Chapter 4: The Secret Buried Before Me
I stared at the photograph Monica sent me until the screen dimmed.
Then I tapped it again.
The image loaded.
And somehow, seeing it a second time hurt more.
Daniel.
Standing outside a courthouse.
Smiling.
Holding the hand of a woman I had never seen.
He looked exactly the way he always looked with me.
Confident.
Relaxed.
Certain.
Like the world belonged to him.
The woman beside him wore a white coat and held a folder against her chest. She looked happy. Comfortable.
Like she trusted him.
Like I had trusted him.
The date at the bottom of the picture made my stomach twist.
Six months before we met.
I whispered the words without realizing it.
“Six months before me.””
My apartment was silent.
Too silent.
I had spent the last two days discovering that the man I loved had a wife, another woman, a child, multiple identities, and secrets I couldn’t even count.
But this picture felt different.
Because Monica wasn’t showing me another lie.
She was showing me a moment.
A moment where Daniel was standing somewhere official, somewhere real, with someone who believed in him.
A moment before he walked into my life and created a new version of himself.
My phone rang.
Monica.
I answered immediately.
“What is this?””
Her voice came quickly.
“You saw it?””
“Yes.””
“Okay.””
“Monica, who is that woman?””
She hesitated.
“I don’t know.””
I froze.
“What do you mean you don’t know?””
“I found the photo in an old file connected to Daniel’s name.””
“Which name?””
“Daniel Whitmore.””
My chest tightened.
“And the courthouse?””
“I checked the date.””
“What happened that day?””
There was a pause.
Then Monica said quietly:
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.””
I stood up.
“You sent me a picture without knowing what it means?””
“I sent it because I thought you should see it.””
“That’s not an answer.””
“I know.””
Her voice softened.
“Tara, I’m scared too.””
The anger in my chest weakened slightly.
Because she sounded exactly how I felt.
Lost.
Confused.
Trying to understand how one person could create so much damage.
“Where did you get it?”” I asked.
“From a storage account.””
“What storage account?””
“One Daniel forgot to log out of.””
I went still.
“Forgot?””
“Yes.””
“What else was there?””
Another pause.
Too long.
“Monica?””
“There were folders.””
“What kind of folders?””
“Folders with women’s names.””
My hand tightened around my phone.
“How many?””
“I counted twelve.””
The room seemed to spin.
Twelve.
Not one.
Not two.
Twelve.
“Women?””
“Yes.””
“Pictures?””
“Yes.””
“Messages?””
“Yes.””
I closed my eyes.
I didn’t want to imagine it.
But my mind did anyway.
Twelve women.
Twelve people who thought they knew him.
Twelve lives connected to the same lie.
“Monica,” I whispered, “what did we get ourselves into?””
She didn’t answer.
Because neither of us knew.
That night, I barely slept.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Daniel.
Not the man from the photograph.
The man from my memories.
The man who brought me soup when I was sick.
The man who danced with me in the kitchen while making breakfast.
The man who held me after my father’s funeral and told me I didn’t have to be strong all the time.
Those memories were the hardest part.
Because villains were easy to hate.
But what happened when the person who hurt you also gave you some of the happiest moments of your life?
I hated that I missed him.
I hated that a part of me still wanted him to walk through my door and explain everything.
I hated that love didn’t disappear just because the truth arrived.
At 2:13 a.m., my phone lit up.
A message.
From Daniel.
*Daniel: Please answer me.*
I stared.
A second message appeared.
*Daniel: I know you’re angry.*
Then:
*Daniel: But you don’t know the full story.*
I almost laughed.
The full story.
Was there ever a full story with him?
I typed:
*Tara: Is there anything you told me that was true?*
The typing bubble appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Finally:
*Daniel: Yes.*
I waited.
Nothing else came.
Just one word.
Yes.
I wanted to believe it.
That was the terrifying part.
The next morning, I made a decision.
I wasn’t going to chase Daniel for answers.
I had spent three years believing everything he said.
I wasn’t going to let him control the truth too.
I called Emily.
My best friend answered after the second ring.
“Tara? Are you okay?””
The concern in her voice almost broke me.
“No.””
A pause.
“What happened?””
I sat down on my couch.
“Do you remember when you said Chris was different?””
“Yes.””
“You were right.””
“Different good?””
I swallowed.
“No.””
I told her everything.
The wife.
The name.
The daughter.
The other women.
The lies.
For several minutes, she said nothing.
Then:
“I’m coming over.””
“You don’t have to.””
“I’m already putting on shoes.””
Despite everything, I smiled slightly.
That was Emily.
She never asked permission to be there.
When Emily arrived, she brought coffee and a notebook.
I looked at her.
“A notebook?””
She shrugged.
“We need facts.””
I almost smiled.
“You sound like a detective.””
“I sound like someone who knows you’re too emotional right now to remember details.””
She sat across from me.
“Start from the beginning.””
So I did.
And as I talked, something strange happened.
The story sounded different when I said it out loud.
The excuses.
The missing details.
The unanswered questions.
Things I had accepted suddenly sounded impossible.
“He never introduced me to his family,” I said.
Emily wrote it down.
“Why?””
“He said his parents lived far away.””
“Did you ever talk to them?””
“No.””
“Friends?””
“A few.””
“Real friends?””
I stopped.
“I don’t know.””
Emily looked at me.
“That’s the part that scares me.””
“What?””
“You were with someone for three years, and you don’t know anyone who knew him before you.””
The words hurt because they were true.
That afternoon, Monica called again.
This time, her voice was urgent.
“Tara, I found Rebecca.””
I stood immediately.
“What?””
“I found Daniel’s wife.””
“Where?””
“I tracked the courthouse records.””
“Is she okay?””
A pause.
“She disappeared.””
My stomach dropped.
“What?””
“She hasn’t been seen publicly in months.””
“Why?””
“I don’t know.””
“Where is Lily?””
“She’s with family.””
The relief was small.
But it was there.
“What about Daniel?””
Monica lowered her voice.
“I think he knows we’re looking.””
“How?””
“Because someone accessed the storage account after I found the folders.””
I froze.
“Can he see what we’re doing?””
“I don’t know.””
“Monica.””
“I know.””
Her voice shook.
“I know.””
Then I heard something.
A sound in the background.
A door closing.
“Where are you?”” I asked.
“Home.””
“Are you alone?””
Silence.
Then:
“Tara…”
“What?””
“I think someone is outside.””
My heart began racing.
“Lock your door.””
“I did.””
“Call the police.””
Another sound.
Closer.
Monica whispered:
“Tara, I think it’s him.””
The call went silent.
“Monica?””
Nothing.
“Monica!””
Then the line disconnected.
I grabbed my phone and called back.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
I didn’t think.
I just grabbed my keys.
But before I reached the door, my phone buzzed.
A new message.
Not from Monica.
Not from Daniel.
From an unknown number.
One photo.
One sentence.
The photo showed Monica’s front door.
Taken from outside.
May you like
The message said:
*You should have stopped digging.*
