Chapter 3 - Five Months of Lies
I sat behind the steering wheel and stared at the photograph until my phone screen dimmed.
Someone had been watching us.
The picture had been taken through the café window.
Sophia's profile was visible.
So was mine.
There was no mistaking either of us.
I immediately looked across the street.
Cars.
Pedestrians.
A delivery truck.
A man walking a dog.
Nobody appeared interested in me.
That meant nothing.
I called Sophia.
She answered immediately.
“Did you tell anyone we were meeting?”
“No.”
“Think carefully.”
“I didn't.”
“Lukas?”
“Absolutely not.”
I sent her the photograph.
Ten seconds later, she called back.
“Oh God.”
“Do you recognize the number?”
“No.”
“Don't contact Lukas.”
“I won't.”
“And don't respond.”
“What are you going to do?”
I looked at the photograph again.
“Find out who already knows.”
That afternoon, I did something I should have done years earlier.
I separated emotion from information.
I downloaded statements.
Copied tax records.
Saved mortgage documents.
Reviewed retirement accounts.
Then I created a folder Lukas couldn't access.
By four o'clock, I knew enough to understand one thing clearly:
My marriage had financial secrets.
I just didn't know how deep they went.
At six thirty, Lukas came home carrying flowers.
Tulips.
My favorite.
The cruelty of that almost impressed me.
“For you.”
I smiled.
“They're beautiful.”
He kissed me.
I let him.
Every instinct in my body screamed to pull away.
Instead, I remembered the photograph.
Someone knew I had met Sophia.
If that someone was Lukas, I couldn't afford to reveal anything.
“Ready for dinner?” he asked.
“Give me ten minutes.”
I went upstairs.
Locked the bathroom door.
Looked at myself in the mirror.
Then whispered in German:
“He doesn't know that I know.”
Hearing the words made them real.
When I returned downstairs, Lukas was checking his phone.
He immediately locked the screen.
Interesting.
“Everything okay?”
“Work.”
Of course.
At dinner, he ordered champagne.
I almost admired the performance.
He talked about work.
A new client.
Summer vacation possibilities.
A restaurant we should try.
Then, halfway through the meal, he reached across the table.
“I've been thinking about us.”
There it was.
I tilted my head.
“In what way?”
“About family.”
My heartbeat slowed.
Not accelerated.
Slowed.
“Family?”
“Kids.”
I stared at him.
This man had planned this conversation.
He squeezed my hand.
“I know the treatments have been hard.”
Hard.
Such a tiny word for six years of grief.
“I've been wondering if maybe there are other ways for us to become parents.”
I nearly pulled my hand away.
Instead, I asked, “Adoption?”
“Maybe.”
His eyes searched mine.
“Or something less traditional.”
There it was.
The beginning.
He was preparing me.
Softening the ground before dropping the bomb.
“What does less traditional mean?”
Lukas smiled nervously.
“I don't know yet.”
Liar.
I smiled back.
“Well, when you do know, tell me.”
He relaxed.
That told me everything.
He believed I was still manageable.
Still trusting.
Still blind.
After dinner, Lukas excused himself to use the restroom.
His phone remained on the table.
Face down.
I didn't touch it.
I didn't need to.
The screen lit up.
A message preview appeared.
MOM: Did she agree?
My pulse thudded once.
Then another message.
MOM: We cannot let Sophia change the plan.
I stared at the screen.
Lukas returned.
I was drinking water.
He sat.
“You okay?”
“Perfect.”
He picked up his phone.
Read the messages.
Something flickered across his face.
Then he looked at me.
I smiled.
He smiled back.
Two people sitting across from each other pretending.
Except only one of us knew the game had changed.
That night, I waited until Lukas fell asleep.
Then I went downstairs.
I opened my notebook.
At the top of a clean page, I wrote:
THE PLAN.
Below it:
Baby.
Sophia.
Money.
Ingrid.
Why me?
I stared at the final question.
Why me?
Why was keeping me inside this marriage so important?
If Lukas wanted Sophia, he could divorce me.
If he wanted the baby, he could leave.
Instead, he was constructing some elaborate arrangement where I remained his wife and potentially became the child's mother.
Why?
Then I remembered our house.
The investment accounts.
My salary.
My family's inheritance.
Three years earlier, after my father died, I inherited a significant portfolio.
Most remained solely in my name.
But our financial adviser had repeatedly suggested consolidating assets.
Lukas had encouraged it.
I had refused.
Not because I distrusted him.
Because my father had asked me not to.
Keep something that is yours, Evie.
At the time, I thought he was old-fashioned.
Now I wondered if my father's caution had protected me.
My laptop chimed.
An email.
Unknown sender.
Subject:
ASK YOUR HUSBAND ABOUT MAY 14.
No message.
Just that.
May 14.
I opened my calendar.
Last year.
May 14 had been a Tuesday.
Lukas had been in Indianapolis.
Or so he'd told me.
I searched our bank statements.
Nothing.
Credit cards.
Nothing.
Then email.
I typed the date.
One result.
A hotel confirmation forwarded to our shared travel folder.
But the hotel wasn't in Indianapolis.
It was in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin.
Two guests.
One suite.
I stared at the reservation.
The name attached was Lukas Vance.
And beneath his name:
Ingrid Vance.
My mother-in-law.
I sat motionless.
This wasn't romantic.
So why had Lukas and his mother secretly spent a night at a hotel together while telling me he was traveling for business?
I searched the hotel's name.
Conference center.
Private meeting rooms.
Then I searched transactions around the date.
There.
A payment.
$3,800.
To a law firm.
My breathing stopped.
I clicked the transaction.
No description.
I searched the firm's name online.
Estate planning.
Asset protection.
Family trusts.
I closed my eyes.
Then my phone vibrated.
Another message from the unknown number.
This time:
YOU'RE FINALLY LOOKING IN THE RIGHT PLACE.
I typed:
WHO ARE YOU?
For several minutes, nothing happened.
Then three dots appeared.
A reply arrived.
SOMEONE WHO MADE THE SAME MISTAKE YOU DID.
My skin prickled.
WHAT MISTAKE?
The answer came immediately.
TRUSTING LUKAS VANCE.
Then one final message:
IF YOU WANT THE TRUTH, FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENED TO HIS FIRST WIFE.
I stared at those words.
First wife?
Lukas had never been married before me.
At least, that was what he had told me.
I searched his name.
Nothing obvious.
Then I searched county marriage records.
My fingers trembled as I entered his full legal name.
One result appeared from fourteen years earlier.
Marriage license.
Lukas Matthias Vance.
Bride:
Claire Donovan.
I stopped breathing.
Fourteen years ago.
The marriage lasted seventeen months.
Divorce granted.
I had been married to Lukas for ten years.
And in all that time, he had never once told me there had been a wife before me.
Not Sophia.
A wife.
I looked upstairs.
The man sleeping in our bed had lied about an entire marriage.
And suddenly, the question was no longer what Lukas was hiding from me.
It was how many women before me had discovered the same truth.
Then another message appeared.
CLAIRE IS ALIVE.
May you like
And beneath it:
SHE'S BEEN WAITING FOR YOU TO FIND HER.
