I always thought my marriage was rock-solid until I glanced at my wife Natalie’s payment statements and saw something strange. There were charges for baby items, pediatrician visits, and kindergarten fees—things that made no sense because we didn’t have kids. Confused and worried, I decided to investigate, only to discover that Natalie was living a double life.
As a 33-year-old lawyer who handles infidelity cases, I thought I had seen it all. My job was to help clients pick up the pieces after betrayal, but I never imagined that I would end up on the other side, piecing together the mystery of my own marriage.
One evening, while driving home through the bustling city with the sun setting behind me, a gnawing unease settled in my gut. My work had taught me to value trust, especially in a marriage. I cherished that principle, especially now that I was newly married to Natalie, the woman I loved deeply.
When I pulled into our driveway, something felt off. Natalie’s car wasn’t there, and she was usually home by now. Her punctuality had always been one of her defining traits. But recently, she had been coming home later and later, with excuses that seemed increasingly flimsy.
The silence inside the house was unsettling. My mind raced with doubts. Given my line of work, the thought crossed my mind: Could Natalie be cheating on me?
Hours later, Natalie finally returned, looking exhausted. I couldn’t hold back my suspicions any longer. “Where have you been? You’ve been late a lot lately. Is there something you’re not telling me?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. I even asked if she was being unfaithful.
Her reaction was one of genuine shock. “Hank, I love you. I could never cheat on you. I’ve just been busy grading tests at school,” she explained, sighing. As a dedicated teacher, her explanation made sense, so I tried to let it go.
But during dinner, as we chatted about our day, a message on Natalie’s phone shattered my fragile peace. The message read, “Honey, will you be there tomorrow?” The intimacy of it caught my attention.
Natalie quickly deleted the message and tried to continue our conversation as if nothing had happened.
I couldn’t contain my curiosity. “What was that?” I asked, my voice heavy with suspicion.
“What do you mean?” she replied, feigning confusion.
“The message. I saw what it said,” I pressed, frowning.
She sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Hank, it’s not what you think,” she said, trying to reassure me. She showed me her phone, claiming it was a wrong number.
But my skepticism lingered, and my appetite vanished.
Later that night, as Natalie lay peacefully beside me, gently snoring, my doubts grew. Unable to sleep, I knew I had to uncover the truth, even if it meant crossing a line.
Carefully, I used her finger to unlock her phone. What I found made my heart sink. There was a contact named “Rabbit,” with messages about secret meetups that matched the nights Natalie had come home late.
I also checked her bank statements, a tactic I had used many times in my cases. To my horror, I found payments for children’s toys, hospital bills, and other expenses that made no sense. Did she have a child I didn’t know about? Was she referring to the child as “Rabbit”? And more importantly, who was the father?
Panicking, I scrambled to put her phone back, pretending to sleep as Natalie stirred. The idea that she was leading a double life was overwhelming.
The next morning, I decided to follow her. I parked discreetly outside her school and watched as she left earlier than usual. I tailed her to a run-down house in a modest neighborhood and waited as she entered. After a few minutes, I got out of the car and peered through a window.
What I saw nearly made me sick. Natalie was with a man, and their interaction seemed cozy, almost intimate. She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, and I was convinced they were having an affair.
But then something even more shocking happened. Natalie emerged from the house, pushing a little girl in a wheelchair. The girl beamed up at her, and Natalie returned the smile. I was too stunned to move, trying to process what I was seeing.
Suddenly, a loud bark startled me. Natalie looked around, clearly alarmed. Panicking, I tried to quiet the dog, but it was too late. She had noticed me. In the chaos, I bolted, scrambling over a fence and tearing my pants in the process.
Back in my car, the image of Natalie with the little girl haunted me. I drove home in a daze, unsure of how to confront her.
When Natalie finally came home that evening, I decided to confront her directly. “Natalie, stop. I know everything,” I said as soon as she walked through the door.
She looked confused. “What do you mean?”
“I know you’re cheating on me,” I accused bluntly.
She was taken aback, denying it and attributing her late nights to work. I pressed her about the suspicious messages.
“Hank, you went into my phone?” she asked, appalled.
“Yes! Yes, I went into your phone. I’m the bad guy, right? It’s me spending money on another family,” I snapped, my voice dripping with sarcasm and hurt.
She was visibly shaken. “What are you talking about? What other family?”
“I saw everything, Natalie. I followed you. You don’t work late at school; you go to some man and a little girl,” I continued, my anger boiling over.
“You followed me?” she asked, incredulous.
“Yes,” I admitted, unashamed.
“I can’t believe this,” Natalie said, throwing her arms up in exasperation. She stormed into our bedroom, and I followed, only to see her packing a bag.
“Where are you going?” I demanded.
“I don’t know. A hotel or something,” she said, stuffing her bag with clothes.
“Fine,” I snapped, storming out of the room. I noticed her phone on the bed and grabbed it. In the living room, I installed a tracking app, just in case. I put the phone back and went to confront her.
When I saw the pain in her eyes, my anger began to wane. I didn’t want to fight anymore. “Let’s talk,” I pleaded. “We can fix this. You don’t have to leave.”
