My husband went on a business trip to another city for a month, and I decided to move his favorite potted cactus to another location, but I accidentally broke it while carrying it. My hair stood on end when I saw what I saw inside…(2/9)

Just a few weeks ago. In it, John was standing in a room that looked like a hotel room. “Sarah, I’ll be delayed in Miami for a couple more days,” he said.

Things aren’t going as well as I’d like. Give Davey a kiss for me and tell him Dad will be back soon. To Miami.

But John told me he was going to Chicago for a meeting with partners. He lied to me. However, after everything I’d seen, this deception seemed insignificant.

I closed the video and leaned back in my chair. Absolute chaos reigned in my head. I couldn’t accept that the man I had lived with for six years, whom I trusted, whom I loved, had been leading a double life all this time.

He was the husband of two women, the father of a child whose existence I didn’t even suspect. How is this possible? How did he manage to divide his time between us? I tried to remember how often John was away from home. Business trips.

He traveled constantly on business. Sometimes for a few days, sometimes for a week, and sometimes for a month. I never questioned the necessity of these trips.

His job required frequent travel, and I assumed it was normal. And now it turns out these business trips. Or at least some of them.

Were nothing more than shared time with the other family. This thought was so far-fetched, so unbelievable, that I couldn’t accept it. I opened the folder with the documents again and began to methodically go through them.

Maybe I misunderstood something. Maybe there was another explanation. But the more documents I reviewed, the clearer the picture became.

John had another family I knew nothing about. Among the documents, I found a lease for an apartment in Boston. The apartment was rented to Sarah Miller, even before my wedding to John.

And judging by the renewal dates, she was still living there. In Boston? Just a few hours’ drive from our city. I felt nausea rising in my throat.

I needed fresh air. I shut down my computer, took out the USB drive, and walked over to the window. I opened it wide and took several deep breaths, trying to calm myself.

What should I do now? How should I react to such a discovery? My first impulse was to immediately call John and demand an explanation. But I held back. In that state, it was unlikely I could have a constructive dialogue.

Besides, maybe it would be better to find out for myself first, gather as much information as possible before confronting him. My gaze fell on the clock. Almost noon.

I’d spent several hours in front of the computer, unaware of how time was passing. My stomach growled treacherously, reminding me that I hadn’t had breakfast yet. But the thought of eating disgusted me.

How can I think about food when my life has been shattered, like that unfortunate cactus pot? The pot. I’d completely forgotten about it. The soil was still scattered across the bedroom floor, and the poor cactus was lying on its side.

I needed to clean everything up, but I didn’t have the strength. Instead, I went back to the computer and inserted the USB drive. This time I decided to carefully examine all the files, all the documents, to get a complete picture.

Among other things, I found bank statements. The accounts were opened in Sarah Miller’s name, but the regular deposits came from John’s card. The amounts were quite significant…

About the same as his monthly earnings. It turns out that all these years he split his income between two families. But he always said he didn’t earn as much as he’d liked.

We saved, set aside for the future, and denied each other some things. But in fact, he only gave half of his income to another woman and their son. I tried to remember when I first noticed something odd about John’s behavior.

But nothing specific came to mind. He had always been a loving husband, calling me from business trips, bringing me gifts, and taking an interest in my affairs. Yes, lately he had become more withdrawn, sometimes distracted, but I attributed it to fatigue and work problems. How blind I was!

How I didn’t notice the obvious signs. Now, looking back, I remember a lot of details that should have alerted me. His strange calls, which he preferred not to make from home, but on the street or in the car.

His unexpected changes in his business travel schedule. He would return early and then delay without much explanation. His reluctance to have children, even though we used to talk about it naturally.

A child. Juan already had one child. A son.

He must be about 14 now. A teenager. And all these years I thought we were putting off having children for financial reasons and a desire to get ahead first.

These thoughts brought tears to my eyes. I felt cheated, used, cut off from his real life. Who had I been to him all these years? Entertainment? An alternative? Or just a convenient cover for his shady dealings? I remembered the strange video where John talked about some danger, about the need to be careful.

Perhaps his double life was related to something illegal. Perhaps he was involved in shady dealings. Work.
John always said he worked for a construction company, managing the supply of materials and negotiating with partners. But was it true? I’d never been in his office, nor had I met his colleagues. He always separated his work life from his personal life.

I decided to check it out. There should be documents related to his job on the USB drive. And, sure enough, in one of the folders I found contracts, agreements, and business correspondence.

But the company mentioned in these documents had a completely different name than the one John claimed he worked for. And the sector was different. It wasn’t construction, but logistics.

