Chapter 4: The Woman Outside Knew Who My Wife Really Was
Chapter 4: The Woman Outside Knew Who My Wife Really Was
“She isn’t your wife.”
The words stayed in the air.
I looked at the woman standing outside my window.
Then I looked at the woman sitting beside me.
My wife.
Or the woman I had called my wife for six years.
She was crying silently.
“Tell me she’s lying.”
My wife opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
I felt something inside me break.
“Tell me.”
She finally whispered:
“She isn’t lying.”
The world seemed to tilt.
I stared at her.
“What does that mean?”
The woman outside smiled.
“It means you finally get to meet the woman you actually married.”
My wife closed her eyes.
“Don’t listen to her.”
I turned toward her.
“You just admitted she’s telling the truth.”
“I admitted part of it.”
“What part?”
She looked at me.
“The woman you think is me isn’t the woman you married.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“Then who are you?”
She wiped her tears.
“My name is Rachel.”
The name meant nothing.
But the way she said it made everything feel wrong.
“Rachel?”
“Yes.”
“Where is my wife?”
She looked at the woman outside.
The other woman smiled.
“That’s what we’ve been trying to figure out.”
I opened the car door.
Michael grabbed my shoulder.
“Don’t.”
I shoved his hand away.
“I want answers.”
The woman outside stepped back.
“Good.”
She pointed toward a black sedan parked behind the SUV.
“Your wife is inside.”
I froze.
“What?”
She opened the rear door.
Someone was sitting in the darkness.
A woman.
Her face was turned away.
I couldn’t see her clearly.
But I recognized the coat.
It was the coat my wife had worn the night my father died.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I stepped toward the sedan.
Rachel grabbed my wrist.
“Don’t go alone.”
I looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because the woman inside isn’t the only person you’ve been lied to about.”
I stopped.
“What are you talking about?”
She looked directly into my eyes.
“Your father is alive.”
I laughed.
It wasn’t because anything was funny.
It was because my mind couldn’t process another impossible thing.
“My father is dead.”
“No.”
“I saw his body.”
“You saw someone else’s body.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“Your father disappeared six years ago.”
She glanced toward Michael.
“He helped make it happen.”
Michael’s face remained expressionless.
I turned toward him.
“Is that true?”
He didn’t answer.
“Michael.”
Finally, he said:
“Yes.”
I felt dizzy.
“You knew my father was alive?”
“Yes.”
“For six years?”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me?”
“Your father ordered me not to.”
I looked toward the sedan.
“Why?”
Michael took a breath.
“Because someone inside your family was working with Richard Cole.”
“Who?”
He didn’t answer.
Rachel did.
“Your wife.”
I looked at her.
“My wife?”
“The real one.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“She knew what your father was planning.”
“She would never—”
Rachel interrupted.
“You don’t know what she would do.”
Then the woman inside the sedan stepped out.
I stopped breathing.
She looked exactly like my wife.
Same face.
Same voice.
Same eyes.
Even the same small dimple appeared when she frowned.
But she looked older.
Tired.
Terrified.
She looked at me.
“Daniel.”
I knew that voice.
It was my wife’s voice.
The voice I’d heard every morning for six years.
The voice that had whispered goodnight beside me.
The voice that had told me she loved me.
I took one step toward her.
“Who are you?”
She started crying.
“I’m the woman you married.”
Rachel laughed bitterly.
“No. You’re the woman who disappeared.”
The woman looked at her.
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand perfectly.”
“No.”
She turned toward me.
“Daniel, please.”
I couldn’t move.
“Tell me your name.”
She hesitated.
Then whispered:
“Laura.”
The name from the photograph.
The woman my father had supposedly never mentioned.
The woman Michael said had been connected to the old hotel.
Laura.
My supposed wife looked at me.
“I didn’t have a choice.”
I shook my head.
“Six years.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
“You let me believe you were someone else.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because if you knew who I was, they’d kill you.”
“Who?”
She looked toward Rachel.
“Her.”
Rachel’s expression hardened.
“You’re still lying.”
Laura shook her head.
“No.”
Then she looked at me.
“Your father wasn’t hiding from the people outside.”
She paused.
“He was hiding from your mother.”
My entire body went cold.
“My mother died when I was twelve.”
Laura shook her head.
“That’s another lie.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“Your mother disappeared.”
“No.”
“Your father told everyone she died.”
“Why?”
“Because she discovered what he had done.”
“What did he do?”
Laura looked at Michael.
He lowered his head.
Then Laura whispered:
“He built the entire identity scheme.”
I didn’t understand.
“What identity scheme?”
“The one that brought me into your life.”
My head began pounding.
“Why me?”
“Because your father needed an heir he could control.”
I stared at her.
“You’re saying my father replaced my identity?”
“Yes.”
“With what?”
“Another man’s son.”
Silence.
I looked at Michael.
“What does that mean?”
Michael finally spoke.
“Daniel, your birth records were altered.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“What?”
“Your name isn’t Daniel Carter.”
I stepped backward.
“No.”
“Your father changed it when you were six.”
“Why?”
“Because the original Daniel Carter died.”
I couldn’t speak.
Rachel stepped closer.
“The man standing here isn’t the son your father raised.”
I looked at my hands.
At my reflection in the dark car window.
Everything I knew about myself suddenly felt fragile.
My childhood.
My birthday.
My parents.
My marriage.
All of it.
Maybe none of it was real.
Then Laura reached into her coat.
She pulled out a small photograph.
She handed it to me.
It showed two little boys standing beside my father.
One of them was me.
Or someone who looked exactly like me.
On the back, my father’s handwriting said:
Only one of them can inherit everything.
I looked at Laura.
“What is this?”
She whispered:
“Your father had two sons.”
I stared at the photograph.
“Where is the other one?”
Nobody answered.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A man’s voice came through.
“Daniel.”
I froze.
The voice was familiar.
Too familiar.
It was my voice.
The man continued:
“You’ve been asking the wrong questions.”
I couldn’t speak.
He laughed softly.
“Ask your wife why she killed the first Daniel Carter.”
The call ended.
I slowly lowered the phone.
Laura was staring at me.
Rachel was staring at Laura.
Michael had gone completely pale.
And then, from somewhere behind us, a single gunshot shattered the night.
Laura screamed.
Michael dropped to the ground.
I turned toward the sound.
And standing at the end of the street was an old man.
My father.
Alive.
He looked directly at me.
Then he said:
“Son, don’t trust any of them.”
Before I could answer, the lights of every car around us suddenly went out.
And in the darkness, someone whispered directly behind me:
“Too late.”
