Part 4
I stared at the picture until my eyes burned.
The woman standing beside Mark’s first wife wasn’t the thing that scared me.
It was the child.
A little boy.
Maybe four years old.
With Mark’s eyes.
The same eyes I had looked into every morning.
The same eyes that had watched me cry.
My hands trembled as I zoomed in.
“No…”
The word slipped out before I could stop it.
Officer Daniels, who was still sitting across from me, noticed immediately.
“Ma’am?”
I locked my phone.
Too late.
He had already seen my face.
“What happened?”
I hesitated.
Because a part of me was terrified.
Terrified that if I kept digging, I would find something even worse.
But another part of me—the part that had finally learned to stop being afraid—knew I needed the truth.
I handed him the phone.
He studied the picture carefully.
“Where did you get this?”
“Someone sent it to me.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
He looked concerned.
“Don’t meet this person alone.”
I nodded.
But deep down, I already knew.
I had to know.
The next afternoon, I sat inside a small coffee shop across town.
My hands rested over my pregnant belly.
Every few seconds, I checked the door.
Then she walked in.
The woman from the photo.
Mark’s first wife.
She looked nothing like the villain Mark had described.
He had called her unstable.
Obsessive.
A woman who “couldn’t let go.”
But the person standing in front of me looked calm.
Tired.
Like someone who had carried a painful story for years.
She approached my table.
“You’re Anna?”
I nodded.
“And you’re Sarah?”
She sat down.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she looked at my stomach.
“How far along?”
“Eight months.”
Her expression changed.
Pain crossed her face.
“He did this to you while you were pregnant?”
I looked down.
“How did you know?”
She swallowed.
“Because he did the same thing to me.”
The room suddenly felt cold.
“What?”
Sarah looked at her hands.
“When I was pregnant with our son, Mark changed.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“Our son?”
She nodded.
“Yes.”
She opened her phone.
Showed me the same picture.
“That’s Noah.”
The little boy.
Mark’s son.
“Mark told me he lost the baby,” I whispered.
Sarah gave a sad smile.
“Of course he did.”
My chest tightened.
“What do you mean?”
She looked directly at me.
“Mark lies when the truth makes him look bad.”
The words hit harder because I knew exactly what she meant.
“He told everyone I had a miscarriage,” she continued.
“But the truth was…”
She paused.
“He left.”
My fingers tightened around my cup.
“He left you?”
“Three days after Noah was born.”
I stared at her.
“Why?”
Her eyes filled.
“Because he found out fatherhood meant responsibility.”
A bitter laugh escaped her.
“And Mark never liked responsibility.”
Everything inside me shifted.
All the little moments.
All the excuses.
All the times he blamed other people.
It was the same pattern.
A different woman.
A different life.
The same man.
“Why contact me now?” I asked.
Sarah reached into her bag.
She placed a folder on the table.
“I tried to warn you before.”
I froze.
“What?”
“I found your address months ago.”
My heart stopped.
“Months ago?”
She nodded.
“I came to your house.”
A chill ran through me.
“When?”
“The night before your baby shower.”
My mind raced.
That night.
I remembered.
A woman had knocked.
But Mark told me it was a salesperson.
He told me not to answer.
“He saw me,” Sarah whispered.
“He knew I was there.”
I stared at her.
“What did he do?”
Sarah looked away.
“He threatened me.”
The silence between us grew heavy.
“He told me if I ever came near you, he would make sure I lost Noah.”
My blood ran cold.
“He threatened his own son?”
Sarah nodded.
“That’s when I realized something.”
Her voice dropped.
“Mark doesn’t love people.”
“He loves control.”
I opened the folder.
Inside were documents.
Police reports.
Court papers.
Photos.
Messages.
Proof.
Years of it.
My hands shook as I turned each page.
Then I saw something.
A name.
A date.
And a familiar word.
My name.
I looked up.
“What is this?”
Sarah’s face turned serious.
“That’s why I contacted you.”
I looked back at the document.
It was dated six months before I met Mark.
A complaint.
A woman had reported Mark for stalking.
But the victim’s name had been hidden.
Except one line.
A line that made my stomach drop.
Relationship to suspect: Former employee of Anderson Family Company.
“Why are you showing me this?”
Sarah leaned closer.
“Because Mark didn’t choose you randomly.”
I looked up.
“What?”
She whispered:
“He studied you.”
My blood turned cold.
“He knew where you worked.”
“He knew your family.”
“He knew exactly what kind of person you were.”
I felt sick.
“No…”
“Yes.”
She pushed another paper toward me.
“This was found in his old apartment.”
My hands shook as I read.
A list.
Names.
Details.
Preferences.
Habits.
And near the bottom…
My name.
My favorite food.
My schedule.
The day we met.
The first gift he bought me.
Everything.
Like I was a project.
Not a person.
I covered my mouth.
“I thought we met by accident.”
Sarah looked at me with sadness.
“That’s what he wanted you to think.”
A tear slipped down my face.
Not because I missed him.
Not because I wanted him back.
Because I finally understood.
I hadn’t married a man who suddenly became cruel.
I married a man who had been hiding it.
Then Sarah said the one thing that made my blood run cold.
“There’s one more thing you need to know.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
She took a deep breath.
“The police don’t know this yet.”
“Know what?”
She looked at my stomach.
Then at me.
“When Mark attacked you…”
“He wasn’t trying to make you cook breakfast.”
My heart stopped.
“What are you saying?”
Sarah’s voice became a whisper.
“He was trying to force you to leave the house.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
She pushed one final document across the table.
A property record.
My house.
The house Mark told me was our home.
But my name wasn’t on it.
Neither was his.
It belonged to a company.
A company created one month before our marriage.
And the owner…
was Mark’s mother.
I looked up slowly.
“Why would they do that?”
Sarah’s face went pale.
“Because Mark and his family have done this before.”
The café suddenly felt too small.
“Done what?”
She whispered:
“Marry women.”
“Take control of their money.”
“Isolate them.”
“And when they’re no longer useful…”
She stopped.
I waited.
My voice barely came out.
“When they’re no longer useful… what?”
Sarah looked at me.
“They make sure the woman disappears.”
My baby kicked.
Hard.
And for the first time, I wasn’t afraid of Mark.
I was afraid of what I still didn’t know.
Because Mark wasn’t the only monster in that house.
And tomorrow…
I was going back.
Not as his wife.
May you like
Not as a victim.
But as the woman who was going to expose them all.
