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…

What secret could be there? What important thing did John keep in this file? I remembered that the flash drive had scans of passports with different surnames. Maybe one of them belonged to this mysterious Victor? I opened the folder with passports again and carefully viewed each document. And indeed, on one of them was the name – Victor Smith.

But the photo was John’s. It turns out Victor. Is one of my husband’s alter egos.

One of his numerous personalities. My head was spinning from all these discoveries. Who really was the man I lived with for six years? An ordinary manager? A master of double life? A criminal with several passports? Or someone else I didn’t even guess about? It was well past midnight when I finally turned off the computer and went to bed.

Fatigue took its toll, and I almost immediately fell into a deep, restless sleep, full of strange visions and vague fears. I woke up to the sound of an incoming message on my phone. It was early morning, outside the window it was just beginning to dawn.

I took the phone and looked at the screen. The message was from Sarah. I have problems. Someone broke into the door at the cottage.

David and I are safe, but I’m afraid to return to Boston. What if they come there too? I immediately called her back, but the phone was out of coverage. Tried to send a message.

Not delivered. What was happening? Who could have broken into the door at the cottage? And most importantly. Is this related to our conversation about John? Not knowing what else to do, I decided to return to Springfield, find Sarah’s cottage, and make sure she and her son are okay.

Perhaps it was paranoia, but after everything I’d learned in the last two days, any oddity seemed a potential threat. Quickly getting ready, I checked out of the hotel and hurried to the station. Fortunately, the first train in the Springfield direction left in 20 minutes.

I bought a ticket and took a seat in a half-empty car. The road seemed endlessly long. I couldn’t find a place for myself from worry.

What if something really happened to Sarah? What if all those talks about danger weren’t empty words, but a real warning? Finally, the train arrived in Springfield. I immediately headed to the taxi stand, intending to go to the «Forest Glade» cafe where we met Sarah yesterday. From there I could start searching for her cottage.

The taxi driver, an elderly man with a friendly face, listened with interest to my request. «To the Forest Glade?» he asked. — It’s a bit far.

And why do you need there so early? The cafe is still closed. I’m looking for a friend, I explained. She’s at the cottage somewhere in this area, but I don’t know the exact address. We agreed to meet at the cafe, but she doesn’t answer calls.

The taxi driver nodded understandingly. And what’s your friend’s name? Maybe I know her. I’ve been taxiing in these parts for 20 years, I know all the local cottagers.

Sarah Miller, I replied, not particularly hoping for luck. With son David. To my surprise, the taxi driver’s face lit up. Ah, the Millers.

Of course I know them. Good people. Their cottage is in Sunny, right behind the Forest Glade.

Want me to take you. I couldn’t believe my luck. Is it really going to be that simple? Yes, please, take me to them, I agreed. The journey took about 20 minutes.

We drove past the closed «Forest Glade» cafe, turned onto a dirt road and soon found ourselves at the gates of a cottage settlement with a sign «Sunny». «The Millers’ cottage is that green one with white shutters,» the taxi driver pointed, stopping the car at the curb. Only strange, their car isn’t there.

Maybe they left already? I paid the taxi driver and got out of the car. Indeed, there was no car visible on the plot. Maybe Sarah and David had already left? Or they didn’t come to the cottage this weekend at all, and the message was false? But why did Sarah write about the broken door? And why didn’t she answer my calls and messages? I approached the gate and carefully pushed it.

Unlocked. It seemed strange. If Sarah feared for her safety, shouldn’t she have locked all doors and gates? The plot was well-kept, with neat beds and flower beds.

The two-story house with a veranda looked cozy and well-maintained. I approached the front door and immediately noticed signs of break-in. The lock was broken out, the door held only on the upper hinge.

My heart pounded with anxiety. Something really happened. Someone really broke the door.

But where is Sarah? Where is David? I carefully pushed the door and entered inside. Sarah? I called. David? Is anyone home? In response. Silence.

The house seemed empty. I passed through the hallway into the living room. Complete disorder reigned here.

Furniture overturned, drawers pulled out, contents scattered on the floor. It seemed someone was looking for something and did it in a hurry, not caring about the safety of things. I went up to the second floor. The same picture.

Devastation, chaos, scattered things. In one of the rooms, apparently David’s bedroom, school textbooks, sports uniform, posters torn from the walls were lying around. In another, probably Sarah’s bedroom, the contents of the closet were gutted onto the bed, the drawers of the bedside table pulled out.

What happened here? Who arranged this pogrom? And most importantly, where were Sarah and David? I went back down and examined the kitchen. The disorder here was less, but still noticeable. On the table stood two cups with unfinished tea.

So they were here when the intrusion happened. Maybe they heard something, tried to hide? But where? And why didn’t Sarah answer my calls and messages? I went out to the back veranda. From here there was a view of the garden and a small forest behind it.

Maybe they ran there? Hid among the trees. Sarah. I shouted. David.

It’s me, Emily. Are you here? In response. Only the rustle of leaves and bird chirping.

