Chapter 4: The Wife Nobody Mentioned
For almost a minute, I couldn't move.
The message glowed on my phone, its words burning into my eyes.
*Ask your husband what happened to his first wife.*
Damon had never mentioned a first wife.
Not once in five years.
He'd told me about his childhood, his college years, his father's drinking, and the summer he'd spent working construction to pay his tuition. He'd shown me photographs of his mother, who died when he was twenty-three, and the house where he'd grown up.
He'd even told me about the woman he'd dated before me.
But a wife?
Never.
Natalie locked the apartment door and pulled the curtains.
"Don't reply," she said.
"We have no idea who's sending these.""
"Someone knows what Damon is hiding.""
"Or someone wants you to believe they do.""
I looked at the message again.
"Then why mention his first wife?""
Natalie didn't answer.
I called Damon.
He picked up after the first ring.
"Emily? Is everything okay?""
"Who was your first wife?""
Silence.
I heard traffic in the background, followed by the muffled sound of a car door closing.
"What?""
"Your first wife, Damon. Who was she?""
"Where did you hear that?""
His voice had lost its warmth.
I swallowed.
"Answer the question.""
"Emily, I don't have a first wife.""
"Then why did someone send me a message telling me to ask you what happened to her?""
He exhaled sharply.
"Someone is trying to manipulate you.""
"Who?""
"I don't know.""
"Was it Claire?""
"Why would Claire send you something like that?""
"That's what I'm asking you.""
He swore under his breath.
Then his voice softened.
"Sweetheart, listen to me. You've been under enormous stress. You haven't been sleeping. You're letting people put ideas into your head.""
There it was again.
The same careful language. The same suggestion that the problem wasn't his behavior but my inability to interpret it correctly.
"Did you ever marry someone named Rachel?""
The silence that followed was different.
Longer.
Heavier.
"Where did you get that name?"" he finally asked.
I hadn't said Rachel.
Not once.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
"Who is Rachel?""
"Emily, I need you to come home.""
"Why?""
"Because this conversation shouldn't happen over the phone.""
"Then tell me who she is.""
He lowered his voice.
"Rachel was someone I knew a long time ago. We weren't married.""
"Then why did you react like that?""
"Because I don't know who's contacting you, and I don't want you getting dragged into something that happened years before I met you.""
"What happened?""
"Nothing that concerns you.""
I almost laughed.
"You're my husband. If someone is threatening me with your past, it concerns me.""
"Please come home tomorrow. We'll talk.""
He hung up before I could answer.
Natalie stood in the doorway, watching me.
"He knew exactly who you meant," she said.
I nodded.
"And he accidentally gave you a name.""
"Rachel.""
Natalie grabbed her laptop.
"Let's find her.""
We searched for more than an hour.
Rachel's name was common, and Damon's social media accounts revealed almost nothing. His oldest public photographs dated back only six years. Before that, his online history seemed to have vanished.
Then Natalie remembered something.
"Your wedding paperwork," she said.
"Did you ever see his divorce decree?""
I frowned.
"He told me he'd never been married.""
"Exactly.""
She searched public marriage records for the county where Damon had grown up.
At first, we found nothing.
Then she changed the date range.
A record appeared.
*Damon Michael Reed and Rachel Anne Whitmore. Marriage license issued eight years earlier.*
I read it three times.
Eight years ago.
Three years before Damon met me.
Natalie clicked another result.
A newspaper archive opened.
The headline was dated six years earlier.
*LOCAL WOMAN MISSING AFTER LEAVING HOME.*
The woman's name was Rachel Whitmore.
Her photograph showed a young woman with shoulder-length brown hair and a cautious smile.
She looked nothing like me.
But something about her expression made my skin crawl.
The article said Rachel had disappeared after an argument with her husband. Her car was found near a river outside town. No body had ever been recovered.
Damon had been interviewed by police.
According to the article, he'd told investigators that Rachel had struggled with depression and had left voluntarily.
The search was eventually suspended.
I pressed a hand against my mouth.
"He told them she left?""
"That's what it says.""
"Why would he lie about being married?""
Natalie opened another tab.
"Maybe because he didn't want you asking questions.""
She found Rachel's obituary three years later.
I stared at the screen.
It wasn't Rachel's obituary.
It belonged to her mother, who had died after a short illness.
The notice mentioned Rachel as a surviving daughter.
If Rachel had died, why was she still listed as missing?
I leaned closer to the screen.
At the bottom of the article was a small photograph of a woman standing beside Rachel's mother at a charity event.
I recognized her immediately.
Claire.
Younger, perhaps, with longer hair, but unmistakably Claire.
My best friend had known Damon's first wife.
I turned toward Natalie.
"She knew.""
"Maybe.""
"No. Look at the date.""
The event had taken place four years before Claire met Owen.
Two years before Claire introduced herself to me at a college party.
Three years before Damon and I met.
Claire had been in Rachel's life long before she'd entered mine.
My phone buzzed.
Another message from the unknown number.
This time, there was an attachment.
A photograph of a woman standing in front of a hospital bed.
The woman was Rachel.
Her face was pale, and a bandage wrapped around her forehead. An IV line ran into her arm.
Beside her stood Damon.
He looked younger, but his expression was unmistakable.
His hand rested on the bedrail, and his head was turned toward the camera.
Behind him, partly obscured by a curtain, stood a nurse.
I zoomed in on the nurse's face.
Natalie whispered, "Oh, my God.""
It was Claire.
Not wearing her usual clothes, but dressed in hospital scrubs.
The message beneath the photograph read:
*Rachel didn't disappear until Claire helped move her.*
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered without thinking.
"Who are you?""
A woman's voice came through, faint and trembling.
"My name is Rachel.""
I stopped breathing.
"Rachel Whitmore?""
"Yes.""
"But the police said—"
"The police said whatever Damon told them.""
I gripped the edge of the table.
"Where are you?""
"I can't tell you that yet.""
"Why are you contacting me now?""
There was a pause.
Then Rachel said something that made the room seem to tilt.
May you like
"Because Claire told me you were pregnant, and Damon is planning to do to your daughter what he tried to do to mine.""
The line went dead.