But Natalie was firm. “Yes, I do,” she said, zipping up her bag. As she brushed past me, she added, “For your information, the man and child you saw are my brother and niece.”
I was taken aback. “Why have I never met them before?” I demanded. But she ignored me and slammed the door behind her.
In a fit of rage, I knocked items off the mantel, screaming in frustration. Then, taking a deep breath, I realized I needed to know more. I searched our bedroom, and what I found left me reeling.
In a hidden compartment of her wardrobe, I discovered a gun, several fake passports, a bag of money, and a newspaper clipping about a bank robbery.
I was stunned. “What?” I whispered to myself. “Who did I marry?”
In a daze, I wrapped the items in a bag, put them in my car trunk, and drove to the hotel where Natalie was likely staying. I bribed the receptionist and found her room.
I knocked on the door, pretending to be room service. When Natalie opened the door and saw me, she crossed her arms, clearly irritated. “What else do you want to talk about, Hank? I already said I’m not cheating on you,” she sighed.
“I believe you’re not cheating,” I admitted, holding up the bag. “But I found this. A gun, fake documents, money. What’s going on, Natalie?”
She sighed deeply and invited me inside. She confessed that she had been involved with dangerous people and a bank robbery to pay for her niece’s urgent surgery. I listened in shock as she explained everything.
“You robbed a bank?” I whispered, still trying to process the news.
“Yes,” she admitted quietly. “There was no other way. My niece, Katie, was dying. My brother, Tom, didn’t have the money. I had to do something. This was before you and I even met.”
“We have to tell the police, Nat. But my friend Luke is the best criminal defense attorney in the state,” I said, my lawyer instincts kicking in. “You can’t live this double life. Come home with me, and we’ll figure this out together.”
Natalie looked at me, her fear evident. Finally, she nodded, and we drove home.
At home, Natalie made tea, and we sat at the kitchen table, discussing our next steps. As we talked, I felt my eyes growing heavy. I remember Natalie guiding me to bed, but after that, everything was a blur.
The next morning, I woke up disoriented. Blinking rapidly, I noticed a strange redness on the sheets. When my vision cleared, I saw a knife covered in blood beside me.
Panic set in. Was Natalie trying to frame me? Was she pretending to be dead?
“Natalie!” I screamed, jumping out of bed. I noticed a trail of blood leading out of the room and saw the house in disarray, much worse than what I had caused the night before.
I called out for Natalie, but there was no answer. I heard movement outside and peeked through the blinds, seeing two policemen talking to my neighbor. My car looked like it had been driven through rough terrain, but I had no memory of
leaving the house.
The two cops knocked on the door, and I knew I had to get out. Grabbing the gun, I jumped out the window and ran, the police hot on my heels.
I managed to lose them by hiding in a familiar spot, but I needed to find Natalie and get some answers. I used the tracking app I had installed on her phone and followed it to an empty road. There, I found her phone discarded in the grass—a clear sign that she had planned everything.
Frustrated but determined, I decided to visit her brother’s house. I knocked relentlessly until Tom opened the door. Without hesitation, I pulled out the gun and walked inside.
“Call Natalie. Now,” I demanded, pointing the gun at Tom’s face.
When Natalie answered, I didn’t waste any time. “Hi, Natalie. You sound very much alive for someone who’s supposed to be dead. Contrary to your plans, I haven’t been detained. But Tom here isn’t doing so well. I have a gun pointed at him, and if you don’t come here within the next six hours, I will kill both Tom and Katie.”
“You wouldn’t do that,” she gasped.
“Want to test me?” I replied, my voice cold.
“Hank, please,” Natalie begged.
“You have six hours,” I said, cutting off the call.
I waited, the gun never leaving my hand as Tom and Katie sat on the opposite couch. I knew I should have felt guilty, but at that point, I didn’t care.
Finally, Natalie burst through the door, her eyes wide with fear. “Hank, please. Let them go,” she pleaded.
“Why did you do this, Nat? Why fake your death?” I demanded, my voice shaking with anger.
“I didn’t want to go to prison. You wanted to turn me in. I couldn’t risk that,” she confessed.
“I love you, Natalie. We could have faced this together,” I said, my voice breaking.
“But in prison, I would be alone,” she replied, tears streaming down her face.
Before I could respond, the police stormed in, their guns drawn. They arrested me for threatening Tom and Katie, but I told them everything about Natalie’s actions.
Natalie finally admitted the truth, and they arrested her too. As they led her away, our eyes met one last time, a silent farewell.
I turned to Tom, apologizing for everything I had put him and his daughter through. “I’m truly sorry for all the stress I caused you. I didn’t want to, but I needed Natalie to come, and this was the only way.”
The police arrested me, and as I sat in the patrol car, I tried to justify my actions. “I needed her to come,” I muttered to myself.
“No goal justifies threatening anyone at gunpoint. You should’ve called the police, explained the situation, and let us handle it,” the officer said.
Reflecting on those words, I realized the gravity of my mistakes. I wished I could turn back time, but I could only move forward. My first step was to call Luke, my friend who was the best criminal defense attorney in the state. I desperately needed his help.
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