Chapter 19: Digging at the Cracks

I sat in the dim light of my kitchen; the only sound was the steady hum of the refrigerator.

The folder Emily’s lawyer had left behind weeks ago lay on the table like a loaded weapon. It had sat there, unopened, daring me.

I reached for it with trembling fingers. The embossed logo of the law firm glared up at me.

My phone sat beside it, Sebastian’s name glowing on the screen.

I pressed the call.

It rang once. Twice. Then—

“Eve?” His voice came low, alert, as if he’d been expecting this moment.

“I need you,” I said, my throat tight.

A pause, then the faint scrape of a chair on his end. I pictured him standing, straightening his tie, already moving. “What happened?”

“She brought a lawyer to our door weeks ago.” My voice cracked under the memory. “She had papers—medical records, sonograms. Gabriel asked me to prove she’s lying.”

Another pause. Sebastian’s inhale was sharp and deliberate. “Good.”

“Good?”

“That means he hasn’t chosen her,” Sebastian said evenly. “If he had, you’d already be out.”

I closed my eyes, forcing the ache down. “He hasn’t chosen me either.”

“Then we make the choice for him.” His tone was steel. “Open the folder. Tell me what you see.”

My hands shook as I flipped it open at last. Neat pages stared back: a doctor’s report with Emily’s name cleanly typed and, a signature scrawled at the bottom. A grainy sonogram, black and white, the blurred outline of supposed proof.

My stomach churned. “What if it’s real?”

“It’s not,” Sebastian said, flat.

“You don’t know that.”

“I know her,” he snapped. “And if it were real, she wouldn’t be parading it on social media like theatre. She’d have Gabriel locked down already.”

I clutched the papers tighter. I wanted to believe him. Needed to.

“Alright,” I whispered. “I’ll scan them. I’ll send everything.”

“Do it now,” Sebastian said. “I’ll start digging tonight. Doctors, clinics, labs. If she forged it, I’ll find the crack.”

My voice trembled. “And if she didn’t?”

For a moment, silence. Then his voice dropped, cold and certain: “Then we burn her another way.”

My phone buzzed with a new notification. I glanced down — and froze.

Another post.

Emily again.

This time not just a sonogram. A video.

Her voice, soft and trembling, filled the screen.

“The doctor says the baby is healthy. Gabriel and I couldn’t be happier. This child is already so loved.”

The clip ended on Emily’s hand pressed tenderly against her stomach.

My vision blurred with rage.

Sebastian’s voice cut in. “Eve?”

“She’s not just lying to Gabriel anymore,” I whispered, my chest tight. “She’s lying to the world.”

Sebastian’s reply came sharp and steady. “Then we take the world away from her”.

—

Gabriel sat in his study, the blue light of his laptop washing over the dark room. The house was silent, but his head was roaring.

The video played again on his screen. Emily’s voice was soft, almost broken.

“The doctor says the baby is healthy. Gabriel and I couldn’t be happier. This child is already so loved.”

The words clawed under his skin. He slammed the laptop shut, but the echo of her voice lingered.

Couldn’t be happier.

His chest tightened. He didn’t remember this—any of it. Not her smile, not her hands, not this supposed child. But the papers… the folder on the table, the sonogram, the neat signatures… they all looked so real.

If Emily was lying, why would she go this far? Why bring in a lawyer? Why risk fabricating something that could so easily be disproven?

And yet…

His eyes flicked toward the closed bedroom door down the hall, where I had finally gone to bed after hours of silence between us.

My face haunted him more than the video. The way my voice cracked when I said, “She’s lying.” The way my eyes burnt, as if Emily’s claims weren’t just an attack—they were a violation.

A memory stabbed at him, sharp and fleeting.

My laughter, sunlight streaming across our kitchen table.

My arms around him from behind, my voice in his ear: “Don’t forget—you’re mine.”

His fists clenched.

If that was real—if she was real—then what was Emily?

He rubbed his temples, frustration breaking through. Nothing fit. His memories were like shards of broken glass, cutting but incomplete.

His phone buzzed.

A message. From an unknown number.

> You deserve the truth, Gabriel. Meet me tomorrow. Alone.

His pulse spiked. He stared at the words, the number. It wasn’t Eve’s. It wasn’t Emily’s.

And still, a dark curiosity tugged at him.

What is the truth?

Who was pulling the strings now?

He deleted the message, but his mind wouldn’t let it go.

He leaned back, staring at the ceiling, the shadows pressing in.

For the first time since the crash, Gabriel wondered if his memory loss wasn’t just an accident.

Maybe it was a weapon.

And maybe he was the one being played.