As painful as it was, I’m almost grateful she found out on her own. I don’t think I could have carried the lie much longer without it hollowing me out completely. Deceit has a way of rotting you from the inside, and I know it would have destroyed me eventually if the truth hadn’t been revealed. I always knew I had to come clean. It just turns out the universe beat me to it.
But with Adrian, the lies and cruelty probably run so deep they’ve become part of him, so entrenched that I’m not even sure he knows where the truth ends anymore, let alone how to find his way out of it.And if he can bury his secrets and move on without guilt or remorse, all while wearing a smile on his face, then he’s an even worse man than I initially thought.
I pull open the top drawer of my desk and retrieve the folder that holds every shred of evidence of Lucia and Adrian’s affair. I’ve been pouring over its contents obsessively ever since I saw him that Sunday afternoon. I’m not even sure what I’m hoping to uncover—nothing inside is new to me. But themore I study the photos of him with Lucia, sitting in a park, sharing a meal together in a café, or hiding away in his car, the more disturbing it all becomes.
The park where they secretly met was likely the same one he took his son to on weekends or after school. The café where they dined in secret was probably the same restaurant he frequented with his wife. And the car they used time and again to have sex and perhaps where Ari was conceived, is still the very same vehicle his wife and child ride in. It’s disturbing, to say the least, and even I have to admit—it’s absolutely fucked up.
Whenever his wife crosses my mind, I can’t help but think of Skylar—and the home and life I never even considered losing while I was so consumed by my affair with Lucia. Looking back now, I would never wish for anyone to endure what Skylar went through, to suffer the same searing pain I once inflicted on her.
Just sitting here, knowing everything I do about Adrian while his wife remains blissfully unaware, gnaws at my conscience like a slow eating bacteria.
I guess that explains the overwhelming urge clawing at me to do something about it. Not to ease my own guilt, but because his wife deserves the truth. She deserves to know that the life she’s currently living is being built on a lie. And I don’t know if I can move on knowing I could’ve helped her in some way.
With my mind made up, I log into Facebook and type the nameHope Turner, my fingers moving faster than my thoughts.When her profile appears, I click through to Messenger and a small window pops up in the bottom corner of the screen.
I hesitate for a brief minute, my cursor hovering uselessly over the blank message field. Whatever I’m about to do can’t be undone. I’m about to deliver a devastating truth to a complete stranger, a truth with the power to shatter her life in minutes, humiliate her, or worse, leave scars that may never heal.
No matter the outcome, Hope has a right to know what her husband has been up to, the deception he’s lived behind and the secrets he’s hidden from her. With the truth in her hands, she can decide for herself what comes next for her and her family.
The moment I begin typing, the words spill out, as though my fingers are acting on their own accord. I keep it brief, careful not to reveal everything through a screen—leaving space instead for a conversation, if she’s willing to one day meet me in person.
Good afternoon, Hope,
You don’t know me, and you’re probably wondering what business I have to be reaching out to you through social media. So, let me start by introducing myself.
My name is Kaden Grant, I’m thirty-five and currently living in Sydney. We’ve never met, but I learned about you from when I was looking into your husband’s whereabouts.
You see, a few months ago, I received one of the most devastating news of my life, one that I’m still struggling to deal with today. And a big part of that involved your husband, Adrian.
When I tried to track him down for answers, I discovered he’d vanished without warning. I haven’t been able to find him since, and judging by how quickly he left, I can only assume he doesn’t want to be found.So, this is my only option. There’s a lot you don’t know about your husband, especially in the last year, that I believe you deserve to know. While there’s a lot of information to cover, there’s not enough space on this text box to fit it all. I’d actually prefer to just show you the evidence.
As strange and random as this may sound, I was wondering if you’d be open to meeting me in person? Somewhere you’d feel most comfortable, of course. I will tell you everything you need to know. There’s no pressure to go through with this. In fact, I’m doing it primarily for your benefit, and perhaps to ease my conscience, because I don’t think I’ll ever be able to sleep at night knowing you’re living your life completely unaware of who your husband really is.
Please take all the time you need to think it over. I’ll leave you with my contact details if you decide to reach out, and from there, you can do with the information as you see fit.
One last thing—it would be best not to mention anything to Adrian until after I’ve shown you what you need to see. You’ll understand why soon enough. I hope to hear from you.
Warm regards
Kaden Grant.
There, it’s done. No turning back now. All that’s left to do is just sit and wait.
Chapter 10
Hope
The cold, sharp air bites at my skin the moment I step out of Mr Jefferson’s door, one of the handful of home-care patients I’ve been assigned since starting my new role as a community health nurse in Sandy Vale.
My back and feet scream in protest as I stretch, trying to work the ache and tension from my muscles and joints, a familiar sensation after every nine-hour shift. But what I really could do with right now is a glass of wine, a heat pack, and a good book, surrounded by my many plants—anything to help me unwind from these past few days.
I head towards my car, feeling anxious about the drive home. I hate that this is how I’ve been feeling ever since the message arrived, four days ago, from a man whose name meant nothing to me until that moment.
It came without warning, completely out of the blue, and even now I’m still trying to make sense of what he said. I left him on read. What else could I do? Pretend I trusteda stranger’s words at face value? For all I know, he could be someone intent on messing with my family, and I can’t decide whether that thought should worry me more than the message itself.
I slide into the driver’s seat, tossing my tote onto the passenger side. As I buckle my seatbelt and turn the ignition, I catch sight of my reflection in the visor mirror and wince at the shadows pooling beneath my eyes.
A ping from my phone cuts through the quiet. I fumble through my bag to retrieve it, and when the screen lights up, I instantly see it’s a text from Adrian.
