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 really love you. That was never a lie. I smiled bitterly.

Love? And that’s why all these years you lied to me. Led a double life. Cheated with a woman who considered herself your only wife? If this is love, then I don’t want to know what hatred is for you.

John sighed. It’s more complicated than you think, Emily. Much more complicated.

But now is not the time for explanations. You’re in danger. Both of you are in danger.

Sarah and David have already hidden, you need to leave too. Immediately. His words sent a chill down my spine.

In danger? From whom? From the people who are looking for me, he replied. I can’t explain now. Just listen to me, for God’s sake.

Leave Springfield. Go home, collect the essentials and go to Cleveland. Pushkin Street, house 101.

Ask for Mary. Say it’s from me. She’ll help.

But. I started, but John interrupted me. No «buts», Emily.

It’s a matter of life and death. Your life and death. Do as I say.

And… Be careful. They might be following you. And he hung up, leaving me in complete confusion.

What’s going on? Who are these people looking for him? Why does he think I’m in danger? And why should I believe him after everything I’ve learned? But on the other hand, his anxiety seemed sincere. And those two men at Sarah’s cottage did look suspicious. What if John was telling the truth, and I really was in danger.

I decided not to risk it. Getting out of the forest, I found a road leading to the nearest village. There I managed to catch a ride to Springfield, and from there I took the first train home.

The whole way I couldn’t stop thinking about the situation I found myself in. Who was John really? Why were some people hunting him? And how serious was the threat to me and to Sarah with David? Returning home, the first thing I did was check the apartment. Everything was as I left it.

The mess in the bedroom after the broken cactus pot, the turned-on computer on the table in the living room, the unwashed cup in the kitchen. No signs of intrusion, no indications that someone had been here in my absence. I went to the bookshelf where the box found in the cactus pot stood.

I took it in my hands and examined it carefully. An ordinary metal box, slightly rusty, with a small keyhole. Nothing special.

But Sarah suggested that the box might have a false bottom. What if she’s right? What if there are really some documents hidden there that John talked about in his video messages? I turned the box over and began to tap the bottom, looking for some irregularities, hidden mechanisms. And indeed, in one place the sound was duller, as if there was something under the metal plate.

I carefully examined the bottom part of the box and noticed a small, almost invisible button at the very edge. I pressed it, and part of the bottom slid aside, revealing a small secret compartment. Inside lay a folded in quarters sheet of paper.

I unfolded it and saw handwritten text. The handwriting was unfamiliar, not John’s. Coordinates.

54, 36. 39, 12. Key in the cavity of the third molar right top.

Documents encrypted. Key. Date of birth Mpv in order of letters.

Access code to the account. First five digits after the decimal point of Pi plus year of acquaintance. I reread the text several times, trying to understand its meaning.

Coordinates of some place. Key in a tooth. Encrypted documents.

All this sounded like a spy thriller, not like the real life of an ordinary supply manager. But John, as I now understood, was not an ordinary manager. He led a double life, had several passports with different surnames, warned of some danger.

Who was he really? A spy? A criminal? A person hiding from justice or from some dark personalities? I decided to check the coordinates. I opened the map on the computer and entered the numbers. 54, 36 north latitude, 39, 12 east longitude.

The map showed a place in Pennsylvania woods, away from populated areas. Some forest or field. What could be hidden there? And how is this related to John and his secrets? The rest of the note was even more mysterious.

Key in the cavity of the third molar right top. What does that mean? Whose molar is that? John’s? The note’s author? And what encrypted documents? Where are they? On the same flash drive I found in the cactus pot? And how to decrypt the key? Date of birth M plus V in order of letters. M. That’s probably John.

But who is V? And the last part. Access code to the account. First five digits after the decimal point of Pi plus year of acquaintance.

I remembered Pi from school. 3.14159. So, first five digits after the decimal point.

1,4,1,5,9. And year of acquaintance? If it’s about the year of my acquaintance with John, then it’s 2016. So, the code.

1,4,1,5,9,2,0,1,6. But what account was it about? John and I had a joint bank account, but I knew the access code to it, and it was completely different. Maybe there was some other account that I didn’t know about? Questions were becoming more, and answers still weren’t there.

But there was no time left for reflection. John said I was in danger, and although I wasn’t sure if I could trust him after everything I learned, his anxiety seemed sincere. Besides, those two men at the cottage looked really suspicious. I decided to follow John’s advice and go to Cleveland, to this mysterious aunt Mary.

