Chapter 6: The Secret Hidden Between the Dates
I called Camille before I could talk myself out of it.
She answered on the second ring.
“Nia?””
Her voice was low and strained.
“Camille, what is happening?””
“I was hoping you'd call.””
“You said Darius found my notebook. How do you know that?””
There was a pause.
“I was at his place earlier this week. He asked me to help him find some paperwork in the bedroom. When I opened the drawer, I saw a black notebook underneath some college papers.””
My stomach tightened.
“What did he do?””
“He took it out of my hands almost immediately. He said it was personal and that I shouldn't read it.””
“Did you?””
“Not then.””
I pressed my fingers against my forehead.
“Camille, I wrote down things that happened between us. Arguments. Threats.
Dates. I never wanted anyone else to see it.””
“I understand.””
“No, I don't think you do. He knows I kept records now.””
“I know, and that's why I'm calling.””
Her voice trembled.
“Darius isn't just worried about what you wrote about him hurting you. He's worried about something else you found.””
I sat straighter.
“What does that mean?””
Camille exhaled.
“Last month, he came to my house asking for money. He said he was behind on a few bills. I offered to help him make a budget, but he got defensive.
Then I saw a notification on his phone from a company I didn't recognize. When I asked him about it, he told me it was none of my business.””
“What company?””
“I don't remember the exact name. Something about lending.””
I closed my eyes.
The memory returned slowly.
Three weeks earlier, Darius had left his phone charging on the kitchen counter. A message appeared while I was cleaning up after dinner.
It was from a lender.
The notification mentioned a payment, an account balance, and a name that wasn't mine.
At the time, I assumed he had taken out a personal loan. We kept most of our finances separate, so I hadn't questioned it.
But later that night, I noticed an envelope from a financial company among the papers on his desk.
My name appeared on the front.
I opened it because I thought it might be a joint utility bill.
Inside was a letter referring to an account I had never opened.
When I asked Darius about it, he snatched the letter from my hands.
He told me it was a mistake.
He said the company had mixed up our information because we lived together.
When I tried to look at the letter again, he accused me of invading his privacy.
I had written the date in my notebook.
I had also written down the account number printed on the page, though I hadn't understood what it meant.
“Camille,” I whispered, “I think he used my information for something.””
She went silent.
Then she asked, “What do you mean?””
I explained about the letter and the strange notification.
Camille let out a shaky breath.
“Oh, Nia.””
“What?””
“I think you need to check your credit reports and contact the company through an official channel. Don't assume we know exactly what happened until you have the records.””
Her caution made sense, but it didn't calm me.
“Why would he put my name on an account?””
“I don't know.””
“Did he tell you anything?””
“No. But when I asked him about money, he said he had everything under control. Then he told me that if anybody asked, I should say he'd been paying his bills on time.””
I stared at the wall.
“Why would he ask you that?””
“I thought he was embarrassed about being in debt.””
“And now?””
“Now I don't know what to think.””
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Camille said, “There's something else.””
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“What?””
“When he called me today, he wasn't just angry. He was scared.””
“Scared of the police?””
“Maybe. But he kept asking whether I'd told you anything about his finances. He wanted to know if I'd seen your notebook before.””
I swallowed.
“What did you tell him?””
“I told him I hadn't read it. Which was true at the time.””
“Did he ask you to get it?””
“Yes.””
My stomach dropped.
“What?””
“He wanted me to go to the house and find it. He said it belonged to him because everything in the house was shared property.””
I stared at the floor.
“And you said no?””
“I told him I wasn't getting involved. Nia, I don't know everything he's done, but I know he was trying to keep you from seeing something.””
I covered my mouth with my hand.
For months, I had believed that our arguments were the biggest problem in my life.
Now I was beginning to wonder whether the man who had made me afraid to leave had also used my trust for something much more calculated.
“Camille,” I said carefully, “do you know whether he has access to my personal information?””
“I can't say for sure. But you should change your passwords, contact your bank, and check your credit reports. If you find an account you didn't authorize, ask the relevant institution how to dispute it and report suspected identity theft.””
Her words were practical.
They were also terrifying.
Because they meant there was something I could do besides wait for Darius to explain himself.
After the call ended, I told my mother everything.
She listened without interrupting. When I finished, she stood and walked to the bedroom door.
“I'm going to get your father.””
“Please don't tell him to go over there.””
She turned back immediately.
“I won't. Nobody is going to confront Darius on your behalf without thinking about your safety first.””
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
My father came upstairs a few minutes later, followed by Uncle Leon.
I explained the notebook and the financial letter.
My father listened with his hands clasped in front of him.
When I finished, he asked, “Do you still have any photographs of that letter?””
“I might have taken one. I need to check my phone.””
“Then we'll look for it. After that, we'll contact the appropriate financial institutions and ask what accounts are associated with your information.””
Uncle Leon nodded.
“And nobody needs to go back to that house tonight.””
I retrieved my phone and searched through my photographs.
For several minutes, I found nothing.
Then, buried between pictures of a birthday cake and a receipt from the grocery store, I found it.
A photograph of the envelope and the letter inside.
My hands began shaking.
I zoomed in on the page.
The lender's name was visible. So was an account reference number. The letter stated that an application had been processed using my personal information.
