Chapter 3: The Secret Behind the Second Phone
I read the message three more times.
*Ask Andre why he was at my house the night he disappeared.*
My fingers went numb around the phone.
The words didn’t make sense.
Not because they were complicated.
Because they were impossible.
Andre had never mentioned another house.
Another woman.
Another secret.
I pressed the phone against my ear.
“Who is this person?””
Andre didn’t answer immediately.
And that silence told me more than his words ever could.
“Andre.””
“Naomi, I need you to listen carefully.””
My jaw tightened.
“No. I need you to answer me.””
“I’m trying to protect you.””
“From what?””
The line went quiet.
Then he said, “I can’t explain this over the phone.””
A sharp laugh escaped my mouth.
“Of course you can’t.””
“Naomi—”
“No, seriously. That’s your answer now? Every time something terrible happens, you need more time?””
“It’s not like that.””
“Isn’t it?””
I looked around the bedroom.
At the wedding photo on my nightstand.
At the picture of our daughter between us, both of us smiling like we had all the answers.
“How many things have you hidden from me?””
“Not everything is what it looks like.””
I closed my eyes.
That sentence.
The oldest sentence people used when they wanted you to doubt what you already knew.
“Come home.””
There was a pause.
“I can’t.””
The words landed harder than I expected.
Even after everything.
Even after Vanessa.
Some foolish part of me still expected him to say yes.
To come through the door.
To explain.
To fix it.
“You can’t,” I repeated.
“I need to handle something first.””
“What thing?””
Silence.
“Andre.””
“I’ll come by this afternoon.””
“No.””
My voice surprised even me.
“What?””
“You don’t get to decide when you show up anymore.””
“Naomi—”
“I spent last night wondering if my entire marriage was a lie.””
“I know.””
“No, you don’t.””
I hung up.
My hand shook as I lowered the phone.
I wanted to throw it.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to wake up and discover that the last twelve hours had been some horrible nightmare.
But then Emma stirred beside me.
“Mom?””
I quickly wiped my face.
“Yeah, baby?””
“Are you crying?””
I forced myself to smile.
“No.””
She sat up.
“You are.””
Children were cruelly honest.
I moved closer and brushed her hair away from her face.
“Sometimes grown-ups get sad.””
“Because of Dad?””
I didn’t answer.
And she didn’t need me to.
Her eyes dropped.
“Did I do something?””
My heart shattered.
“No.””
I held her tightly.
“Never. Not even for one second.””
“But you and Dad were happy before.””
The way she said it made me freeze.
Before.
Like she had already noticed the change.
“When did you think we weren’t happy?””
She shrugged.
“Before Christmas.””
I frowned.
“What happened before Christmas?””
“Dad started sleeping on the couch.””
My breath caught.
“He told you that?””
“No.””
She looked confused.
“I saw him.””
I stared at her.
I remembered that night.
I had woken up around three in the morning and found Andre asleep downstairs.
I thought he had fallen asleep watching television.
I thought he was tired.
I thought a hundred harmless things.
Because believing was easier than knowing.
“Emma,” I said softly, “did Dad say why?””
She shook her head.
“He just looked sad.””
Sad.
That word followed me all day.
Because it was easier to hate a villain.
But Andre wasn’t acting like one.
He was acting like someone who had lost control of his own life.
And somehow, that made everything more confusing.
By noon, I had cleaned the entire house.
Not because it needed cleaning.
Because I needed something my hands could control.
I folded laundry that was already folded.
I wiped counters that were already spotless.
I reorganized a drawer three times.
Anything to stop myself from thinking.
Then I found it.
The receipt.
It was buried inside Andre’s old jacket hanging in the hall closet.
I almost ignored it.
Almost.
But then I saw the name.
A place I didn’t recognize.
*Westbridge Suites.*
A hotel.
My stomach tightened.
I turned the receipt over.
The date was three months earlier.
The same week Andre had told me he was visiting a client overnight.
I remembered that night.
He had kissed my forehead.
“I hate being away from you.””
I had smiled.
“I know.””
I had believed him.
My hands tightened around the paper.
Then I noticed something else.
A second charge.
Not a room.
A storage locker.
I stared.
Why would a hotel have a storage locker?
My phone buzzed.
I jumped.
A message.
From Andre.
*Please don’t go looking for things you’re not ready to find.*
I froze.
I hadn’t told him about the receipt.
I hadn’t told him where I was.
Slowly, I typed back.
*How do you know what I’m doing?*
The reply came almost instantly.
*Because I know you.*
I stared at those words.
Then another message appeared.
*And because I know what you found.*
My heart started racing.
I looked around the empty house.
For the first time, I wondered something I had never allowed myself to wonder.
Was Andre watching me?
Not physically.
But somehow.
Through secrets.
Through information.
Through things I didn’t understand.
I called him.
He answered after one ring.
“Naomi.””
“How did you know about the receipt?””
Silence.
“Answer me.””
“I saw it when I left.””
“You went through my things?””
“No.””
“Then how?””
Another pause.
“I know because I put it there.””
I stopped breathing.
“What?””
“The receipt.””
“You put it in your jacket?””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
His voice became quieter.
“Because I wanted you to find it.””
I stood frozen in the hallway.
“Why would you want me to find proof that you lied to me?””
“Because I needed you to start asking questions.””
I laughed once.
A cold, angry sound.
“You cheated on me and now you want me to investigate?””
“It’s not that simple.””
“You keep saying that.””
“Because it’s true.””
I gripped the phone.
“Then explain.””
“I can’t.””
“Why?””
“Because if I tell you over the phone, you’ll only hear the part that hurts.””
“And what part is that?””
A long silence.
Then:
“The part where I made the worst mistake of my life.””
I swallowed.
“Being with Vanessa?””
“No.””
The answer came immediately.
And that scared me.
“Then what?””
He didn’t speak.
“Andre.””
Finally, he said:
“Trusting the wrong person.””
My skin prickled.
“What does that mean?””
Before he could answer, there was a knock at the door.
I looked toward the entrance.
My heart stopped.
Nobody was supposed to be here.
“Naomi?””
I whispered, “Someone’s at the door.””
Andre’s voice changed instantly.
“Don’t open it.””
The seriousness in his tone made my blood run cold.
“Why?””
“Naomi, listen to me.””
Another knock.
Harder this time.
I walked slowly toward the door.
“Who is it?””
No answer.
I looked through the small glass window beside the door.
A man stood outside.
Not Andre.
Not Vanessa.
Someone older.
Maybe in his fifties.
He wore a dark jacket and held a folder under his arm.
My phone was still against my ear.
“Who is that?””
Andre didn’t answer.
“Andre?””
His breathing changed.
Like he already knew.
“Don’t let him in.””
The man knocked again.
This time, he spoke.
“Naomi Carter?””
My entire body went cold.
Because he knew my name.
“I know you’re home.””
I stepped back.
The man lifted the folder.
“I have information about your husband.””
My grip tightened around the phone.
Andre’s voice was barely a whisper.
“Naomi…”
“Who is he?””
A pause.
Then Andre said:
“He’s the reason Vanessa came to your house.””
I stared at the stranger standing on my porch.
The man slowly placed the folder against the glass.
And through the window, I saw the first page.
A photograph.
A photograph of Andre.
But not with Vanessa.
With someone else.
Someone I had never seen before.
The man smiled when he saw me looking.
May you like
Then he mouthed three words.
*He lied to you.*