My husband went on a business trip to another city for a month, and I decided to move his favorite cactus in a pot to another place, but accidentally broke it while carrying it. My hair stood on end from what I saw inside…

I imagined opening the door and seeing John sitting at the table with Sarah and David. A happy family idyll in which there is no place for me. How will I react? What will I say? But it was too late to retreat.

The taxi was already approaching the indicated address. A typical Boston high-rise in a residential area. I paid the driver and got out of the car.

For a moment, I was overcome by the desire to turn around and leave, forget about all this, return to my usual life. But I understood that there would be no former life. Too much had changed in the last 24 hours.

I took a deep breath, gathering my courage, and entered the entrance. Apartment 42 was on the seventh floor. I went up in the elevator, feeling my heart pounding every second.

Here is the right door. An ordinary, unremarkable door, behind which hid another life of my husband. I raised my hand and resolutely pressed the doorbell button.

Several long seconds passed. No movement, no sounds. I pressed again, more insistently.

And again silence. It seemed no one was home. I looked around, not knowing what to do next.

Wait? But how long? An hour or two, the whole day? And if no one shows up? I had no other address where I could find Sarah. And then the door of the neighboring apartment opened slightly, and an elderly woman with a curious look appeared in the opening. «Are you to the Millers?» she asked, eyeing me appraisingly.

«Yes, to Sarah,» I replied, trying to make my voice sound confident. «They’re not home,» the neighbor informed. «They went to the cottage for the whole weekend.

They’ll return only on Monday. Today was Saturday. So I would have to wait two days.

And who are you to them?» the neighbor continued to be curious. I was confused for a moment. Who was I to them? No one.

A stranger interfering in someone else’s life. But I couldn’t tell the truth, of course. I’m Sarah’s colleague, I improvised on the fly.

I need to give her important documents. «Do you know where their cottage is?» the neighbor squinted, obviously doubting the truth of my words. But then, apparently, she decided that there was nothing criminal in my question.

«Somewhere in Massachusetts rural area, I think, in the Springfield district,» she replied. «I can’t say more precisely,» she wasn’t interested. «But if you want, I can give you her mobile.

I have it in case of emergencies.» «That would be very helpful,» I replied gratefully. The neighbor disappeared into the apartment and returned a minute later with a piece of paper on which the phone number was written.

«Here, take it,» she said, handing me the piece. «I hope it’s nothing urgent.» «No, nothing that couldn’t wait until Monday,» I assured her.

«Thank you for your help.» The elderly woman nodded and closed the door, and I remained standing on the landing with a piece of paper in my hand. Now I had a way to contact Sarah directly.

But is it worth calling her? What will I say on the phone? Such news isn’t delivered remotely. I went downstairs and left the entrance. The day was warm and sunny, a typical summer day.

People around were hurrying about their business, cars were noisy, children were playing somewhere. Ordinary, everyday life, which contrasted so much with the chaos reigning in my soul. I found the nearest cafe and went in to have a snack and think about further actions.

Ordering a salad and tea, I took out my phone and looked at the written number. Call or not call? I could just say that I’m calling on work matters, introduce myself as a colleague, as I presented myself to the neighbor. And then, in the course of the conversation, find out where exactly the cottage is, and go there.

But wouldn’t it look strange and suspicious? While I was thinking, they brought my order. I mechanically chewed the salad, almost not feeling the taste, and continued to weigh all the pros and cons. The decision came unexpectedly.

I’ll call John. Right now. I’ll say that I know about his second family, and demand explanations.

After all, he was the main culprit of this whole situation, so why not start clarifying the relationship with him? I dialed my husband’s number, preparing for a difficult conversation. But after several beeps, voicemail turned on. John was unavailable.

Maybe he was at a meeting, or in the subway, or just didn’t want to answer calls. In any case, this path turned out to be a dead end. I returned to the original plan.

I needed to find a way to meet Sarah face to face. And if for this I have to go to the cottage in the Springfield district, then so be it. I opened the map on my phone and looked where the Springfield district is.

About an hour’s drive from Boston. Not so far. But the problem was that I didn’t know the exact address.

Springfield district. Not the most precise location for searches. I looked at the written phone number again.

Maybe I should call after all? What do I have to lose? Having made up my mind, I dialed the number. My heart was pounding so hard that it seemed its beating was heard by all the cafe visitors. After several beeps, a female voice was heard.

