Chapter 4

"I'm going to my house to retrieve my things," I told the local police officer who had arrived, drawn by the commotion. "And to show everyone the truth."

My parents stood beside me, looking pale and terrified.

David, Jessica, and Kevin were there too, summoned by the unfolding drama, or perhaps they had followed me. Kevin had a smug look that made my skin crawl.

The blogger was live-streaming, her phone held high.

"This is Sarah Miller," she narrated, "the government scientist who returned today claiming her husband is not her husband. She says she has proof at the house she shared... or shares... with Kevin Brewer."

We drove in a tense convoy to my house. My house.

The one David and I had bought, filled with our memories.

Kevin unlocked the door with a flourish, a possessive air that was nauseating.

"After you, honey," he said, his voice dripping with false sweetness.

I ignored him and walked straight to the fireplace in the living room.

The blogger, the police, my parents, David, Jessica – they all followed, crowding the room.

I knelt by the hearth.

My eyes scanned the tiles.

My breath caught.

It was gone.

The unique, hand-painted Santa Fe tile with the desert flower. Gone.

In its place was a generic, beige tile, perfectly matching the others.

Seamless. As if my tile had never existed.

Kevin smirked, a small, triumphant sound.

David looked away, a flicker of something – guilt? – in his eyes before it vanished.

Jessica' s expression was pure, venomous satisfaction.

"Well, Sarah?" the blogger asked, her microphone close to my face. "Where's this irrefutable proof?"

Despair threatened to swallow me. They were one step ahead. Always.

How could they have known about the tile? How could they replace it so perfectly, so quickly?

My mother, bless her naive heart, probably thought she was helping.

"Sarah, dear," she said softly, stepping forward. She held out a large, white leather-bound album. "Maybe this will help you remember. This is your wedding album with Kevin."

She then produced a DVD case. "And the video."

The blogger' s eyes lit up.

Kevin beamed. "Yes, Mom, thank you. Maybe seeing our special day will clear her confusion."

The album was passed around. Photos of me. With Kevin.

Expertly faked. Me in a wedding dress, smiling at him. Cutting a cake with him. Our first dance.

Each photo was a stab.

"Play the video," I said, my voice flat.

If they faked photos, they faked a video. But video was harder. More complex. More chances for mistakes.

I had to see it.