Chapter 2

I had to save everything.

Every disgusting image, every vile comment.

My hands trembled as I took screenshots, saved web pages.

The rage was still there, but a grim purpose was forming.

I needed proof, though of what, I wasn't sure yet.

Proof that this existed. Proof that Sarah... or someone identical... was on it.

My phone buzzed. A text from Sarah.

"Hey honey, running late. Freelance project is killing me. Don't wait up for dinner. Love you!"

Freelance project.

She' d been mentioning a new, demanding freelance design project for weeks.

Said it was confidential, paid well.

I' d believed her.

Now, the words felt like a lie, sticking in my throat.

The casual "Love you!" at the end felt like a twist of a knife.

How could she type that, if...

If what?

I stared at the saved images on my desktop, a gallery of horrors.

The locket.

It was always the locket.

I spent the rest of the evening in a daze, the saved files burning a hole in my hard drive.

Sleep was impossible.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the photo, the locket, the sneering comments.

Sarah, the woman I loved, the woman I married, juxtaposed with that degrading image.

It didn' t make sense.

The two Sarahs couldn't exist in the same person.

One was a loving wife, kind, compassionate.

The other... the other was a stranger, a participant in something vile.

Which one was real?

She came home late, well after midnight.

I pretended to be asleep.

I heard her moving quietly around the bedroom, the soft rustle of clothes, the sigh as she slipped into bed.

She smelled faintly of unfamiliar soap, not her usual lavender.

She didn't try to cuddle, just turned her back to me.

The silence in the room was heavy, suffocating.

My Sarah, my anchor, was suddenly an enigma, a source of profound dread.

Who was this woman sleeping beside me?

The question echoed in the dark, unanswered.

The next morning, I watched her.

She made coffee, hummed a little tune, talked about her stressful project.

Normal. Too normal.

It was like watching an actress play a part.

Or maybe I was the one going crazy.

I needed to know.

I couldn' t confront her, not yet. Not with just a picture and a gut feeling.

What if I was wrong? What if it was a cruel hoax, a deepfake?

But the locket...

I felt a chasm opening between us, invisible but deep.

I was on one side, she was on the other, and I had no idea how to bridge it.

Or if I even wanted to.