International transport. The more I delved into the documents, the more confused I became. Some contracts were written in foreign languages, with companies from countries I knew next to nothing about.

The amounts mentioned in these documents made me doubt their legality. Where did a modest supply manager get such money? In one of the last folders, I found something that finally made me lose track. They were passport scans.

Not one, but several. And they were all issued in John’s name, but with different surnames: Anderson, Miller, Smith, Johnson.

Why does a person need multiple passports with different surnames? The answer came naturally, but I was afraid to even mentally formulate it. It was already getting dark when I finally pulled myself away from the computer. My head was buzzing from the amount of information, and my eyes were tired from staring at the screen.

I felt devastated, as if I’d been squeezed a lemon. But at the same time, deep inside me, a determination was born. I had to uncover the whole truth, no matter how bitter it was.

First, I needed to verify whether Sarah and her son David really existed, or if it was some sophisticated fabrication. The photographs and videos could be fake, the documents fabricated.

I needed irrefutable proof. I took out my phone and opened social media. If this woman is real, she should have accounts, photos, and friends.

I typed “Sarah Miller” into the search bar and got many results. Too many to view each profile. I needed to narrow down my search.

I returned to the USB drive and found Sarah’s date of birth on the documents: February 27, 1985. She was three years older than me.

I added this information to the search, and the results narrowed down considerably. Now I needed to compare the photos with the one I found in the box. After a few minutes of searching, I found it.

The profile was private, with minimal personal information, but the main photo left no doubt. It was the same woman. Dark hair, expressive eyes, and a sad smile.

Only now, she looked older than in the photo on the box, which was natural enough. Browsing through her posts, which were available even without adding her as a friend, I saw several photos of a teenage boy. He looked strikingly similar to John.

The same eyes, the same lip shape, even his smile. Dimples appeared at the corners of his mouth, something I loved so much about my husband. There was no doubt about it. Sarah and David existed.

They were real people, not a figment of someone’s sick imagination. And, apparently, they were John’s family. His real family.

I checked Sarah’s feed and found a post from last week. The photo showed a table set with a birthday cake, and the caption read, “Happy birthday, loving husband.”

May all your dreams come true.” John’s birthday was last week. He celebrated it on a business trip.
Or rather, as I now understood, with his other family. Bitterness and resentment flooded me with renewed force. I threw the phone onto the couch and burst into tears.

I was sobbing my head off, like I hadn’t cried in years. All the pent-up tension, the shock of discovery, the pain of betrayal. All of this spilled out in a torrent of tears. I don’t know how long I stayed like that, giving free rein to my emotions.

Maybe a few minutes, maybe an hour. When I finally calmed down, it was already dark outside. I felt empty, but at the same time strangely liberated.

As if I had cried not only the pain, but also part of my old personality. That naive, trusting woman who blindly believed in her husband. Wiping away my tears, I answered again.

Now I needed to find out everything I could about Sarah. Who is she? What does she do? How long has she known John? Even though the profile was confidential, I managed to find out something from public information. Her place of work.

A company, East Trans. Judging by the name, related to transportation or logistics. The same sector in which, I learned from the documents, John worked.

A few friends, common interests. Nothing special, nothing to explain why John was leading a double life, I thought.

If Sarah really considers herself John’s legal wife, she probably doesn’t know I exist. Or does she? Maybe she’s the same victim of deception as I am. I needed to talk to her. Directly, face to face.

But how to arrange it? I couldn’t just send her a message. “Good morning, I’m your husband’s wife.” Let’s get together and talk about the situation.”

It seemed like the beginning of a cheap melodrama. But I needed answers. And it seemed Sarah was the only person, besides John, who could give them to me.

I went back to the documents on the flash drive and found the address of the apartment Sarah was renting. Boston, Academic Street, House 15, Apartment 42. I wrote down the address, trying to decide what to do.

Go to Boston? Right now? It seemed crazy. But sitting around waiting for John’s return, pretending nothing was wrong, was even crazier. Besides, I didn’t know when he’d be back.

He said the business trip would last a month, but now I realized I couldn’t believe a word of it. The decision came naturally. I’ll go to Boston.

Tomorrow. I’ll find Sarah and talk to her. Maybe she knows more than I do. Maybe she herself is a victim of John’s deception.

Or maybe she’s his accomplice in some dark business. In any case, I had to Discovering the truth. After making the decision, I felt a strange relief.

At least now I had a plan of action, something concrete to hold on to in the midst of this chaos. I got up from the couch and went to the kitchen. Despite my lack of appetite, I needed to eat something.

The day had been tough, and the next day promised to be even tougher. I would need strength. I opened the refrigerator, mechanically took out groceries, and began preparing a simple dinner.