive this?”
He looked at the older sedan.
“Why?”
“You always hated this car.”
He looked at it.
The paint had faded slightly.
The passenger seat had a small tear near the edge.
He had kept it because replacing it never felt important.
“I got used to it.”
Naomi looked at him.
“That sounds like you.”
“What does that mean?”
“You keep things long after they stop making sense.”
Marcus looked at her.
“You noticed?”
“I noticed everything.”
The answer was quiet.
Too quiet.
For a moment, he saw the woman he remembered.
The woman who knew when he was lying about being tired.
The woman who could tell when he was upset because he cleaned the kitchen differently.
The woman who knew him before he learned how to hide.
Then the moment passed.
They got into the car.
May you like
The drive across the city was slower than it should have been.
Traffic lights changed.
