Chapter 3 - I spent the next two days pretending nothing had changed.That was harder than I expected.

At breakfast, my mother asked whether I slept well.

I smiled and said yes.

Paige asked whether I liked the truck.

I told her it was impressive.

Gwen stayed silent.

Every conversation felt like walking through a minefield.

One wrong question.

One wrong glance.

One wrong move.

And the entire house could explode.

So I watched.

My mother kept her phone with her at all times.

Paige received calls from a private number.

Gwen never went upstairs alone.

And there was a locked office at the end of the hallway that my mother refused to discuss.

That office became my target.

The first night, I waited until everyone was asleep.

I moved through the hallway without turning on the lights.

The military had taught me how to move quietly.

But civilian houses had one advantage over combat zones.

People thought they were safe.

I reached the office.

The lock was electronic.

I pulled a small device from my pocket.

I had used similar tools during security assignments.

Thirty seconds later, the lock clicked.

I entered.

The room smelled like expensive wood and perfume.

A desk.

Two filing cabinets.

A computer.

A safe.

I started with the computer.

Password protected.

I didn't need it.

I connected a drive.

The device began copying files.

While it worked, I opened the cabinets.

The first contained property documents.

The second contained medical records.

I pulled one folder.

It was labeled:

GWEN HAYES

My hands tightened.

Inside were dozens of documents.

Blood tests.

Psychological evaluations.

Medication lists.

But something was wrong.

The records described a patient suffering from severe psychological instability.

Memory loss.

Paranoia.

Aggression.

None of it matched the woman I knew.

Gwen had always been calm.

She volunteered at a community shelter.

She remembered birthdays.

She could recall conversations from years ago.

But according to these records, she had been unstable for months.

Then I noticed something.

Every report had been signed by Dr. Adrian Cross.

Every medication had been prescribed by Blackridge.

And every payment came from my mother.

I turned the page.

A handwritten note appeared.

Subject shows resistance. Husband remains operational. Continue isolation.

Husband remains operational.

I read it again.

What husband?

Me?

Why did a medical report describe me as operational?

I heard footsteps.

I froze.

Someone was coming down the hallway.

I closed the drawer.

Turned off the computer.

And slipped behind the curtains.

The door opened.

My mother entered.

She was carrying a glass of wine.

She sat at the desk.

For a moment, she did nothing.

Then she opened the safe.

I watched through a gap in the curtain.

She removed a small metal case.

Inside was a stack of photographs.

My photograph.

Gwen's photograph.

Paige's.

Then something that made my blood run cold.

Photographs of me during deployment.

Not official military photographs.

Private photographs.

Me entering bases.

Me leaving barracks.

Me speaking with soldiers.

Someone had been following me overseas.

My mother looked at one image for a long time.

Then she whispered:

“He came back too soon.”

I nearly moved.

She picked up her phone.

“It's me.”

Silence.

“He knows.”

Another pause.

“No, he doesn't know everything.”

She glanced toward the door.

“We need to accelerate.”

My heart hammered.

Then she said:

“Once the transfer is complete, Gwen can disappear.”

I felt ice move through my veins.

Gwen can disappear.

My mother closed the metal case.

She stood.

I waited until she left.

Then I remained frozen for another minute.

When I finally stepped out, my hands were shaking.

I opened the safe.

The photographs were gone.

But there was one thing she had left behind.

A file.

Inside was a legal document.

TRANSFER OF MILITARY ESTATE BENEFITS

My name was printed at the top.

The beneficiary section listed:

Margaret Hayes.

Below that:

Paige Hayes.

And then:

Gwen Hayes: Waived.

Waived.

My wife had been cut out of my estate.

But the signature at the bottom was mine.

Except it wasn't.

I knew my signature.

That wasn't it.

Someone had forged it.

I photographed the document.

Then another sheet caught my eye.

A medical consent form.

Gwen's signature was also at the bottom.

But the date was impossible.

She had signed it on a day when I knew she had been unconscious.

I took photographs of everything.

Then I heard a sound outside the office.

A floorboard.

Someone was standing in the hallway.

I killed the light.

The door slowly opened.

Paige stepped inside.

She stood in the darkness.

“David?”

I held my breath.

She flicked on the light.

Her eyes swept the room.

I stayed behind the curtain.

She walked to the desk.

Then she smiled.

Not nervously.

Not nervously at all.

She looked directly at the curtain.

“I know you're there.”

My pulse stopped.

She waited.

Then she laughed softly.

“You were always terrible at hide-and-seek.”

She turned and walked out.

I waited.

One minute.

Two.

Then I stepped out.

My phone vibrated.

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A message from Paige.

You should have stayed dead.