It seemed there was no one on the plot. But where could they have gone? They had no car, the nearest settlement was several kilometers away. I returned to the house, feeling growing anxiety.

Something clearly happened, something bad. But what exactly, and how is it related to John and his secrets? Examining the living room, I noticed something shiny under the overturned armchair. Bending down, I picked up the object.

It was a mobile phone. The screen was broken, but the device still worked. I pressed the button and saw the screensaver.

A photo of Sarah with David. It was her phone, the same one from which she sent me the morning message. So she was here when she wrote to me.

And, apparently, soon after that, something happened. Something that made her drop the phone and run. Or.

Or she was forced to run. This thought sent a chill down my spine. What if Sarah and David didn’t just hide? What if they were kidnapped? What if all those talks about danger weren’t empty words, but a real warning? But who could have kidnapped them? And why? Is this related to John, to his secret affairs? Or to our meeting yesterday? Maybe someone was watching us, found out what we were discussing, and decided to take action? I didn’t know what to do. Call the police? But what will I say? That my husband’s wife, with whom he is in bigamy, disappeared with her son after our meeting, where we discussed his double life.

It sounded like the ravings of a madman. I decided to examine the house again, hoping to find some clue, some trace indicating what happened to Sarah and David. In the office, which, judging by the furnishings, belonged to John, there was the same disorder as in the other rooms.

The desk drawers were pulled out, papers scattered, books thrown from the shelves. I began to look through the scattered documents, hoping to find something useful. Most of the papers turned out to be ordinary household bills, receipts, old letters.

Nothing that could explain what happened. But in one of the books lying on the floor, I found an inserted sheet of paper. It was handwritten text, written in handwriting that I immediately recognized.

John’s handwriting. «Sarah, if you’re reading this, then my fears have come true. They found out about you and David.

Don’t try to contact me, don’t stay at home, it’s unsafe. Go to Cleveland, to my aunt Mary. You know the address.

It will be safe there, at least for a while. And don’t tell anyone about Laura. No one, do you hear? It’s a matter of life and death.»

I reread the note several times, trying to understand its meaning. John warned Sarah about danger. Said that some they found out about her and David.

Advised to go to Cleveland, to some aunt Mary. And asked not to tell anyone about Laura. Laura? Who is Laura? Another woman in John’s life.

Another secret. And who are these they that John wrote about? Who posed a threat to Sarah and David? And is this related to his double life, to his secret affairs? Questions multiplied, and answers still weren’t there. But one thing became clear.

Sarah most likely found this note and, following John’s instructions, went to Cleveland. Probably that’s why she didn’t answer my calls and messages. She was on the run, trying to hide from some unknown threat.

But what should I do? Go to Cleveland, look for this aunt Mary? Or return home, barricade myself in the apartment and wait for John’s return, demanding explanations? Or maybe still go to the police, tell everything I know, and let them figure it out? I didn’t have time to make a decision. Outside, the sound of an approaching car was heard. I looked out the window and saw a black SUV stopping at the gate.

Two men in dark suits got out of it, very similar to special services agents from movies. My heart sank. Who are these people? What do they need? Are they related to the disappearance of Sarah and David? And most importantly.

Do they pose a threat to me? I decided not to wait for a meeting with the strangers. Quickly hiding John’s note in my pocket, I slipped out through the back door and rushed to the forest. If these people were really dangerous, it was better to stay away from them.

I ran among the trees, trying to move silently and leave no traces. Behind me, voices were heard. The men discovered that the house was empty, and now, apparently, were inspecting the territory.

I needed to go as far as possible, as fast as possible. I don’t know how long I ran through the forest. Maybe an hour, maybe more. Finally, exhausted, I stopped at a small stream.

I listened. There seemed to be no pursuit. Either the men didn’t notice my escape, or they decided there was no point in pursuing a random guest.

I sat on a fallen tree and tried to collect my thoughts. What’s going on? Who are these people? Why did John warn Sarah about danger? And most importantly, what should I do now? First, I needed to get out of the forest and return to civilization. Then, then I’ll decide where to go.

To Cleveland, to look for Sarah. Home? To the police? I took out my phone to check if there was a signal, and froze. The screen showed a notification of a missed call.

From John. He called just 10 minutes ago, when I was in the forest, where the signal apparently dropped.With trembling fingers, I pressed the callback button. Beeps.

One, two, three. I thought he wouldn’t answer, when his voice sounded on the other end. So familiar and at the same time so strange.

Emily? Where are you? There was tension, anxiety in his voice. I didn’t know what to answer. Tell the truth? Lie? Pretend I know nothing about his double life? In the forest, I finally replied.

Not far from your wife Sarah’s cottage. The same one you forgot to mention in 6 years of our marriage. There was silence on the other end of the line.

Then John quietly said. You know. Not a question, but a statement.

He understood that his secret was revealed. Yes, John, I know, I confirmed. I know that you’re married to another woman for 16 years. I know that you have a teenage son.

I know that our whole life was a lie. Not all, he objected. Not all, Emily…