Hello? It was the same voice I heard on the video from the flash drive. The voice of the woman who was my husband’s wife, much longer than me. Hello, Sarah. I said, trying to make my voice sound calm and confident.

Yes, it’s me, she replied. And who is this? I hesitated for a moment. How to introduce myself? Under what pretext to arrange a meeting? My name is Laura, I said, deciding not to give my real name.

I. I need to meet you. It’s about John. There was a pause on the other end of the line.

Then Sarah cautiously asked. John? You. A colleague? Not quite, I replied evasively.

It’s a personal matter. Very important. I would prefer to discuss it in a personal meeting, not over the phone.

Again a pause. I almost physically felt her distrust and alertness. I’m not sure I understand what it’s about, she finally said.

And I’m not in Boston right now. I know. You’re at the cottage, I said. Your neighbor said you’re in the Springfield district.

I could come there if you give me the exact address. You were at my house? There was clear anxiety in her voice. Who are you? What do you need? I understood that I was scaring her, but I saw no other way to achieve a meeting.

Please don’t be afraid, I tried to calm her down. I won’t harm you. I just need to talk to you about John.

About your husband. I said the last words with special emphasis, hoping they would make her think. And again silence.

This time longer. Finally she spoke, and her voice sounded tense. Where do you know John from? I took a deep breath.

The moment of truth. Tell her right now or still wait for a personal meeting? I’m his wife, I simply replied. We’ve been married for six years. On the other end of the line there was a strange sound, like a stifled cry.

Then the connection was interrupted. Sarah hung up. I sat staring at the phone screen, not knowing what to do next.

Call back? But what will I say? She’s obviously shocked, maybe doesn’t believe me. And is unlikely to want to continue the conversation. But I needed to meet her.

I had to find out the truth. The whole truth about John, about his double life, about his secrets. I dialed the number again, but this time Sarah’s phone was turned off or out of coverage.

Apparently, she decided to avoid further communication. Well, if the mountain won’t come to Muhammad, Muhammad will go to the mountain. I decided to go to the Springfield district and look for her cottage.

It was like looking for a needle in a haystack, but I had no other options. Paying for the order, I left the cafe and headed to the subway. I needed to get to the train station from which trains departed in the Springfield direction.

On the train, I continued to think about the situation. What if Sarah really didn’t know about my existence? What if the news about her husband’s second wife was as much a shock to her as the news about her was to me? Maybe that’s why she hung up. From shock and disbelief.

But on the other hand, what if she knew? What if she was aware of John’s double life and actively participated in it? Maybe they together deceived me all these years? From these thoughts, a wave of anger rose inside. How could they? How could John do this to me? And to her? Didn’t he enjoy living in a lie, deceiving two women, playing a double game? The train stopped at the Springfield station, and I got off the platform. Now the most difficult part was ahead.

To find Sarah’s cottage in the whole district, full of cottage settlements. I approached the information stand at the station, hoping to find a map of the district or a list of cottage cooperatives. And indeed, there was such a map.

Cottage settlements were scattered around Springfield like mushrooms after rain. Dozens, if not hundreds of plots, divided into cooperatives with romantic names. Birch, Sunny, Forest.

How to find the right one? I had no idea. But I wasn’t going to give up. I took out my phone and dialed Sarah’s number again.

To my surprise, this time she answered. Almost immediately, as if waiting for my call. «I want to meet you,» she said without preamble.

In an hour at the «Forest Glade» cafe on the outskirts of Springfield. «Do you know where it is?» I replied that I’d find it with the navigator. Good, she continued in the same tense voice.

«And… Come alone. No witnesses, no police. This is a conversation between us.»

Of course, I assured her. I’ll come alone. The connection was interrupted, and I remained standing on the platform with the phone in my hand, not believing my luck.

Sarah herself suggested the meeting. She appointed the place and time herself. So she wanted to talk to me as much as I did to her.

I found the specified cafe in the navigator. It was about two kilometers from the station. I could walk or take a taxi.

I chose the second option to make sure not to be late for the meeting. The taxi arrived at the cafe exactly 45 minutes after the conversation with Sarah. I had 15 minutes left before the appointed time.

I paid the driver and got out of the car. The «Forest Glade» cafe was a small wooden building on the edge of the forest. Nearby was a parking lot with several cars…