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Novel Catalog
Chapter_7
Looking for Evidence
By the time Matthew returned with Ava, I had almost finished preparing dinner. Ava burst through the door, her bright, childish voice filling the air. “Mommy, I’m back! Daddy picked me up!”
Her innocent excitement hit me like a wave, and for a split second, I felt the tears welling up in my eyes. I forced them back, pushing the pain aside for the sake of her. “I got you some pineapples. They’re your favorite, right?”
Ava’s eyes lit up. “Oh! Mommy, you’re the best! I can’t wait to eat them!” She skipped off toward Matthew, her small hands reaching for him. “Daddy, I want to eat pineapples!”
“You can have a small piece for now,” Matthew said, taking her hand. “You can have more after dinner, okay?”
I watched them for a moment before he came over to me, washed his hands, and squeezed into the tiny kitchen behind me, wrapping his arms around me from behind. “Why did you make so much food?” he asked, his voice warm and familiar.
I felt a lump in my throat, fighting back the tears. How could this happy family, this moment of peace, be hanging on by such a thin thread?
“You just came back from a business trip. You must be tired,” I forced a smile, trying to sound normal. “Were you busy today?”
His noncommittal hum made my heart sink. He was never this distant before. I nudged him with my elbow, trying to push away the growing tension in my chest. “Set the table and get ready for dinner.”
His attempts at intimacy made my stomach churn. I couldn’t help but wonder if he thought of her when he touched me, when he held me. The thought of him with her, of him betraying everything we had built, gnawed at me.
Once the food was ready, I asked, “Do you want a drink? It’s been a while, and I’m in the mood for some wine.”
Matthew looked at me, puzzled. “Why do you suddenly want to drink?”
“No reason,” I replied, my voice steadier than I felt. “Are you still going out? I made so much food. We should celebrate.”
I felt my heart shattering with every word. I didn’t know how much longer I could keep this facade up. I knew Matthew didn’t handle alcohol well, so I poured him just a little—enough to seem casual. I filled my own glass halfway, lifting it to toast with him.
As we drank, the evening grew lighter. We laughed and reminisced about our college days, about the early days of the business, about our life together. I kept up the act, playing the role of the happy wife, the content mother. But inside, I was falling apart.
Matthew poured himself another glass of wine, remarking on how cheerful I seemed, cautioning me not to drink too much. But as the night wore on, he drank more than he could handle. When I helped him into bed, I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that clung to me.
After I washed up and put Ava to bed, I took a deep breath. It was time. My heart raced as I prepared to do something I hadn’t done in years: I was going to search through his things. The realization hit me hard—how foolish I’d been to trust him so completely.
I started with his pockets and bag, but there was nothing. My heart pounded in my chest as I moved on to his phone, but it was locked with a fingerprint. I crept closer, my pulse hammering in my ears, and tried to grab his hand. But in that moment, he stirred and caught me off guard, his bleary eyes meeting mine.
“I need water,” he slurred.
I nearly jumped out of my skin. I fled to pour him a glass of water, my hands shaking. When I returned, he collapsed back onto the bed, asleep almost instantly.
I couldn’t waste this chance. I unlocked his phone and scrolled through the call history, but there was nothing suspicious. The names were familiar, and the few women I saw weren’t connected to anything that made me uneasy. I turned to his WhatsApp, hoping to find something more.
There, I found the message from the day he returned.
“Did she find out?”
Just those four words. My heart dropped. The message was cold, detached—no explanation, no context. It felt like a punch to my stomach. I clicked on the sender’s profile picture, but there were no posts, no traces. I couldn’t even identify who they were.
I scanned through the rest of his phone, finding only pictures of Ava and me, and two of Melanie. That was it. His phone was clean—too clean. I used an app to check for hidden data, but nothing came up.
I lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to shake the feeling that something was missing. Who was this “Mrs. Murphy”? Was she someone I knew? Someone I had ever met?
I could feel the pieces slipping away from me, like trying to grasp water in my hands. I didn’t know how long I could keep pretending. But I had to keep looking for evidence, for answers. The truth was somewhere, buried beneath all the lies.