I read the words again.
Then I handed the phone to my father.
He studied the image carefully.
“Did you sign anything for this account?””
“No.””
“Did you authorize Darius to apply for credit in your name?””
“No.””
“Then we need to establish exactly what this is before drawing conclusions.””
My uncle pulled a chair closer.
“Save the original image. Don't edit it. We should also write down when you received the letter and what Darius said when you asked him about it.””
I opened my notebook app and recorded the details.
For the first time, I wasn't writing down what had happened so I could convince myself it was real.
I was documenting something that might have consequences beyond our relationship.
My father sat beside me.
“I'm proud of you for keeping records.””
I looked at him.
“I wish I'd understood what I was looking at.””
“You weren't given all the information. That's not your fault.””
My mother returned with a glass of water.
“Let's start with the bank and the credit reporting agencies tomorrow morning. We can also contact an identity-theft support service to understand what steps are appropriate.””
I nodded.
Then I remembered something else.
“Daddy, Darius asked me once whether I'd written anything down about our arguments.””
My father looked at me sharply.
“When?””
“About two weeks ago. I was putting away laundry, and he asked why I kept disappearing into the bedroom with my phone. I told him I was texting my mother.””
“What did he say?””
“He said I needed to stop collecting evidence against him.””
The room fell silent.
My uncle leaned back in his chair.
“That sounds like he suspected you were documenting things.””
“Maybe,” I said.
“But I don't know whether he knew about the notebook then.””
My father nodded slowly.
“We'll keep those details together. One step at a time.””
I looked at the photograph again.
The account reference number seemed impossibly small on the screen.
Yet it represented something I couldn't ignore.
If someone had opened an account in my name without permission, it could affect my credit, my finances, and my future. It could make it harder to rent an apartment, finance a car, or qualify for a loan of my own.
I thought about the nursing program I had postponed.
I thought about the money I had saved before Darius convinced me we needed to use it for household expenses.
And I thought about how often he had told me I couldn't manage things without him.
My chest tightened.
“I need to know what he did.””
My father placed a hand over mine.
“Then we'll find out through the proper channels.””
That night, I barely slept.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Darius standing in the living room, shouting that I had made him hurt me.
Then I saw the envelope with my name on it.
Two different kinds of fear.
One I had learned to live with.
The other I was only beginning to understand.
At 7:14 the next morning, I called the lender using the customer service number listed on its official website.
After verifying my identity, I explained that I had received correspondence about an account I did not recognize and had not knowingly authorized.
The representative transferred me to a specialist.
She asked a series of questions, including whether I had ever applied for credit with the company and whether I recognized the address associated with the application.
When I said I did not, she explained how to open a fraud investigation.
She would not disclose private account details before completing the required verification, and she could not promise an immediate resolution.
But she confirmed that I could formally dispute an account I believed had been opened without my permission.
I submitted the dispute.
Then, with my father's help, I began checking my credit reports and reviewing my bank statements for unfamiliar transactions.
At first, I found nothing conclusive.
Then I saw a recent inquiry from another lender.
I didn't recognize that company either.
My mouth went dry.
“Daddy?””
He leaned over to look at the screen.
“What's that one?””
“I don't know.””
We wrote down the name and the date, then contacted the company through its official customer service channel.
The representative confirmed that an application had been submitted using my information. The investigation was still pending, and she could not yet tell me who had submitted it.
I requested the application records and asked what steps I should take to dispute it.
When the call ended, I sat motionless at the kitchen table.
My father pulled out the chair beside me.
“We don't know the whole story yet,” he said.
“But we're asking the right questions.””
I nodded.
Then my phone rang.
Darius.
I stared at the screen until the call stopped.
A message arrived almost immediately.
*Darius:* We need to talk about that letter.
My heart began pounding.
Another message followed.
*Darius:* I can explain everything. Just don't tell your father.
I looked at my father.
He read the message without touching my phone.
“Do you want to respond?””
I shook my head.
“No.””
I placed the phone on the table.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then another message appeared.
*Darius:* You don't understand what will happen if you report that account.
My father slowly straightened.
Uncle Leon, who had been standing near the kitchen doorway, turned toward us.
I read the message twice.
The first time, I felt afraid.
The second time, I felt something different.
Darius knew I had found the letter.
He knew I was asking questions.
And he was trying to frighten me into stopping.
I saved the message and added it to the records I was keeping.
Then I placed my phone facedown.
“I want to report everything,” I said.
My father nodded.
“Then we'll help you do that safely.””
But before we could make another call, my phone vibrated again.
This time, it wasn't Darius.
It was Camille.
She had sent a photograph of a document.
The image was slightly crooked, as though she had taken it in a hurry.
At the top was Darius's name.
Beneath it was a list of outstanding debts.
And halfway down the page, beside a figure large enough to make my stomach turn, was a line that included my full name.
Camille's message underneath contained only eight words.
*Camille:* Nia, I think there are more accounts than we knew.
I stared at the photograph.
Then I zoomed in on the date printed beside my name.
It was from nearly a year before Darius and I had moved in together.
Before we shared bills.
May you like
Before he had any reason to claim our finances were connected.
And before I had ever given him permission to use my information for anything at all.