Maybe there I’ll find Sarah and David. Maybe there I’ll learn the whole truth about John and his secrets. Or maybe there I’ll really be safe from those who might be hunting me.

Quickly packing the essentials in a small bag, I looked around the apartment once more. Six years of life in these walls. Six years that turned out to be built on lies.

It was painful to realize this, but even more painful was the uncertainty. What awaits me next? Will I ever see this home again? And will I see John? I closed the door and went down. It was quiet outside, nothing foreshadowed danger.

But after John’s words, I became suspicious. It seemed to me that an observer was hiding behind every corner, that every passing car was following me. Getting to the station, I bought a ticket for the nearest train to Cleveland.

Waiting for boarding, I nervously looked around, looking for suspicious individuals. But no one paid attention to me. Ordinary passengers hurrying about their business.

The train arrived on schedule, and I took my seat by the window. When the train started, I finally allowed myself to relax a little. Whatever awaited me in Cleveland, at least I was on the move, not sitting at home waiting for an unknown danger to find me.

Outside the window flashed familiar landscapes. The city, gradually replaced by suburbs, then fields, forests, small villages. An ordinary, peaceful landscape that contrasted so much with the chaos in my soul.

Thoughts returned to John, to his double life, to his secrets. Who was he really? Why did he lead such a strange, split life? And most importantly. Did he ever truly love me? Or was I just part of some complex game? Recalling our years together, I tried to find signs indicating his deception.

Were there moments when he let slip? When his mask slipped, showing his true face? Nothing specific came to mind. John had always been an attentive, caring husband. Yes, he had frequent business trips, strange calls, inexplicable absences.

But I attributed all that to the peculiarities of his work, to his stressful schedule. I never suspected that behind these small oddities hid a whole second life. How did he manage to lead a double life for so many years? How did he allocate time between two families? How did he remember who he told what, what stories he told? It required incredible organization, almost acting talent.

Or… or pathological ability to lie. The train arrived in Cleveland in two hours. I got off the platform and immediately headed to the taxi stand.

Gave the driver the address. Pushkin Street, house 101. The journey took about 20 minutes.

The car stopped at a small one-story house with a neat front garden. Nothing special. An ordinary house in a quiet area of a provincial city.

Who lived here? Really some aunt of John’s? And was she aware of his double life? I paid the driver, took my bag and approached the gate. For a moment, doubt seized me. What will I say to the hostess? How will I explain my appearance? But there was nowhere to retreat.

I opened the gate and walked along the path to the front door. Taking a deep breath, I pressed the doorbell button. Several long seconds passed before the door opened.

On the threshold stood an elderly woman about 70, with a kind, wrinkled face and attentive eyes. «Hello,» I said. — Are you Mary? The woman nodded, carefully examining me. — Yes, it’s me. And who are you? — My name is Emily, — I replied. — Emily Anderson.

I. I’m from John. At the mention of John’s name, the woman’s face changed. Anxiety and alertness flashed in her gaze.

— Come in, — she said quickly, stepping aside and letting me into the house. — No need to stand on the threshold. I entered inside, and Mary immediately locked the door with all the locks.

There were at least three of them, which seemed strange to me for a quiet provincial town. — Follow me, — she said, and led me through a small hallway into the living room. The room was cozy and clean, with furniture that seemed not to have changed since the Soviet times.

A sofa with a knitted cover, a sideboard with crystal dishes, a TV on a stand, bookshelves along the wall. Everything spoke of the measured, calm life of an elderly woman. Nothing hinted at any secrets or dangers.

But my attention was attracted not by the interior details, but by the people sitting on the sofa. Sarah and David. They were here, safe and sound.

— Emily! — Sarah exclaimed, jumping up from the sofa. — Thank God you’re here too. We were so worried.

She approached me and hugged me tightly, like an old friend. David, a thin teenager with a face in which John’s features were easily guessed, looked at me with curiosity and some alertness. — You know each other? — Mary asked in surprise, shifting her gaze from me to Sarah.

— Yes, — Sarah replied. — We met yesterday. Emily.

She’s John’s wife. The other one. Mary shook her head.

— Oh, John, John. What have you done? I sank into an armchair, feeling the tension of the last days beginning to let go. At least Sarah and David were safe.

And I, apparently, too. For now. Tell me what happened, — I asked, addressing Sarah.

— Who broke into the door at the cottage? Why did you run away? Sarah sat down next to me and began to tell. After our conversation in the cafe, I returned to the cottage and told David the truth. Not all, of course, omitted some details, but explained that his father leads a double life, that he has another wife…